The Confession of Piers Gaveston (10 page)

CORONATION
 

Edward’s coronation brings back such bitter memories I can hardly bear to write them down. All the arrangements were left entirely to me. I felt that the greatest gift I could ever give Edward was to see that his coronation ran smoothly and was such a splendid affair that it would be talked about for centuries.

Even now I am not sure exactly what went wrong. I cannot prove it, but I feel certain that money changed hands. Warwick and Lancaster were too serene and smiling while Edward was in France, and there were times when I would catch them trading smiles and knowing glances. Be that as it may, on the 25
^th
day of February 1308 my dreams of a glorious coronation collapsed like a house of cards, and what had been so perfect on paper was, in true life, a travesty.

There was a shortage of seats, and many important guests were left standing. They took this as a personal insult and never forgave me since it was I who must dash about and decide who should have the much-coveted seats. The crowd was so dense that their jostling caused a wall to collapse and several people were injured and a knight was killed. And the ceremony itself exceeded the planned length by a full three hours.

And, of course, they took umbrage at my role in the ceremony. But Edward would have me walk before him carrying his crown on a velvet cushion. And rather than appear in cloth-of-gold like all the other earls, I wore royal purple velvet encrusted with pearls instead; “one for each lover I’ve had!” I boasted, inadvertently causing Edward to burst into tears.

When he saw me just before the ceremony began, Warwick snarled at my audacity and threatened to tear my presumptuous garments off my back.

I stood my ground and smiled back at him. “And I thought you weren’t interested!”

He lunged at me then and it was all Edward, Pembroke, and Richmond could do to keep The Black Dog from murdering me right there in Westminster Abbey. Then the fanfare sounded and we frantically rushed to find our places.

As I began to lead the long stately procession down the aisle, Edward reached out a leg from beneath his weighty velvet and ermine robes and playfully kicked my backside.

“That is for daring to flirt with The Black Dog!” he whispered.

“Forsooth, My Lord, do not scold me for that; you know I am very fond of dogs!”

Pembroke cleared his throat reprovingly, but Edward ignored him, and I glanced back at him and winked.

“It is heaven to watch you walk! Verily, you do not walk, you glide like an angel!” Edward whispered ardently.

“Aye, a fallen angel!” I quipped.

Afterwards, in the banquet hall, fresh horrors awaited us. The old rushes had not been swept out and new sweet-smelling ones strewn in their place. Verily, I loathe rushes and they cannot be changed often enough to suit me; in my private rooms I always have carpets upon the floors. Men and dogs alike relieve their bodily needs, and food falls, by accident or intent, into the rushes, causing vile odors and attracting all manner of vermin. I nearly fainted when I beheld the state of the rushes in the banquet hall. They raised such a noxious stink that I felt my stomach turn as if it were an acrobat.

And though we sat expectantly round the long trestle table there was no food for us to eat even though we were more than three hours late. When, at last, the food was carried in, it was cold as death and either overcooked until it was black and hard as stone or underdone to the point of being bloody and raw. The elaborate marzipan subtleties had collapsed so none could discern their intended shape. And the roast swan, re-dressed in its snowy feathers, lay limp as if its neck had just been wrung rather than sitting regal and proud upon its silver platter. And there were hardly any servers to wait on us. Those who were there moved as if they had lead weights in their heels and were clumsy as buffoons, stumbling and spilling food and wine upon the guests and knocking the ladies’ tall headdresses awry or entangling the serving spoons and carving knives in their veils.

I sat beside Edward, smoldering with anger and struggling to hold back my tears. All around me people were whispering that I had scrimped on the arrangements for my own enrichment. It pained me deeply for nothing could be further from the truth. A coronation comes only once in the life of a king, and I would not have robbed Edward of that glory. I wanted it to be as special and flawless as the most perfect pearl, and I wanted him to be proud of me for arranging it all so splendidly! I lifted an eel from the platter before me and found it so raw I would not have been surprised to see it thrashing on my fork. With a sigh I let it fall and sat back feeling sick.

Edward noticed my silence, it was so unlike me; usually at table I am all smiles and merry wit, and he would not let me be until he knew the cause.

“But my darling,” he exclaimed when I had at last unburdened myself, “whatever do you mean? Everything is perfect! You are here! And as for the food,” he glanced down at the untouched mutton oozing blood on his golden plate, “it was so clever of you to arrange to have us served a cold supper! You must forgive me if I abstain, but all the excitement of this glorious day has robbed me of my appetite! And to have buffoons masquerade as servers! That was not clever—it was brilliant! Ha! Ha! Look! See how that one has dropped the gilded calf’s head in Lancaster’s lap!”

He lied so sweetly, and with such love and sincerity, that tears filled my eyes.

“Oh Piers, please be happy!” he pleaded as tears rolled down my face.

And then he took me in his arms, and even though we were surrounded by courtiers, foreign dignitaries, servants, and our own wives, he kissed me long, deep, and passionately.

It meant so much to me, his declaration that all was perfect, the way his lies transformed a disaster into a delight, that all my pretense at discretion crumpled and I melted in his arms and returned his kiss wholeheartedly.

We were both oblivious to the appalled gasps that echoed round the table. Even the musicians stopped and stared at us.

By the time the banquet ended we were very drunk, on wine and each other. Our progress down the passageway to Edward’s bedchamber was marked by hungry kisses and fumbling hands clawing impatiently at our clothes, tearing them in our haste to be rid of them. Pearls fell like hail onto the flagstones as Edward tore at my purple velvet tunic, even resorting to his teeth and jewel-studded dagger to free my flesh. We left our clothes where they fell, heedless of what those who saw the trail of tattered garments might think. At last, we reached his chamber, slammed the door behind us, and fell as one onto the bed, casting the last remnants of our clothes—or more aptly rags—onto the floor.

