The Confession of Piers Gaveston (6 page)

“My darling, how could I ever have doubted you?” Edward, instantly mollified, sighed as he reached for me.

“Verily, I do not know,” I said sulkily, “but you did! Nay, touch me not!” I laid a hand upon his chest and shoved him lightly, and most unconvincingly, away. “I am angry with you! You haven’t said a word about my new tunic, and I had it made special just to please you! Observe the color, it is cornflower blue, the exact same shade as your eyes; I like having your eyes upon me.”

“It is beautiful,” he said. “Forgive me if I did not notice it before, it was only because its wearer is so beautiful that beholding him blinds me to all else.” He reached for me again and this time I relented and let him embrace me. “Will you dismiss your servants now?”

“I think I had better,” I said and gestured for them to depart, which they did with knowing smiles.

“How could I ever have doubted anyone so beautiful?” Edward sighed. “Ah, Piers, I am a fool!”

I was tempted to say: “Yes, you are!” but I held my tongue.

Can he really not know that beauty and sincerity do not go hand-in-hand and having one is no guarantee of the other?

THREE MONTHS APART
 

“One moment without you is like one thousand years!” Edward, signing himself “Lovelorn Ned,” wrote in one of the many ardent letters he bombarded me with.

Instead of back to Gascony, I had gone to Ponthieu, not as its master, but to spend my exile in princely fashion at his estate of Crécy. Edward had seen me off at Dover, deluging me with tears and gifts, and a quartet of guards, ostensibly to keep me safe, but really to serve as Edward’s spies.

I missed him, yet a part of me welcomed the separation. I was two-and-twenty and had been some six years constantly in Edward’s company. I needed to feel free again; to be able to move without Edward’s arms instantly reaching out for me.

While we were apart, Edward wept, gnawed his nails until they bled, spent sleepless nights tossing restlessly upon his bed, and had his physician apply leeches to his temples, but nothing could keep him from brooding about my fidelity, or lack thereof. I daresay he had just cause to doubt me. While I have always been faithful to Edward in my fashion, like fashion I am hardly ever constant. And yet it was Edward who, upon pages so blotted by tears I could hardly read them, confessed that he had been untrue and begged for my forgiveness.

Poor Nedikins, it seems that in my absence the King had assigned a new tutor to him and the brothels of London became their schoolroom. Maude Makejoy, a lewd strumpet from the stews of London, was hired to dance naked before him and then teach him the proper ways of carnal love. Poor Edward! At last, to appease his fearsome father, and put an end to these tawdry and loathsome excursions, he took a lady of the court as his mistress and her womb soon quickened with his son. Nine months later, Edward had the boy christened Adam then did his best to forget all about him and banished the lady to a convent. But the old King was pleased, although he did not live to see this baseborn grandson; Edward had proven himself capable of siring offspring and that was all that mattered.

Of course, I readily forgave him; in my eyes there was nothing to forgive. I knew that Edward would be king one day and to fulfill his destiny he must marry and beget heirs to assure the succession. So why should I weep when he only did what was required?

Three months later a messenger in royal livery came galloping through the gates.

“Hie you to London, my dearest love, as fast as sea and horses can carry thee!” Edward implored dramatically. “My father is deceased and I am now King, though it is you who rules my heart, and I need you here beside me.”

I arrived in London a week later to find myself created Earl of Cornwall and engaged to marry Edward’s niece, neither of which I had been expecting.

REUNION
 

For our reunion I wanted intimacy without ceremony. We would sup alone on roast chicken, freshly baked bread slathered with honey and sweet butter, and fruit, I decided, and I issued orders that the servers should withdraw after setting the table.

After my bath, Agnes massaged me with perfumed oils, and I donned a magnificent swirl-patterned tunic of silver and sapphire blue and hose of dark blue silk embellished with exquisite silver embroidery. Sapphires and diamonds twinkled all over me, even on the long narrow, tapering toes of my fashionable pointy shoes.

As I stood before my mirror, Agnes and Dragon assured me that Edward was certain to be enthralled. And he was! He came to me with open arms and would have led me straight to bed, but I made him wait.

We sat down to dine and the servers hastily withdrew, leaving us alone at last.

“I missed you,” I said softly, reaching across the table to lay my hand lightly over his.

“Did you?” Edward asked, tilting the silver goblet in his hand as if he were a prospective buyer scrutinizing the workmanship. “Who is Lord Roderic of Spain? And why did you give him a silver cup?”

“As a remembrance; he was my guest for a fortnight and I greatly enjoyed his company.”

“I see,” Edward nodded gravely, “and did he enjoy yours?”

“Verily, I do believe he did!”

