Isabella: Braveheart of France (9 page)

Her demoiselles warm the bed sheets with pans of heated charcoal. What she wants is a man to warm them with her.

“Am I ugly?” she asks Margaret. “Is there something about me that does not please him?”

“It is not you. You are beautiful, Isabella.”

“Then why does he not want me?”

“Only Edward can tell you that.”

They flee again, this time to Tynemouth Priory. Edward charges Gaveston with the defence of Scarborough Castle. That night, after he has gone to take up his commission, Isabella leaves a candle burning in her bedchamber.

His joining with Edward doesn’t hurt anymore. In fact, she looks forward to it. “I am so happy you are mine,” she whispers that night as he lies panting on top of her.

He jerks away. “I am not yours!” he hisses and leaves her lying alone in the dark.

But he is in her bed again that following Easter Monday morning when her maidens burst in and take him prisoner. It is a traditional prank; he is prepared for it and wears breeches for when they throw back the covers. He takes it in good humour, laughing along with them as they drag him out of the bedchamber in his nightshirt and tie him to a chair in the kitchen with ribbons, threatening him with their hairbrushes if he moves. Edward shouts that he will die before he will dishonour himself, but then he has his steward pay them all a gold coin to release him. He then calls for hot wine and drinks it with her in front of the fire while the servants prepare the tables for the holy day feast.

When it is over and everyone has left the hall and he is tired from laughing, she tells him that she is going to have a baby, a royal son perhaps, and he picks her up and tosses her in the air, laughing out loud. If she could keep this moment forever, she would slip it in the little silver casket and lock it with the key.

But later that day Gaveston returns from Scarborough with news that the fortifications at Scarborough are ready. That night she sleeps alone once more.

Tynemouth Priory

She finds Gaveston patrolling the battlements in his scarlet cloak. He looks gaunt. Perhaps the reality of what they are facing has hit him at last. He and Edward have been chased around the northern counties by Lancaster until their bones ache. This is not so much a civil war as the corralling of a troublesome horse.

She fastens her ermine cloak more snugly about her and goes outside to join him.

“I am surprised to find you out here,” she says.

“Perhaps you expected me to be with my familiar, sticking pins in a wax effigy of your uncle Lancaster?”

The wind buffets her and she puts out a hand to the cold stone to steady herself. She huddles deeper inside the furs.

“Is any of it true?”

“About my mother being a witch? Of course. Everything they say about me is true.”

“You enjoy being notorious, don’t you?”

“You have all made me so. What I enjoy is baiting you all, out of spite.”

“Is it spite to bring Edward down? Please don’t let him do this.”

“Don’t let him do what, your grace?”

“Don’t let him lose everything for you. He will, you know. For you.”

“Because that is what he wants.”

Storm clouds gather over the moor. Above them the flag of England whips in the wind. “You hold his destiny in your hands. They will make war on you both, and they will not relent until you are dead. Unless you do something to stop it.”

For the first time since she has known him, he does not try to laugh this off. “Would it be different were I his queen? Then the whole world would call him a great hero for defending my honour.”

“But you are not his queen. It is up to you now, Piers. If you love him, prevent this. He has shown his love for you, now you must show your love for him.”

“I would die first,” he says. Or does she imagine it? The wind is fierce up here and it is hard to hear anything that is not shouted at the top of the lungs. She leaves him and returns to the Great Hall and the hearth.

Edward gives Gaveston his orders: he must hold Scarborough against all comers and relinquish it to no one. Edward gives him all the men he can spare, three score at most, and rides with him to prepare the final defence.

He returns a week later to busy himself with raising an army to relieve their situation. But they all stand against him now: Lancaster, Warwick, Hereford, even Pembroke. He tells her he is the noblest man in England, for he is the only one who fights for love, not politics. She thinks he is sordid and foolish, but she cannot say this to the king of England, so she keeps her peace and nurses the hurt, privately and meekly, like a small and wounded bird.

Chapter 16

York, June 1312

The child kicks.

He must feel her agitation. She is exhausted from the journey down from Tynemouth. Already she feels she is the size of a castle, even to climb the stairs to her bedchamber leaves her breathless

Lancaster’s army has now chased Edward all around the north of England. She has spent most of spring at Tynemouth Priory, with the mice and the draughts, staring at the grey sea. Edward has been forced to run like a felon in his own country. He still has no army to face them with.

Isabella is angry to see him so reduced; angry at Edward for his stubborn refusal to see reason; furious at her uncle Lancaster and the Earl of Warwick for their disobedience. She is a daughter of France, and she did not marry the King of England to endure this.

Edward paces the Great Hall, drinks more than is necessary and shouts at the servants. He sends supplies to Gaveston but discovers that they have been intercepted by Pembroke’s army, which now has Scarborough under siege. Gaveston smuggles missives out of the castle. It seems they are reduced to eating cobwebs and rats.

Edward upturns tables and rips down tapestries in his frustration. The most powerful man in England is now powerless.

The final message from Scarborough: Gaveston has sued for terms with Pembroke and has agreed to let himself be taken. He believes the earl to be an honourable man. It was this, or starvation.

And within days Gaveston is back at York, marched into the Great Hall under guard. The Lord Pembroke stands aside, the king’s subject gives leave for his king to embrace his lover. It is socially awkward for them both, she supposes. How is one meant to behave?

Only after they have done commiserating is Margaret allowed to intrude, and Pembroke then allows Gaveston to hold his son.

