Виктория Холт: The Follies of the King

‘Cornwall! That is a royal title!’

‘Well, Perrot, do you not like it?’

‘My lord, what can I say?’

‘You can say you believe now that your King loves you. Come my lord earl, let us discover what manors, castles and lands are attached to your new title.’

Gaveston felt giddy with power. He was realizing that there need be no end to his good fortune. Edward was so besottedly in love with him that there was nothing he could not have. He could be King— for Edward would do anything to please him. The old barons would not like it. He would have to watch them.

Old fools most of them; they would have to learn that Gaveston could outwit them— with the King beside him. Edward would be called the King, but it would be Gaveston who would rule.

They had always resented him in the royal household― those scions of noble families. They had sneered at his low birth. He was the son of a Gascon knight whereas many them considered themselves as royal as the King. Some of them had in fact been royal. He had always felt a certain rapport with Edward’s sister Joanna— alas now dead. She had had an adventurous spirit and an eye for an attractive man. Not that Gaveston was her kind, but she appreciated his cleverness She herself had married Ralph Monthermer— one of the handsomest men at court and of humble birth— in spite the King’s wrath which she had had to face afterwards. So she could not very well despise his low birth. Nor to do her justice had she shown that she was aware of it. She had been a good companion until her sudden death— by far the most friendly towards him of any member of the royal family.

Now he was to be Earl of Cornwall. He was equal with any of them.

‘And, Perrot,’ went on the King, ‘as I am to have a bride so shall you.’

‘A bride, Edward. You are jesting.’

‘Oh no, sweet friend. Indeed I am not. Only the most noble bride is good enough for my Perrot so whom do you think have chosen for you?’

‘Tell me.’

‘Joanna’s girl— Margaret de Clare.’ Edward stood back a little to see the effect on his friend. Gaveston found it hard to hide the upsurge of delight. The girl was one of the richest in the country— and with strong royal connections too, since she was the King’s niece. This was indeed favour.

‘Well,’ went Edward, ‘what say you, Perrot?’

‘I would say that you are determined to honour me, sweet lord. I have no wish to take a wife but who could say no to being connected to his royal lord through marriage.’

‘She is young and you need see little of her. But she will bring you much wealth. I said to myself: Hugh le Despenser has her sister Eleanor, so my Perrot shall have Margaret. I long to tell the child of her good fortune.’

‘Let us hope she will consider it such.’

‘How could she fail to admire you? And if she is a dutiful niece she will love one whom her lord uncle and King cherishes.’

Gaveston was still stunned. He had expected favour but not quite as strong as this. Edward was certainly impulsive. There was no doubt that the barons would soon be made aware of his intentions, and there would be stern criticism.

‘We must make immediate plans for your marriage,’ went on the King. ‘I want it performed without delay, before our enemies can raise their objections.’

‘My clever friend thinks of everything.’

‘Where your welfare is concerned, Perrot, indeed I do.’

It was such pleasure to be together. They laughed immoderately at the effect his announcement was going to have on the ponderous barons..

Perrot amused himself by giving them nicknames. Thomas Lancaster, for whom he had the utmost contempt, was the Fiddler.

‘He should have been a fiddler,’ commented Gaveston. ‘Yes, he would have done very well fiddling his tunes. He could have played at country fairs. The rustics would have loved him.’

‘Perrot, you are talking of my cousin.’

‘It was a joke of the Almighty mayhap. Or perhaps He was saving up all perfections for the King’s son and so had none to spare for others. The one we have most to fear is the black hound of Arden. You know who I mean.’

‘I’ll guess Warwick.’

Gaveston nodded. ‘And as for old Burst Belly he counts not at all.’

‘You mean Lincoln. Oh, Perrot, you will kill me with laughing! Yes, if he gets much bigger he will certainly burst.’

It did him good to hear these mighty barons ridiculed. He could be afraid of the Earls of Lancaster and Lincoln— but not when he thought of them as Fiddler and Burst Belly.

‘I will tell you this, Edward,’ went on Gaveston, ‘these men are not one twentieth as valiant or as significant as they believe themselves to be. And we shall prove this to them.’

‘How?’ asked Edward.

‘We will begin by giving a tournament. I’ll gather together the best knights of France and England. All young― unknown. I can bring them here. Then we shall see these mighty brought low. How is that for a start?’

‘A tournament. I shall enjoy that. And you will be the finest of them all.’

‘Bless you, sweet friend. It is an honour I shall share with you.’

They laughed together, making plans. Everything, thought Edward, becomes interesting and amusing when Perrot is here.

On a cold October day the funeral of the King took place and his body was laid in the tomb prepared for him in Westminster Abbey. In the streets the people talked of his greatness but they were already thinking of the new reign.

Young Edward’s flaxen good looks so like his father’s endeared him to them but they were hearing whispers of the favorite Gaveston― against whom the barons were murmuring― and the first breath of uneasiness was beginning to touch them. There had never been scandal about the dead King; he had been an example to all fathers and husbands and as such had had a good effect on the country.

‘The new King is young, said the women, ‘and very good-looking. He is going to have a wife soon. Then he will settle down.’

The men said that the country’s troubles always sprang from foreigners, and Gaveston was a Gascon. Let the King send that creature packing as his father had done and all would be well.

But it was early days yet and the King’s popularly waned very little because of the first touch of scandal.

A few days later when Piers Gaveston was married to the King’s niece Margaret de Clare the uneasiness increased. The barons were very sullen, disapproving strongly of this marriage. The King though had said it should be, and one hopeful factor was that as Gaveston had a wife there might stop to the gossip about him and the King.

Young Margaret, who was only a child, thought her bridegroom the prettiest creature she had ever seen, so she was not at all displeased with her marriage and he spent so little time with her that she said it was scarcely like being married at all.

Perrot lay stretched out on the King’s bed and Edward watched him with admiration. He was as graceful as a cat and as dignified as a king should be but was not always.

Gaveston was pleased with himself. He was at last becoming the most important man in the kingdom, for whatever he wanted, he must have― his wish was Edward’s.

They had been talking about Walter Langton whom they both referred to as that old enemy.

‘It seems to me an odd thing,’ Gaveston was saying, ‘that our old enemy holds his office of treasurer.’

‘Not for long, Perrot. No, not for long.’

‘Methinks he has held it long enough. ‘Tis my belief, and one which I know my dearest liege lord shares, that those who have been good friends to us― to you, dear boy― should be rewarded and those who have been our enemies made to understand that their fortunes have taken a turn for the worse.’