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

How she despised him— his eyes red with weeping, his stupid babbling

about the virtues of Gaveston. Gaveston had no virtue. All he had was a talent for self-aggrandizement and he was not even clever enough for that, for all that he had had a few years run he had ended without his head on Blacklow Hill.

Edward said to her: ‘To kill him so. To treat him thus. Oh Isabella? I

cannot bear my life without him.’

She stroked his hair. What a fool he was! Like a girl. But he was indeed

handsome. Who would have believed that those strong golden looks? inherited from his father? should disguise such a girlish nature. A poor weak creature masquerading as a king.

He should be her puppet now. She had powerful friends. Lancaster was

undoubtedly one and when the child was born if it were a boy? She willed it to be a boy. And if not? Then she must get more and more until she had her boy.

‘What can I do without him, Isabella? You know what he meant to me?’

She said: ‘He should be given a decent burial. Why do you not have his

body taken to Kings Langley? You have constantly spoken of the happy days

you shared there with him in your boyhood.’

He seized her hands. ‘Oh, Isabella, you are good to me. You give me

courage. You give me hope.’

Inwardly she laughed. You fool. Don’t you know that I hate him more than any of them? He had earned Warwick’s enmity by sneering at him and calling him the Mad Hound of Arden. He maddened others with his serpent’s tongue.

But none was humiliated as much as you have humiliated me, and I shall remember even as those barons did.

‘Well then,’ she said. ‘let us consider his tomb and should not prayers be said for his soul? Remember,’ she added maliciously, ‘he died with all his sins upon him.’

‘Gaveston will charm the angels. He need have no fear.’

‘They may not share your tendencies, Edward,’ she said sharply. Then she

added quickly: ‘It would be well to have masses said for his soul. I am sure you see what I mean.’

‘It shall be done. Oh Isabella, it must be done quickly. Nothing? simply

nothing must be forgotten.’

“We will arrange it together,’ she said.

‘I will have Lancaster’s head for this.’

‘You must be watchful of Lancaster, Edward. He is the most powerful man

in the country.’

‘But I am the King, Isabella. Have you forgotten that?’

‘Not I. But others might. Much as you loved Gaveston, the people did not.’

‘They were fed lies.’

‘Oh they liked not his influence with you. Barons like Warwick and

Lancaster were determined he should die. He should never have come back.’

‘Oh, no, no. If he had not, he would still be alive.’

‘Now he shall rest peacefully in Kings Langley. Edward, the barons are

ready to rise against you. You will have to be careful with Lancaster.’

‘Lancaster! I will have his head.’

‘Your own cousin. He is popular with the people.’

‘I must remind you again, Isabella, that I am the King.’

‘Kings fall. Remember your grandfather Henry. There was a time when

Simon de Montfort made him a prisoner. Your great-grandfather John was in

even worse plight.’

‘I wish people would not always talk of those two. Look at my father. Men

trembled at the sight of him and the sound of his voice.’

‘Edward, you are not your father.’

He was silent. Even the mention of the old man could subdue him still.

‘Listen,’ she said. ‘Pembroke and Warenne are disgusted with Warwick,

Hereford and Arundel. Pembroke moans that he was forced to break his word

and he fears he will lose his estates to you.’

‘He should have taken more care.’

‘He should indeed. Bind Pembroke to you, Edward. Don’t you see that this

split between the barons can be your salvation? Pembroke and Lancaster are engaged in a feud which is greater than that between you and Lancaster.’

‘Nothing could be greater than that. I regard Lancaster as Perrot’s murderer.’

‘Yes, yes. But Pembroke is a powerful man. The people admire him. And

because of what has happened he will be with you? not against you. Don’t you see, this has not turned out so badly. Oh, I beg of you, do not start again on the virtues of Gaveston. We must put that behind us. Give him the best burial we can and a good chance in heaven by exhortations to the saints. Let us set up our candles and let prayers be said for his soul, but Gaveston is gone and we are here.’

Even as they were talking, messengers came hurrying to the King from

Pembroke. Lancaster, Hereford, and Warwick were marching on London. They

knew full well that the King would want to take action against them and they were taking action first.

Isabella smiled secretly. Lancaster was a bold man. This was not the time

however to depose Edward. Her child must be born first. He must have a son, a symbol, a new King before the old one was set aside.

Gloucester was without. An earnest young man and loyal to the king. He

knelt and kissed Edward’s hand.

‘Well, cousin?’ asked Edward.

‘My lord, Lancaster marches on London. He has strong support. He must not

be allowed into the city.

‘Let him come,’ retorted Edward. ‘I would have his head. I would show him

what I feel for him now that he has robbed me of my best friend.’

Gloucester said: ‘If he came to London there could be civil war. Let the

gates be closed my lord and warn the Londoners to be on guard.’

Isabella interrupted: ‘Our cousin is right, Edward. This is no time for

conflict.’

So it was done and Lancaster himself was somewhat relieved that there

should not be open conflict. Now there would be conferences between the

barons which could last for weeks and meanwhile the King could subdue his

grief and perhaps forget his ire; and it might well be that the difficult situation could be eased somewhat. It was hardly likely that the King would ever forgive the murderers of his beloved Gaveston but it was always better to let matters settle down before rash action was taken.

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The Queen had gone to Windsor for her lying in. At last the waiting was

over and her desire to hold her child in her arms obsessed her.

She had chosen Windsor for the birth. It was one of her favorite palaces as it had been for Queen Eleanor who had brought the children there because she had thought the draughtiness of the Tower of London was bad for their health.

Isabella now lay in her bed and thought of how her life would be changed

when this child was born. If it were a boy, everything would have been

worthwhile.

Her pains were beginning. She welcomed them. She was praying to the

Virgin, who should intercede for women.

‘Oh Holy Mary, give me a son. I have waited long. I have suffered

humiliation which has been hard to bear for a woman of my proud nature.

Please give me my son.’

Pain engulfed her. She did not shrink from it. Anything? anything but give me my son.

She lost consciousness and was aroused to the sound of voices about her.

Then? the cry of a child.

She heard someone say, ‘Look, the Queen opens her eyes.’

‘My lady?’

How long they were. It seemed as though time had slowed down.

‘My? child?’

Then the blessed words: ‘A boy, my lady. A healthy boy? sound in limb

and in good voice. A fine boy.’

A smile of triumph was on her lips as she held out her arms.

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She caressed him. She examined him. He was perfect.

‘His legs are long,’ she said. ‘He will be like his grandfather.’

They noticed that she did not mention his father.

‘He is beautiful. Look? his hair is already so fair. Like a golden down. He’s a Plantagenet. It is obvious already.’