Paul Doherty - The Cup of Ghosts

Isabella and I immediately went to sleep whilst porters and servants brought up our baggage and all the other goods being ferried to the quayside. I woke once, sharply aware of the different realities, the ordinary and extraordinary which I’d noticed over the last two days, then I fell asleep again.

Later that day, still confused and tired, we dined in the great hall of the castle, long and cavernous like a tithing barn with brightly emblazoned cloths and drapes hanging from the hammer-beam roof. All the windows and arrow slits had been shuttered against the bitter draughts. The fire in the hearth was a mass of burning logs. We sat on the dais with Casales, Sandewic and Baquelle, together with a group of leading lords and ladies. The only other guests, an open snub to Edward’s leading courtiers, the royal dwarves and jesters, were seated at a special table beneath the salt. Edward spent most of the meal teasing these, throwing pieces of stewed meat and chicken at them, lounging back in his throne-like chair, thumb to his mouth, slurping from his wine cup and roaring with laughter at the antics of his ‘special guests’. He behaved like an uncouth young man. The royal favourite, magnificently attired in scarlet and gold satin, did not participate in the king’s revelry but intently watched Isabella and myself as if weighing our worth, plotting what to do next. On one occasion he leaned over and grasped my hand.

‘Mathilde,’ he whispered, ‘bear with us for a while, nothing is what it appears to be.’

For the rest the conversation was about the imminent arrival of the French party in their ships, the issue of safe conducts to them under the privy seal, the forthcoming journey through Kent to London and the date of the coronation. The meal ended on a sour note with two of the leading earls, Warwick and Hereford I believe, objecting to the clamour of the jesters. Edward replied that if the earls wanted to leave they could, which they did, bowing to the king and Isabella but openly ignoring Gaveston.

Eventually Isabella returned to our room, the king staying in the royal chambers adjoining the hall. He entreated Isabella to visit him but she pleaded exhaustion after a long journey. For a while she sat on the edge of the bed, combing her hair and humming softly to herself. I busied myself with various tasks. I was eager to determine that the books and precious manuscripts Isabella had brought with her, many dealing with physic and the properties of herbs, had not been lost.

‘Mathilde,’ Isabella called out.

‘Your grace?’

The princess smiled and patted the bed beside her. ‘Come. I must get used to that title.’ She handed the comb to me turning slightly so I could smooth out her hair at the back. ‘As I must get used to my husband’s determination to avenge all insults and demonstrate he is king.’ She looked over her shoulder. ‘That is the radix malorum omnium , Mathilde, the root of all evils here. Edward is, in many ways, a child younger in years than me. He was snubbed and insulted by his own father and his nobles, and he never forgets.’

‘And the Lord Gaveston?’ I asked.

‘I must accept things for what they are, Mathilde. Gaveston is Edward’s soul. He fills an emptiness that I could never hope to; I must learn to accept that.’

‘And yourself?’ I asked. ‘What about your emptiness? ’

I thought Isabella was crying; her shoulders shook slightly. When I tried to turn her, she pushed me away.

‘I don’t know, Mathilde. I don’t know where the emptiness is and I am not too sure if it can ever be filled.’ She turned to me. ‘You do that for me. Can’t you see? In the friendship I have for you?’ She touched me gently on the shoulder. ‘I can understand Edward’s love for Gaveston; we mirror each other.’

‘He should be more cunning, astute.’

‘That, Mathilde,’ the princess whispered, ‘comes with years. The king is insistent on one thing. Tonight we dined in public, but tomorrow, he, Gaveston, you and I will dine alone in his chambers. He has told us to rest as we shall talk and drink until the early hours. I understand that. Soon,’ Isabella pulled a face, ‘Marigny and the rest arrive; they will watch us like a cat does a bird.’

The following evening Isabella and I, both greatly refreshed, joined the king and Gaveston in the small dining chamber in the royal quarters. The room had been specially prepared, its windows shuttered, Turkey rugs laid on the floor, a great oval oaken table placed before the hearth so we could all feel the warmth from the flames licking the sweetly scented pine logs. The king and his favourite were dressed sombrely in dark Lincoln green, boots on their feet, their only concession to finery being the glittering rings on their fingers. They both looked purposeful, sober and eager to talk. As the various courses were served, pheasant and hare cooked in different sauces, Edward described what would happen over the next month, advising Isabella about the coronation and the rituals which would have to be followed. Only towards the end, after the quince tarts were served with sweet white wine, did he order all the servants to leave, no lesser person than Sandewic being left outside to guard the passageways and doors. Edward pushed back his chair, turning slightly towards the fire.

‘I like Dover,’ he murmured, ‘always on the edge of the kingdom, a place to come if you want to escape.’ He turned back to us. ‘Ah well.’ He sighed. ‘And now to business.’

Both king and favourite lounged languidly; no more pretence, no acting, no slurping from cups or bellowing guffaws of laughter. No one else was present, though I wondered why a fifth chair had been placed at the table. Edward, tapping his goblet with his fingernails, chattered about our entry into London then straightened in his chair, playing with the ring on the little finger of his left hand. He described the situation in Scotland, the power of Bruce and his threat to the northern shires. He detailed the problems with the exchequer, his lack of monies, the pressing need to raise taxes from both parliament and the Convocation of Clergy. Gaveston remained quiet throughout. Now and again he’d glance at me, but for the most part he sat, head down, listening intently as Edward listed his problems with the earls. He described how his great-grandfather John, grandfather Henry as well as Edward I had all faced strong opposition from the leading nobles with their private armies and retinues, their deep-rooted determination to control the power of the crown.

‘Ask Sandewic,’ the king scoffed, gesturing at the door. ‘Forty-seven years ago he fought for the rebel Earl of Leicester, Simon de Montfort, against my father and grandfather. He escaped the traitor’s block because my dear father admired his integrity. One decision,’ Edward added wryly, ‘on which both Father and I agreed.’

The more Edward talked, the less certain I became. In all this there was some mystery, a puzzle, an enigma. He was talking fluently and logically. Yet why play the other Edward, the feckless king supporting his favourite, patronising jesters whilst publicly insulting the leading earls, not to mention his powerful father-in-law? Edward of England showed a shrewdness not even Isabella had guessed at. She too appeared disconcerted, mystified, as if the husband she was now meeting was a different man from the one she had married at Boulogne; a king who had the astuteness to realise the true relationship between herself and her family as well as that with me, whom Edward and Gaveston now accepted as Isabella’s confidante. I hid my own smile. Casales and Rossaleti had reported faithfully back: both the king and his favourite acted as if they had known us for years. Isabella’s puzzlement expressed itself in certain questions about the Templars and about her marriage. Edward dismissed these, repeating what we had already learnt from Sandewic: both matters were of political necessity. Edward conceded that there would be no bloody prosecution of the Templars, only the seizure of their wealth, which he desperately needed. He courteously included me in the conversation, though I realised Isabella had not confided the full truth about me to her husband.