The Follies of the King - Plaidy Jean (электронная книга TXT) 📗

Sandale. A good churchman and one of Lancaster’s men.

What could he say? It was true Walter held both offices and many could

agree that he had not the qualifications to do so. In fact, a great many thought it was unfortunate that such a worldly man should hold the office of Archbishop of Canterbury. Edward knew he dared not protest.

Lancaster triumphantly went on to mention other members of the King’s

household whom he thought it would be better to replace.

Inside, Edward writhed with shame. Yet what could he do? Who was there

to stand with him now? Those who had supported him at Bannockburn were no

longer esteemed by the people. They shared the shame of defeat. Pembroke and Hereford had emerged from the battle it was true, but shorn of the honours they had won in the past. Gloucester who might have stood beside him was dead. He would never forgive Warwick for the part he had played in Perrot’s murder and any case, Warwick’s health had deteriorated so much that he was a sick man. He could not be sure of Warenne, whose loyalty fluctuated. His political life reflected his domestic affairs which were invariably in a turmoil. His marriage with Joan of Bar, the only daughter of Edward the First’s daughter Eleanor and the Count of Bar, was unhappy and he was at this time living with Matilda de Nerford, the daughter of a Norfolk nobleman— a fact deplored by her family and the Church itself; and the Bishop of Chichester had threatened to

excommunicate Warenne if he did not mend his ways. He was attempting to get his marriage with Joan annulled on the time-worn pleas of nearness of kin.

Meanwhile he continued to live with Matilda who had already borne him several sons.

No he could hardly look for help to a man in Warenne’s position. There was nothing he could do but give way.

Very well, let them do as they would. He would forget them. He would give

himself up to contemplating the burial he would give to Perrot.

Dear Perrot. He had always comforted him. He was comforting him now.

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Lancaster left the King and rode back to Kenilworth well-pleased with life.

He could see that what he had always hoped for was failing into his hands. That Edward was not worthy to be King, most men knew. Strange to think that he

was still drooling over Gaveston. He was thinking of giving him a grand burial.

Let him. It would keep him quiet while weightier matters went ahead.

King in all but name. The position could not be better. For if Edward were deposed there would still be the young Edward, King of England, and who

better to guide him than his royal kinsman Lancaster. Yes, let Edward concern himself with showering honours on his dear dead friend. It would keep him

occupied and remind people— if they needed to be reminded— of that liaison which had played a strong part in bringing him to his present humiliating

position.

He rode into the castle. Grooms hurried forward to take his horse.

He was momentarily depressed thinking pleasant it would have been to have

found a devoted wife waiting for him, eager to hear of his triumphs.

Alice was there, as good manners demanded, to greet her lord, but her gaze was as cold as ice. It had always been so for him, he remembered. Alice was beautiful, dignified as would be expected of the daughter of Henry de Lacy, Earl of Lincoln and Salisbury. Impious Gaveston had called him Burst Belly because of his girth, but that could not detract from his standing in the country as one of the first earls of the realm— rich and powerful. And Alice was his heiress.

Something she never forgot.

The marriage of Lincoln and Salisbury with Lancaster, Ferrers and Derby

should have been an ideal one? and it was in one sense. But Alice had quickly shown that she had little regard for him and that she knew it was the titles of Lincoln and Salisbury which had been her great attraction. Perhaps if they had had children? But they never had and never would now. Alice had made it

perfectly clear that even for the sake of handing down these high-sounding titles, she would not resume a relationship from which children might result.

It was very unsatisfactory.

Dutifully, she poured the wine for him and offered him the goblet. He took it warily thinking of the cold glitter in her eyes. He wondered lightly whether she would be glad to see him dead. He doubted it. She seemed entirely indifferent to his existence.

‘I have come from the King,’ he said.

‘And suitably subdued him?’ she asked.

He looked over his shoulder nervously. Alice should remember that they

must speak with caution.

She saw his concern and seemed amused. He wondered then if she would

smile in that way to see him carried off as a traitor.

‘The King is eager to win back the approval of his subjects,’ he said. ‘He takes Bannockburn to heart.’

‘Small wonder,’ she replied. ‘And I’ll warrant he is none too pleased with those who did not follow him there.’

‘He is grateful to be spared. He had to fly with Pembroke and might easily have been taken by the Scots.’

‘We live in stirring times,’ replied Alice. ‘The country will be thankful that there are men who, having preserved their Scottish campaign, are at hand to guide the reins of government.’

She was smiling superciliously, hating him. And he hated her. He thought:

Would I could be rid of her? Would I could take to wife a pleasant woman, one who would welcome me, applaud me, take an interest in my actions, be proud that her husband was royal and now was the most important man in the country.

She was despising him instead, and he believed secretly criticizing for not being

beside the King at Bannockburn.

In truth, the Countess was not thinking much of her husband, nor the defeat at Bannockburn and his rise to power.

Her thoughts were all for a squire she had met when out riding. Her horse

had gone lame and he had come to her assistance and taken her to his house. It was a small house, by the standards to which she was accustomed, but to her it had seemed warm and comforting. He was lame that squire and walked with a

limp, which oddly enough she had found attractive.

They had talked while his blacksmith had shod her horse and during that

time something had passed between them.

He was quite humble really, merely a squire, but proud of his land and eager to look after it and those who served him. She found that rather charming. He laughed a great deal, was well read and witty. She enjoyed their encounter so much that she had decided it should be repeated.

That had been some time ago.

Now often she rode over to his house— grey stone with turrets covered in

clinging creeper. It had become like a enchanted castle to her when she and her squire had become lovers.

Now as her husband talked of how his power over the King was increasing

she wondered what he would say if he knew that his wife had taken a lover and that he was Squire Ebulo le Strange, a very humble gentleman when compared with the mighty Earl of Lancaster.

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How delighted Perrot would have been if he could had seen the beautiful

ceremony!

Edward had ordered that his dear friend’s remains should be taken from the Black Friars of Oxford, who until now had possession of them, and brought to Langley.

It was appropriate that it should be Langley, that place where they had

perhaps been happiest. There they had arranged their plays. What a clever actor Perrot had been; and an expert in showing others the way. And what fun there had been when Walter Reynolds had surprised them with boxes of clothes and articles they needed for their plays. And now Perrot was dead and Reynolds was Archbishop of Canterbury. As for Edward he was still the King , but scarcely that with Lancaster standing over him and making it clear to everyone that orders were issued from him.