“Did you sleep with him?” Edward slammed the goblet down with such force that the red wine sloshed out to stain his cuffs and drench his fingers.

“Sleep?” I decided to take him literally. “No, Nedikins, of course not!”

And I did not lie! Lord Roderic of Spain was a man who understood the meaning of discretion, and he was always careful to leave my bed after our business was concluded lest he fall asleep and the morning light, and the servants, find him there. Our affair was conducted with great dignity and decorum. We were discreet even though Edward’s spies obviously found out. But that is what they were paid to do, and it is a very poor spy indeed who fails to discover something. So Edward got his money’s worth, as did Lord Roderic, and they both had me to thank!

“You are certain?” Edward queried doubtfully. “You did not sleep with Lord Roderic?”

“Edward,” I answered irritably, “if it will make you happy, I shall swear upon the Bible that I was wide awake every moment I spent with Lord Roderic!”

“Oh Perrot!” he sighed as all his suspicions and fears melted away. “You would do that for me?”

“Yes, of course I would!” I said brightly.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and dearest Nedikins was too overcome to speak. And I decided it would be best for all concerned if we went to bed without delay, before he thought to ask me about the night the Bishop of Durham came to dinner and ended up staying for breakfast.

AN EARLDOM AND A WIFE
 

And so it began, the deluge, the embarrassment of riches that Edward wantonly and recklessly showered upon me almost daily—money, jewels, clothes, horses, titles, castles, wardships, levies, licenses, tariffs, and lands. Edward gave everything to me, and by doing so he made his nobles, the great families that are the backbone of England, despise me as an usurper, an upstart, and a thief.

They likened me to a foul and poisonous mushroom flourishing overnight upon a dung-heap. And, in truth, I cannot fault them for saying it; Edward’s largesse and my rapid rise lent credence to this impression. Everyone conveniently forgot that I was wellborn and that my father had given his life and sacrificed his fortune in the service of Edward’s father, but everyone remembered that my mother had been burned as a witch. And the fact that I was born in Gascony certainly did not help matters. We Gascons have a reputation little better than gypsies, nigh all Englishmen think us lazy, shiftless, lying, quarrelsome, braggarts; wastrels, drunkards, troublemakers, and thieves, flamboyant in both dress and manner, good for nothing, and dishonest to the core.

They also hated me for my saucy wit. To them I am irreverent and brazen. I parry their insults with jests and witticisms and these are taken up and repeated by others and have the tendency to stick like the most tenacious mud. I sometimes think my tongue is my own worst enemy. I am apt to forget that I do not enjoy the immunity of the official Court Fool who, like a good shepherd tending his flock, may freely mock his betters to ward them away from the sin of pride. I have a terrible habit of speaking without pausing to consider first the consequences.

And of course, there was the matter of sodomy, the vilest sin in society’s eyes. Edward made no attempt to conceal his passion for me; he flaunted it openly. It is one of those truths that society prefers to leave unsaid, but such affairs betwixt men are commonplace, though they are most often conducted in secrecy and shame, shrouded in the fear of discovery, public condemnation, and eternal damnation. Sodomy may be a burning offense, but we live in a world of men where women are relegated to hearth and home. Men spend months together in long, arduous military campaigns where women are not always readily available to satisfy their carnal needs. For some it is an act of nature, for others it is a mere necessity, but as long as the men involved comport themselves discreetly and fulfill their obligations to family and society, nothing is ever said, and to their amours all eyes feign blindness. But Edward would not let them pretend, he reveled in his love for me; he wanted everyone to know and see.

Soon it was being said that I was the true power behind the throne. Verily, it is a bitter jest! I am Edward’s “Principal Provider of Entertainment” and entertainment is all he expects of me. I often think that between the two of us I am the only one who realizes that I have a brain. Edward greets my attempts to discuss serious matters with laughter and an indulgent smile. He laughs, kisses me, pats me on the hand or knee, and tells me that such matters are not for one as beautiful as me. Statecraft, science, and philosophy, he says, will wither my beauty, line my brow, and make my poor head ache. “Just be beautiful, Piers,” he says, “do not tax yourself talking of taxes!”

But it was Edward’s gift of the earldom of Cornwall that, more than anything else, turned the nobility against me. The elevation of a commoner—or a whore to put it bluntly—to such a degree was unprecedented.

Leading the pack were the earls of Warwick, Lancaster, Pembroke, and Lincoln, or “The Black Dog,” “The Buffoon,” “Joseph the Jew,” and “Burstbelly,” as I mischievously dubbed them at a banquet one night to amuse Edward. Sad to say, the good earls are sorely lacking in humor, for which I did respectfully don mourning the next day, and even as I write this, they still have not forgiven me for those naughty, but apt, little nicknames.

