The Follies of the King - Plaidy Jean (мир бесплатных книг .TXT) 📗

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‘Banish Gaveston!’ That was what they wanted.

They were too strong for him. It was: Gaveston must go or civil war!

Was ever a King so plagued? They would rob him of the most important

thing on earth to him and he, the King, who could have commanded them all!

The barons should have been allowed to become so powerful. They had

forced his great grandfather King John to sign the Magna Carta and ever since then it was not so much the King who ruled the country as the barons.

Civil war. He contemplated it. It would be insupportable. He pictured

himself and Perrot flying before them, being captured by them and then what would they do to Perrot? They would kill him as a traitor. That was what they wanted to do. Banishment was the better alternative. At least he would know that Perrot was alive and awaiting the moment when he could return.

He tried to resist but it was useless. They were bent on Perrot’s leaving the country. How he argued; he even pleaded. They were adamant. Gaveston must

go.

It was Gaveston who tried to comfort him.

My friend, he wrote, if they banish me, I shall be back. Do you think they can keep us apart forever? No, we will overcome this as we have those other occasions. Be of good cheer, my dear lord.

It was no use. He was desolate.

The barons had given their ultimatum. Gaveston must leave the country by

the first of November or face arrest.

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Isabella was with the King again. She was cool but did not reproach him.

She was so eager to have a child that she was prepared to set aside her anger at his treatment of her. One day she would be revenged on him, but it was clear that that time was not yet. It was no use writing to her father and complaining.

He had no time to listen to her. He was too busy with his own concerns; he was continuing with his persecution of the Templars and Jacques de Molai was still his prisoner awaiting the sentence of death from the Pope.

Still she must make herself sufficiently pleasant to her husband to assure his visiting her bedchamber now and then. It was irksome, humiliating in the

extreme but of course necessary.

Edward himself was constantly looking for messengers who would bring

him news of his dear Perrot. What was he doing now? Who was benefiting from his sparkling wit and the sheer joy of looking at his handsome graceful form?

Was there anything he could do to help his beloved friend? He had been

forbidden to go to Gascony by those harsh barons so he so he would be

wandering about in France not knowing where he was going to find refuge. The King of France would not help him. He must have heard evil reports of him

from Isabella. He could hardly blame Isabella for her attitude towards Gaveston.

He must be fair to her. She had been as good a wife as he could expect. He was ready to admit that his passion for Perrot must be a trial to her. That was why whenever he could bring himself to do so he would spend time with her. He

would be as delighted as she was to hear that she was with child. That would salve his conscience considerably.

What could she do to ease his sorrow? He thought continually of Perrot and those places where they had been together and he made a habit of visiting them and trying to recapture those happy times.

Wallingford! How often they had been together there in that ancient castle on the west bank of the Thames. He had always been fond of it since he had heard as a child that his great ancestor William the Conqueror had been invited there by the Saxon, Wigod, who owned it, to receive the homage of the principle nobles before marching to London.

Perrot had loved the place. It was here that he had excelled at that never-to-be-forgotten tournament when he had so humiliated the champions that they had never forgiven him.

Christmas would soon be upon him. How dreary it would be without Perrot!

There was a gentle tap at the door. He called permission to enter. He stared.

He could not believe his eyes. Then the wild joy took possession of him.

‘Perrot!’

‘None less,’ exclaimed Gaveston. ‘Once again I faced perils to be with my

lord.’

They were in each other’s arms and Edward was trembling with the wild joy

which possessed him.

‘So you came home to me. Oh Perrot, Perrot, friend!’

‘I am no wanderer, Edward. I want to be with my dear King. I care for

nothing? as long as we are together.’

‘Perrot, what will they say? What will they do?’

‘That is for tomorrow,’ said Perrot blithely.

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He kept him with him. They could not bear to be separated. Perrot could

stay away no longer. Where would he go, even if it were possible to be happy away from his King? Holland? France? The first bored him and he was hardly welcomed by the Queen’s father. Gascony, his native land, was denied him. He ground his teeth to remember all the treasure he had stored safely away in Gascony. But this was not the true answer. It was the need to be with his

beloved King which had made him face the anger of those dreary barons in

order to be with him.

What could they do? There would be trouble when it was known that he was

back. He had been ordered to leave and had given his word that he would.

‘For you, my King, I would break a thousand oaths,’ said Gaveston.

‘And I for you, dear friend.’

The Queen was incensed when she heard that Gaveston had returned. She

came to Wallingford and burst in upon the King. Fortunately it was one of those moments when Gaveston was not with him.

‘Gaveston is mad,’ she cried. ‘The barons have ordered him out of the

country.’

‘The barons will have to accept the fact that he has returned.’

‘Edward, do you want to plunge this country into civil war?’

‘You are too dramatic, Isabella. There cannot be war because one man

returns to this country when they want him out of it.’

‘There can be,’ said Isabella, ‘and there will be.’

She thought of her recent ride through London and how the people had

cheered her. Isabella the Fair, they called her. They loved to see her bright beauty and they were indignant because the King ignored her. They could not understand how he could prefer that mincing friend of his to his beautiful Queen. They loved Isabella the more as their hatred for Gaveston grew. Oddly enough they did not blame the King so much as Gaveston. Perhaps if he had

been less handsome, less tall, less like his father, they might have done. But Edward was their anointed King, his father’s legacy to them and they wanted him to remain their King but to behave as his father had.

Isabella knew that she had the people with her. What she wanted was a

son? a son who should look like his grandfather and then the people would

rally to him, and in charge of him would naturally be his mother. Perhaps then Isabella could pay back some of the insults she had had to accept from Edward and Gaveston.

But it was not to be yet. How could she become pregnant when her

husband’s attentions were so sporadic? They slept together only for duty on his part, ambition on hers. One day, she promised herself, she would have a lover who would match his passionate nature with hers. But first she must get her child. She longed for it; she prayed for it; and it was the only reason why she suppressed her contempt and hatred for her husband.

In a measure, she exulted in Gaveston’s return, for in coming back, he

defied the barons and the Archbishop of Canterbury. She knew that none of

them would meekly accept such blatant contempt for his word. Trouble was

brewing for Gaveston and if he and the King were too infatuated with each other to see it, let them frivol away the hours for a while before their fate overtook them.