Виктория Холт - The Follies of the King

‘Who is it, cousin?’

‘A deputation. They are in serious mood. The Bishop of Hereford leads them.’

‘Adam of Orlton,’ cried the King. ‘This bodes me no good then. He was always my enemy. Who comes with him?’

‘Among others Sir William Trussell.’

‘Ay, an assembly of my enemies, I see. Tell me, do the greatest of them all come to Kenilworth to see me?’

Lancaster was silent and the King went on. ‘You wonder who I mean?

Come, cousin. You know full well. I mean the Queen and Mortimer.’

‘They are not here, my lord.’

‘Why do these men come, cousin? You know.’

‘They have not told me their business, my iord. Come, dress now. They are waiting.’

‘And the King must not keep his enemies waiting,’ retorted Edward bitterly.

‘Give me my robe, cousin.’

He threw off the fur in which he had wrapped himselfand put on a gown of cheap black serge— the sort poor men wore in mourning, for he was mourning he knew for a lost crown.

He faced the party— the traitors who no longer showed him the homage due to a King. Leading them were two of his most bitter enemies Adam of Orlton and William Trussell. How he hated Trussell, who had sentenced Hugh to the terrible death which had been so barbarously carried out!

Trussell’s eyes— like those of Adam of Orlton— were gleaming with triumph. This was a moment for which they had been working in their devious ways for many years.

They did not bow to him. They regarded him as they might a low-born criminal.

Then Adam began speaking; he listed the crimes of the King. Events long forgotten were recalled and the blame for them laid at his door. Bannockburn― Would they never forget Bannockburn? How many had been blamed for that!

He lowered his eyes. He did not want to look into those vicious faces. He wondered what they planned to do with him. Not what they had done to Hugh― beioved Hugh. They could not. They dared not. He was still their King.

Their faces seemed to recede and he thought Gaveston was beside him― Gaveston― perhaps the best boved of them all. Gaveston Lancaster had caught him in his arms. He heard his voice from a long way off. ‘The King has fainted.’

He was coming back to reality. The same chamber― the same faces about him. So it could only have been for a moment.

They brought a chair for him. He was so tired. He did not want to listen to them.

Vaguely he gathered that they were telling him that he was to be set aside, his crown taken from him, and that they wanted his consent to do so.

How kind of them, he thought. They wanted his consent! Why? Could they not do with him what they liked? Cut off his head― Take him out and do to him what they did to Hugh― No, he could not bear to think of what they did to Hugh. It haunted his nightmares. Hugh― beautiful Hugh.

‘It would be well for you to give your consent,’ Adam of Orlton was saying.

‘If you do not, who knows what might happen? It could mean that the crown would be lost not only to you but to your family.’

‘My son,’ he whispered. ‘My son Edward―’

‘Would be crowned King at once, if you consented to abdicate.’

‘He is but a boy―’

‘There must be no delay.’

‘My son― he must be your King.’

‘So thought we,’ went on Adam. ‘Renounce your crown and he shall receive it forthwith. Refuse this and who knows what will happen.’

He gripped the sides of his chair. He thought of fair-haired Edward, the boy of whom he had been so proud.

He cried out: ‘I am in your hands. You must do what seems right to you.’

The relief was intense. Sir William Trussell lost no time. He stood before the King to declare as he said on behalf of the whole realm that all the homage and allegiance owed to him as sovereign was now renounced.

Trussell then took the staff of office and broke it in two as a symbol of the dissolution of the royal household.

Edward Plantagenet was now a private person; his rights as King of England had been stripped from him. He felt humiliated and yet he knew that his own actions had brought him to this pass. He was glad his father was not there to see this day.

His voice shook with emotion as he said: ‘I know that it is due to my sins that I am brought to this pass and it is a great grief to me that I have incurred the displeasure of the people.’

His eyes were bright in his ashen face and his voice sounded firmer as he added: ‘But I rejoice that my son Edward is to be their King.’

Neither Adam of Orlton nor Sir William Trussell made any attempt to bow.

He no longer represented the crown; he was an ordinary knight. They owed him no especial respect.

They left him and he sat on a stool and covered his face with his hands.

Lancaster found him thus, and he was moved to pity at the sight of him.

‘Let me help you to your chamber, cousin,’ he said gently. ‘This has been a sad ordeal for you.’

‘Henry,’ Edward replied, ‘I am no longer your King.’

‘I know it,’ answered Lancaster.

‘He broke the staff before my eyes and in such a way, cousin, that I knew to him it was a pleasure.’

‘Rest a while. I will have food and wine sent to you.’

Edward said: ‘My son is King now. Young Edward― He is young yet― only a boy.’

‘Yet old enough to force his will, cousin. He would not take the crown until he had your consent to do so.’

A smile touched Edward’s ravaged face. ‘Is that so then?’ he asked.

‘‘Tis true. He said he must first have your consent and would have none of it without.’

‘Then someone still cares a little for me.’

Edward once more covered his face with his hands. He could see the young boy— tall, so fair, his blue eyes flashing, his mouth stubborn as he knew it could be. He would have faced his father’s enemies as they tempted him with the crown.

His hands were wet with his tears.

‘May God bless you, son,’ he murmured. ‘May you be happier than your father.’

Lancaster led him gently to his chamber where he lay on his bed and, though his black thoughts crowded on him like lowering clouds, there was among them a bright streak of hopefulness.

‘My son, my son,’ he murmured. ‘You care a little for me.’

THE Winter was passing. Young Edward had been crowned at the end of January by the Archbishop of Canterbury, that Walter Reynolds who had once been a crony of the new King’s father and who had now joined those who were against him. Walter Reynolds had always been a man who was ready to join the side where he could find the better advantage.

The Queen was in good spirits. She might not be Regent but saw to it that she and Mortimer had great influence with the young King.

Sir John of Hainault had returned with his troops to his native land, for they had become restive after being away from home for so long. As for Sir John who had been of inestimable help to her she gave him a pension of four hundred marks a year which he was loath to accept declaring that all he had done had been for love of her.

She was at the height of her power and her beauty, for this had flourished since she had thrown aside the cloak of docility. She often laughed to herself to contemplate how everyone knew of her liaison with Mortimer and yet none raised a voice against it.

Often they talked of this but as the winter passed uneasy thoughts came to her. She discussed these often with Mortimer who attempted to soothe her.

Mortimer was taking every advantage of his position. His success had been even beyond his dreams. All his estates had been returned to him together with those of his uncle who had died in the Tower. Honours had been secured for his family and he himselfhad been given the title of Earl of March. He was virtually king of the realm; all he had to do was please his mistress and that was easy, for she was a passionate woman long starved of that satisfaction which they had found so spontaneously together. The young King had to be handled with care and there were signs lately that he was beginning to fidget in his harness. The Queen noticed it but Mortimer refused to believe there was anything to be alarmed about.