They opposed my being made earl for two reasons. Firstly, I am a landless foreigner, an upstart unworthy of even the smallest of the honors Edward has given me. And secondly, Cornwall, with its lucrative tin mines and lavish income of £4,000 per annum, has always been in royal hands.

Nedikins foresaw their objections and before I even set foot in London had, to his mind at least, resolved all the difficulties.

If Cornwall must be in royal hands, then royal I must become, hence my betrothal to his niece, Margaret de Clare, a sweet young maiden of thirteen. To Edward it was as simple as that. But the peers of the realm were appalled. The King’s niece was too lofty a match to be thrown away on a Gascon nobody! To which Edward replied I was no longer a nobody as he had just created me Earl of Cornwall. As for my being a Gascon, well there was nothing anyone could do about that!

As you can surely see, we are going round in circles: I am married to Margaret to make me worthy of the earldom, and made Earl of Cornwall to make me worthy of Margaret.

Furthermore, Edward decreed that henceforth none should address or refer to me as Piers Gaveston ever again, I was to be known only as the Earl of Cornwall, and for anyone to disregard this edict would be a sure way of incurring his displeasure. Poor Edward, he doesn’t realize it, but no one gives a fig whether he is displeased, and what little respect his subjects have for him dwindles daily; in Scotland they boast that they fear the old king’s bones more than they do his living heir! As for myself, I could not possibly care less whether they call me Earl of Cornwall or not, there are far worse things they can, have, and do, call me than Piers Gaveston, and, after all, it is my name!

Edward also chose to exact vengeance upon Walter Langton whose tattling tongue had led to my temporary banishment. He dismissed him from his post as Treasurer, sent him in chains to the Tower of London, and confiscated all his goods and treasures and gave them to me. Naturally, everyone thought I was behind it.

It was at this time that our quarrels began in earnest and I realized that our joyous, carefree days were done.

“Do you not see, Edward?” I railed, pacing back and forth before his desk where he sat signing papers, or trying to; I fear my body garbed in black silk fantastically embroidered with scarlet was proving too much of a distraction for him. “They say I use you, and those who hear them believe!”

“Use me then, my darling!” Edward cried magnanimously. “I don’t care!”

“But I do! Edward, try to understand; your generosity exceeds all reason and makes me appear what everyone thinks me—a Gascon upstart, a leech feasting on the blood of England! No commoner has ever been raised up so high and quickly! They say I am forgetful of my place!”

“Your place is right here with me!” Edward smiled, sat back in his chair, and patted his thigh. “And don’t you dare forget it or I shall be very cross indeed!”

“This is no jesting matter!” I persisted. “The most powerful men in the realm have sworn themselves my enemies! Warwick swears to make my death his life’s work! And your cousin Tom of Lancaster thinks I have stolen his destiny; the life that should have been his! Before you elevated me, he was second only to you in wealth and lands and thought it his right, his due, by both prominence and blood, to be the man who sits closest to you as your most trusted advisor, and now he has been bumped down to third because of me!”

“Oh a pox on Cousin Tom!” Edward rolled his eyes. “I would not trust him to tell me what shoes to put on in the morning! But this is all nonsense! Do not be absurd, Perrot, no one hates you! How could they hate anyone so beautiful?”

“Apparently it poses no difficulty for them! Do not sweep aside my concerns, Edward, as if I were some simpleton who thinks the earth made of marzipan! I speak as I find! And must you always go on about how beautiful I am? Do you not know that there is more to me than just a pretty face?”

“Of course there is, my darling!” Edward smiled indulgently. “You have an exquisite body as well as a beautiful face!”

Seething with fury, I turned on my heel and stormed from the room with Edward hot on my heels, wondering what he could have possibly said to upset me.

“I am fluent in four languages, Edward, I write an elegant hand, I have an excellent grasp of mathematics, and,” I added, just before I slammed the door in his face and shot the bolt, “Lord Roderic taught me a smattering of Spanish; he said I have a very quick and agile mind!”

“He did!” Edward gasped. “These wily Spaniards will say anything to get what they desire! Surely you were not deceived? Were you? Piers! Answer me!” He pounded insistently upon the door. “Piers! I am the King and I command you to open this door! Piers! Do you hear me? Piers! Ouch! This door is damnably thick! Piers! Do not make me summon men-at-arms with a battering ram!”

Agnes was sewing by the fire and she looked up questioningly when I came in, kicked off my shoes, and threw myself onto the bed.

