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

Despenser.

His guards told him that the day of his judgment was at hand.

‘Little did you think when you sported with the King that it would bring you to this,’ taunted one of them.

He was silent. He felt too tired to talk. Besides there was nothing to say.

He was taken to the hall where his judges were waiting for him. They were

headed by Sir William Trussell, a man who could be relied on to show him no favour. Trussell had fought against the King at Boroughbridge and when Lancaster had been overthrown he had fled to the Continent. He had returned to England with Isabella and had become one of her firm adherents.

He now harangued Hugh, listing the crimes of which he was accused. He

had mismanaged the affairs of the kingdom in order to gain money and

possessions; he had been responsible for the execution of that saint Thomas of Lancaster and had attempted to hide the fact that miracles were performed at his tomb. His inefficiency had been the cause of the defeat of Bannockburn. In fact any ill which had befallen England since the death of Gaveston and the rule of the Despensers had been because of Hugh’s wickedness.

Of course there was no hope for him.

‘Hugh, all good people of this realm by common consent agree that you are

a thief and shall be hanged and that you are a traitor and shall therefore be drawn and quartered. You have been outlawed by the King and by common

consent and you returned to the court without warrant and for this you shall be beheaded; and for that you made discord between the King and Queen and

others in this realm you shall be disembowelled and your bowels burned; so go to your judgment, attained wicked traitor.’

Hugh listened to this terrible sentence almost listlessly. It was no surprise. It had happened to his father. It was their revenge and he had known from the moment they had taken him that it was coming.

All he could do was pray for courage, that he might endure what was

coming to him with fortitude.

There was to be no delay, ordered the Queen. Delay was dangerous. He

might die and defeat them of their satisfaction. Almost immediately after the sentence had been passed, he was dressed in a long black robe with his

escutcheon upside down. They had said he should be crowned because he had

ruled the King so they placed a crown of nettles on his brow to add a little more discomfort and he was dragged out of the castle.

As they prepared to hang him on the gallows which was fifty feet high in

order that as many as possible might witness the spectacle, the Queen took a seat with Mortimer and Adam of Orlton on either side of her that they might gloat over the pain inflicted on the King’s favourite.

The handsome body now emaciated beyond recognition dangled on the rope

and Isabella feared that he might die before they could cut him down and

administer the rest of the dreadful sentence.

To her delight she saw that Hugh’s lips were moving slightly as they laid

him out and bared his body for the fearsome ordeal.

This is the man he preferred, thought Isabella . I was humiliated for his sake.

He took away my friends; he deprived me of my rights. And now he is in my hands these are his just deserts.

There was little satisfaction though, for Hugh was so quiet. Once she heard a faint moaning, but there were no cries for mercy.

She reached for Mortimer’s hand. He seized it and pressed it.

This was the end of Hugh, they were both thinking. There remained the

King.

???????

EDWARD

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KING NO MORE

Edward was numb with grief. Why was life so cruel to him? First they had

taken Gaveston and now Hugh. Why was it his love always brought disaster?

And what now? He was too numb to care.

They were taking him to Kenilworth. His cousin Henry of Lancaster had

come to him and told him that he was to be his guest.

Henry had looked at him with compassion. Strangely enough he seemed to

understand.

So they rode side by side to Lancaster’s castle of Kenilworth which lay

between Warwick and Coventry. Lancaster was proud of the place. Edward’s

grandfather, Henry III, had given it to his youngest son and so Lancaster had inherited it.

‘Have no fear, I shall not harm you, my lord,’ he said, and Edward thought how strange it was that a subject should speak to his King in such a manner. He might have been incensed, he might have been apprehensive but he could think of nothing but: Hugh is dead.

He lay in the room which had been prepared for him. There were guards at

the door to remind him that he was a prisoner. An ironic situation indeed. A King the prisoner of his Queen!

Oh Isabella, Isabella, he thought. I never really knew you. those years youwere so meek; you bore my children. You waited patiently until I had time tospare for you. Gaveston never knew what your real thoughts were. Too lateHughdiscovered; and even then I would not believe it. And now Mortimer isyour lover. You? Isabella.

She was like her father— Philip the Handsome, ruthless, implacable, feared by all until that final day of reckoning when he lay on his death-bed and knew that the curse put on him and his heirs by the Templars was being fulfilled.

Isabella was cruel. Isabella was ruthless. She hated him. He wondered what she and Mortimer would do now.

The days passed. Lancaster came to him— gentle and apologetic. It is not my fault that you are here, my lord, he seemed to say, I but obey orders.

It was never wise to offend a King. However low he had fallen, who could

know when he would come back into power again?

That was a heartening thought. Was that why Lancaster was always

respectful? Oh no, it was more than that. Henry was his cousin; they were both royal; men who were close to the throne had the greatest respect for It.

Henry and he played chess together. It whiled away the hours.

‘Henry,’ he asked, ‘how long will you keep me here?’

Henry lifted his shoulders. Doubtless it would be for Mortimer to say.

Mortimer. That upstart from the Marcher country, a man who had been the

King’s prisoner and escaped! Oh, what a fool not to have had his head long ago.

But when he looked back, it was over a lifetime of follies. A headless Mortimer would never have escaped from the Tower, would never have become the

Queen’s lover, would never have captured the King.

But perhaps Mortimer was merely the tool. She would have found another

lover, another man to lead her armies. She was his real enemy, the She-Wolf of France.

He tried to give himself to the game. Even in that he was beaten. He had

never been able to plan an artful strategy Lancaster could beat him on the board as his brother had done in life. But Lancaster had come to a tragic end. He had not won in the end.

‘Checkmate,’ said Henry triumphant.

The King shrugged his shoulders. He said: ‘You are a kinder jailer than I

might have hoped for, cousin.’

Lancaster rearranged the pieces on the board.

‘I do not forget your royalty, my lord,’ he replied.

‘You have never forgiven me for the fate of your brother,’ said Edward. ‘But I was not to blame. If he had not parleyed with the Scots? he would be alive today.’

‘He was a great man, my lord. His trial was hasty and he had no chance to

defend himself.’

‘Let us not go over the past,’ said Edward. ‘It is over and done with. There have been many mistakes. Let us not brood on them cousin. You have been my enemy and it is for this reason that the Queen and her paramour have given me into your keeping. You have done everything you could to preserve your