She understands now why Gaveston calls him Joseph the Jew, although he does not do it on this occasion. Pembroke is olive skinned with a beak of a nose, though he fervently denies Semitic ancestors. Gaveston has made fun of him in less burdensome times, but never with the venom he reserves for Lancaster and Warwick.

There are three days of negotiating final terms. Pembroke’s soldiery patrol the Abbey while their masters parlay a peace, but when it is done Edward emerges well pleased. There will be a Parliament called for early the next month; Gaveston will be allowed to put his case to the barons, and if nothing is decided, Pembroke agrees to escort him back to Scarborough and allow Edward to supply him with provisions. Until then he will stay with Pembroke at his castle at Wallingford, under guard.

“I have your word on this?” he asks Pembroke.

“I pledge my estates and my honour,” Pembroke answers, solemnly. “The Lords Ordainers act under law,” Pembroke sniffily adds. “We are knights of the realm, not animals!”

This is not enough persuasion for Edward. He has him swear on the Bible he will keep his prisoner safe.

Next day she watches from the window as Edward says his farewells. The king and his dearest cling to each other desperately. Finally Gaveston pulls away and jumps on his horse.

Then he is gone, surrounded by a squadron of armed knights in Pembroke’s colours. Edward runs alongside the troopers for as long as he can, and then waves after him until he is out of sight.

Surely a king does not behave this way.

Chapter 17

Old Hugh comes to York, the only one of the earls to remain unflaggingly loyal. He shuffles into the Great Hall with sweat on his upper lip. He has a letter from the rector at Deddington. He is my son’s man, he says. My son, Hugh. You remember Hugh?

The King stares at him, as if he is mad. He has not heard of Deddington, and cares for its rector even less, particularly at this moment.

Isabella puts a restraining hand on his arm: hear him out.

“The Earl of Cornwall has been taken by my Lord Warwick,” he says.

Edward frowns, leans forward. What is this old fool saying? “Perro is at Wallingford. Pembroke has him under house arrest.”

“I only know what the messenger tells me. I thought Your Grace should know.”

The king jumps to his feet. He calls for a messenger to be sent to Pembroke immediately. It is two days ride, perhaps three. His eyes are wild. Warwick? The Black Dog has Gaveston? How is this possible?

It is just some foul rumour, surely. But he is panicked.

Isabella shudders to think what Warwick would do to Gaveston if he ever had him in his power. Yet she is torn. She wants Edward’s favourite out of the way, without him she is sure she would have the Edward she has always desired.

She puts a hand to her belly, and the restless son of England. One does not know which outcome best to wish for.

Edward begs her on his knees to appeal to her father. What if this perverse news is true? He promises he will return to France half of Gascony if Phillip will save Gaveston’s life. What can she do? She sends the letter as he asks, in the cold certainty that no one across the sea will lift a finger to save Edward’s favourite. Even a sixteen-year-old girl can see the inevitable. He has got in everyone’s way. Edward’s love is the kiss of death.

The king cannot sit still, even for a moment. He has barely slept since old Despenser brought his news. He sits on a throne in the Great Hall, cursing the servants if his wine cup is ever less than half full, and has his clerks dash off letters to every prince and nobleman he can think of.

It is summer and the days are long, a violet dusk clings to the dales. Six days after the messenger was sent, she hears a rider enter the castle gates. The shouts and the ring of hooves on the cobbles stir Edward from his wine rosy lethargy; he has drunk too much at dinner, and was presently asleep at the table. She runs to the window.

In fact not one messenger but two; their horses have been ridden almost to death and there is foam on their flanks. The couriers themselves are covered in sweat and dirt, evidence of a hard ride indeed.

She turns to Edward, sees the fear in his face. The servants sidle up to the walls, keeping to the darker corners. She can see it in their faces; they feel sorry for the man who bears the message, and not one of them wishes to be in Edward’s sight when the fateful words are spoken.

Old Hugh intercepts them at the door. There is a whispered conversation and then he comes in quiet. “These men have news for you, your grace.”

“Who are they?” Edward says.

“They say that they are…they were in the employ of my Lord Gaveston.”

They throw themselves in the rushes at the king’s feet.

There is a long silence.

He finally gives them leave to speak. “Tell me,” he says, finally, in a strangled voice.

The men look at each other. Neither of them wants to be the one to say it. “My Lord Gaveston has been brought to trial,” the braver of the two says.

A muscle in Edward’s cheek twitches. “Trial?” He is absolutely still. “Who presided over such a trial?”

“The Lord Lancaster, your grace.”

“But where was Pembroke? I don’t understand.”

“He was at Wallingford, your grace.”

“Wasn’t Gaveston at Wallingford?”

“He was taken from there by Lord Warwick.”

Edward shakes his head. What are these men talking about? “But this is impossible. Pembroke was sworn to protect him!”

“Lord Pembroke was not there. He had left the castle overnight to visit his wife. That’s when Warwick came and took him.”

Edward is white. But he is in no hurry to hear what must be told. While it is not said, it is not done. “On what charge?”

“That he had contravened the twentieth Ordinance.”

“An ordinance I have since revoked! There was a trial, you say? And what did my lord Gaveston say in his defence to this “charge”?”

“Your Grace, they did not allow him to speak.”

“But Pembroke gave his word to me!”

“The others of your nobles would not honour his negotiation. Not even Gloucester.”

There is the sound of choking; it appears to come from Edward, but she cannot swear to it. His face is implacable.