Blanche, my precious white greyhound, raised her sleek head and regarded me from her basket where she lay on a cushion of red velvet that perfectly matched the ruby collar glittering round her fair neck. I whistled to her and she came bounding up onto the bed to burrow into my arms and lick my face.

“A lover’s quarrel, Child?” Agnes inquired, setting aside her sewing and coming to sit beside me.

“A quarrel, yes, but whether love has anything to do with it I really cannot say!” I raised my voice so Edward would be sure to hear me. “Nay,” I added softly, shaking my head, “I can say. I know I love him, but … time and familiarity have not restored him to his former self. Now that he is King he dotes and fawns on me and showers me with gifts that make everyone despise me! Before he came to my bed I felt loved, now I feel bought. With the others it didn’t matter, that was business, I rendered a service and was paid well for it, but I don’t want to feel that way with Edward. Before Edward I felt nothing, now I feel too much. I should have known better than to open my heart, but he pried it open; he was so sweet and sincere, so open and trusting, so childlike and innocent in his ways; I could not help but love him! But when innocence is lost it is gone forever and what takes root in its place isn’t always good or pretty. Edward lacks insight, I’ve known that from the start, he never sees past surfaces, he takes everyone and everything at face value, and when he discovered lust through my body, he forgot everything else except carnal pleasure and what his eyes see. I often think that, to him, I have ceased to exist as a person and have become instead only a favored and beautiful bauble he wants to have about him all the time, as if I were a chain of gold or a diamond ring possessing neither feelings nor soul, only a beguiling sparkle that fascinates and pleases the eye! I often wonder what would happen if I became disfigured, through accident or disease. I am a trained soldier and I compete often in tournaments. Accidents happen; men are wounded in battle, I have seen it with my own eyes. Would he still love me then or would he cast me aside in disgust? And someday, I will be old.” Blanche nuzzled my neck and whimpered to be petted. “At least you will always love me, Blanche, no matter what I look like,” I said, hugging her.

“So will I, Child! Piers,” Agnes reached out and tilted my chin up so I would meet her eyes, “you do know that?”

“That is the one thing I have never doubted!” I assured her, and, taking her hand from beneath my chin, I kissed the palm.

“And he loves you too, Child,” she continued, “but his eyes are easily dazzled. But, if you are truly unhappy, there is no reason we cannot leave and seek our fortune elsewhere. You are my own precious child—I could not love you more if I had given birth to you—and I would not see you miserable for the world! And this is not the life you should have had!”

“But I have made the best of it,” I smiled and gently tucked a stray wisp of gray hair back inside her wimple, “and I shall continue to do so. What other lover could keep me even half as well as the King of England? Experience has made me rich, and this is my crowning achievement! Do not worry for my sake, Agnes, I

will be fine.”

Edward’s banging took on a renewed vengeance.

“Piers! Open this door! Christ’s Blood, my hands will be bruised black and blue from knocking!”

“Well said, Nedikins!” I shouted. “No one could resist a plea as tender and loving as that!”

Edward fell silent for a moment then called sweetly: “Perrot! Please open the door; it is your Nedikins who loves and wants to see you!”

I stood up, stepped into my shoes, and snatched up my hat—a soft black velvet cap with a jaunty red plume—and snapped my fingers for Blanche. I lingered a moment beside the door to take a deep breath and brace myself before I unlocked and opened it.

Edward greeted me with open arms and a broad smile. And around him, to both left and right, a large audience of curious and appalled courtiers and servants had gathered.

“I am taking Blanche out for a run in the garden,” I announced, shunning his embrace. “The performance is over!” I added for the benefit of our audience. “Pass the cap, why don’t you?” I suggested tartly, taking my cap off and thrusting it at Edward. And, without a backward glance, I sauntered briskly down the corridor.

When I returned to my room I found my cap lying on the bed. Edward had filled it with gold coins. And there was a note: “If I visit you tonight will you be sweet to me?”

An hour in the palace gardens romping with Blanche had cooled my temper and I laughed merrily and rang the bell to summon a pageboy. By this point in my life, I was surrounded by so many pageboys that I felt like I was shepherd to a flock of green and yellow sheep. Edward chooses them for me himself; he thinks it a grand sight to see them wait upon me. All of them are little green-eyed blonde-haired boys clad in my green and yellow livery, the better to contrast my black hair and dark eyes. He chooses them then is consumed with worry that I might succumb to the temptation to take these golden-haired lads to bed. It is a wonder, Agnes says, that jealousy hasn’t gnawed holes in his stomach. Actually, there is no foundation for his fears; they do not tempt me at all, I have never lusted after children’s flesh. But I don’t tell Nedikins that; I refuse to give him the satisfaction or the peace of mind.