That night was … to describe it as amazing does not begin to do it justice! A revelation perhaps? Never before had I been so much in love with Edward, and to this day nothing has ever surpassed, or even matched, it. Before I had always been the passive participant in our passion; I let Edward make love to me. But this night was different; I was wild to make love to him. My desire knew no bounds; it was like a cauldron boiling over.

Edward was astonished at my ardor.

“My love, I do not know what has wrought this change in you, but if it has anything to do with the banquet … henceforth I want you to plan every one!”

I took his face between my hands and kissed him. “It is not the banquet, Edward, it’s you!”

Later, when we were resting between bouts of frenzied lovemaking, we heard footsteps and voices in the corridor. I recognized Warwick’s voice just before a heavy object thudded hard onto the floor. He had slipped upon my pearls.

“Curse Piers Gaveston!” he roared, prompting Edward to bolt up in bed and shout: “You mean the Earl of Cornwall!” He had decreed that everyone was to call me such and he expected to be obeyed.

I laughed and pulled him back down into the bed, silencing him with my kisses.

I awoke later to find Isabelle standing over me in her elegant night-robes of icy blue and white silk with her white-blonde hair unbound. The light of her candle cast a golden halo about her face, ghostly pale and wet with tears, as she watched me sleeping in her husband’s arms.

Before my eyes, I saw her harden; I watched the heart of a young and eager girl who had fallen in love with her husband at first glance grow hard as stone. All the warmth within her withered and died; like frost forming on a beautiful white rose. And I knew I had made an enemy. Our eyes met. It was a declaration of war, a duel to the death, and Edward, slumbering peacefully and obliviously with his arms about me, was its cause.

In the gray light of dawn I slipped softly from Edward’s room and encountered the Earl of Warwick in the passageway. Had The Black Dog been lying in wait for me?

“So,” he looked me up and down, “now that the coronation is over you see fit to robe yourself in gold.”

He was referring to the breach of etiquette I had committed by disdaining the requisite cloth-of-gold in favor of the royal purple, and also to the opulent fur-trimmed gold brocade dressing gown I was at that moment warmly enveloped in.

“His Majesty was kind enough to lend me this robe as I seem to have lost my clothes.”

“Yes,” Warwick nodded, “and we all know how you lost them. Here at court we are all too accustomed to such disgusting displays, but the Queen’s relatives were appalled.”

“Indeed? Verily, My Lord, I am surprised! The French are accounted such a sensual and worldly race!”

“And what of your wife, Piers Gaveston?” he continued, pointedly ignoring Edward’s edict. “How will you explain your absence last night to her, I wonder?”

I smoothed my rumpled hair as I considered this. “I shall simply say that I was unavoidably detained. Now if you will excuse me, My Lord, my feet are cold,” I indicated my bare feet. “And,” I yawned, “I am rather tired; I hardly got any sleep last night!” And I continued on down the corridor, now cleared of our clothes, to my chamber where I fell exhausted into bed.

I was awakened a few hours later by the tentative touch of Meg’s hand. And it was with great trepidation that I rolled over and sat up to face her.

She could not even look at me. Instead she sat with her eyes downcast, repeatedly clasping and unclasping her hands as they lay in her lap and her tears dripped down on them.

“Is it true? Is it true what they say … about you … and Uncle Edward?”

There was really nothing to be gained by lying, so I told the truth.

“Yes, my sweet Meg, it is. I am sorry. It was never my intention to hurt you.”

She shook her head uncomprehendingly and there was such pain in her eyes.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” I reached out and gently tilted up her chin. “There is something I would have you understand—the love I feel for Edward takes nothing from the love I feel for you.”

“Then you do love me?” I saw her hope bloom anew and it pained me to my very depths.

“Yes,” I answered as I caressed her face. “Who told you, my sweet? About Edward and I?”

“The Queen. I was sitting with her and her ladies. We were sewing and Her Majesty said that though she commended my fortitude she personally found the situation intolerable and would not be able to follow my example. I did not understand, and she … explained. I … I had seen you kiss last night at table, but I … I did not understand! And all the French ladies laughed and called me ‘the dear innocent,’ though I do not think I am dear to them at all!”

“Well you are very dear to me!” I assured her. “And you must not heed what they say; your innocence is far more beautiful than their worldliness can ever be! Never lose it, Meg! Never envy the French ladies, or anyone else, their sophistication. It is bought at the expense of the goodness we are all born with and chips away at it little by little until there is nothing left. Be innocent and good, Meg, do

not end up like them—or me.”

“But I think you are wonderful!” she cried, flinging her arms around me.

“See?” I nodded. “It is because you have such a good heart! Truly I do not deserve you, and you deserve a husband far better than I!”

“No!” Meg insisted, clinging to me. “I would not have anyone else for the world!”

“My darling, you cannot mean that, but I thank you for it just the same.” I kissed her tenderly. “Now that you know the truth, can you truly abide with it?”

Meg sat for a moment deep in thought then nodded and began to speak slowly, choosing her words with care. “I know little about these things, Piers, and I cannot pretend to like it or even to understand, but, if you love me, I am content. I come but little to court, my life is in the country, the solitude suits me, and there none would ever speak of this to me. It is only at the court that people are so unkind. And now that I know the truth I would rather not dwell upon it. I know I cannot forget it, but I would rather not think of it either.”

“I understand,” I said gently, taking her hand in mine, “but, my darling, we cannot always govern our thoughts, often they come unbidden to our mind and are like to lodge there despite all our attempts to banish them. And if, in time, you find that you cannot suffer this and would rather seek an end to our marriage I shall do everything I can to assist you.”

Meg shook her head. “It shall not come to that. And now, my husband, I shall leave you to your rest.” And, shyly, she kissed my cheek and left me.