The Confession of Piers Gaveston (11 page)

After she had gone I lay there feeling wretched and melancholy and despising myself. And I was angry with Isabelle. Regardless of how she felt about me, and I knew she hated me right down to my fingernails, it was needlessly cruel of her to hurt Meg. Not for a moment did I believe it was done unintentionally. She knew that Meg was innocent and sought to disillusion and hurt her—just as she had been herself—as a means of striking back at me; I was the one she blamed for depriving her of Edward’s love, and we always hate the one who has stolen the life we longed for. I’ve seen it so many times, that look, that pain, the envy and hate, in the eyes of a man or a woman as they watch the one they love walk away with another. I daresay she thought that if she must suffer then Meg should too; misery does love a companion. But that did not change anything; it was still a cruel and malicious thing to do!

And Meg—she accepted it so easily! She is a little like Edward, I think, she would rather run away from the truth than confront it boldly, or else mask its unpleasant face the way spices are used to disguise the flavor of rotting meat. The country will be her refuge from the scandalmongers’ tongues, and what she does not know shall not hurt her, she hopes, as do I.

TROUBLE BREWING
 

Contrary to what Edward wished to think, the subject of the jewels was not closed. Isabelle wrote angry letters to her father, describing herself as “the most wretched of wives,” and complaining of Edward’s treatment and neglect; her husband, she said, was a stranger to her bed. And the relatives who had attended the coronation confirmed everything she said and more, stating plainly that Edward preferred my bed to hers.

The Black Dog and his pack rallied round her. They said I was an arrogant foreign upstart who had used sorcery and forbidden sex to enslave the King, and that with my extravagance I had depleted the treasury and put the country into pawn with foreign moneylenders.

Yet it was not until Edward and I ventured incognito into London that I realized just how hated I had become.

We went not as the King and his Favorite but as two gentlemen of means out for an evening’s pleasure. Dragon and two of Edward’s strongest guards accompanied us at a discreet distance and in ordinary clothes instead of their liveries.

We roamed freely about London, navigating the maze of winding streets and narrow alleys, and merging with the crowd in the marketplace; arm-in-arm, clutching gold pomander balls to our noses, drinking from a silver flask we passed between us, and trying to avoid soiling our fine boots in the muck and dung that covered the streets, and laughing all the time.

A scarlet-haired strumpet ran up to Edward and showed him her breasts as an enticement. And a peddler tried to sell us the hair of a boiled weasel as a tonic against the ague, we had but to drink a single hair in our breakfast ale every morning and never again would we suffer a fever or a shivering fit. And, in a discreetly lowered voice, he offered us an ointment made from the fat of a hanged man to slather our cocks with; it would protect us from the pox so that we might enjoy the whores of London without peril.

Clinging close as laughter shook us, we said nay and went merrily on our way to find a wine shop where we might refill our flask.

Everywhere we went we heard ribald jests, indignant exclamations, and wild tales about the King and his Gascon Favorite. They spoke of my satanic powers and the Devil’s Mark I bore upon my hands, and Edward and I nearly fell to brawling because I was not wearing gloves. They said I performed dark rites to render Edward blind to the Queen’s beauty and impotent in her bed, and that I used curses and poisons against my enemies.

When last he came to London, the Earl of Lancaster had fallen off his horse after leaving a tavern. While he floundered in the mud the whore he had been with snatched his purse and fled. Was that not clear proof that The Gascon had bewitched him? And was it not peculiar that the Earl of Lincoln, that fine old gentleman whom I had insolently dubbed “Burstbelly,” often suffered a bellyache after sitting at table with me? Poison; it had to be! And what about the rheumatism that nowadays afflicted the Earl of Pembroke’s knees? Gaveston, they nodded knowingly, no doubt he fashioned a wax poppet in the guise of Pembroke and stabbed a pin into its knees!

No one would send their sons and daughters to serve at court without first providing them with a charm to protect against the evil eye and witchery lest it be their misfortune to wait upon me. Indeed, there stood an old woman upon the corner selling charms. “Charms for love, for luck at cards, to guard against witches and the evil eye!” she bellowed, holding up a handful of amulets for all to see. She beckoned to us, and though Edward frowned fastidiously, I insisted that we go and speak with her.

“Greetings, young Sirs!” she smiled, shaking back her stringy gray hair and displaying a mouth full of blackened stumps. “And do you fine gentlemen go often to court? Well then, you shall need a charm, a very powerful charm, to protect you from Gaveston! Nay, young Sir, do not scoff!” she chided Edward. “Never has England been blighted by a more powerful witch!”

“And have you a charm to protect me from Gaveston?” I asked.

“None more powerful than mine!” she declared and reached into her basket and drew out a little bulging brown pouch with three talismans dangling from it—a crudely carved frog stained with woad, a bit of horn, and a wooden cross bound with dirty twine.

My curiosity aroused, I inquired what was inside the pouch.

“Herbs, powerful and secret, and the things that witches fear—salt and a holy wafer from the Church!”

Utter Nonsense! We often use salt in our rituals, and, like everyone else, to season our food. Nor do we fear holy wafers either, it is but bread with a blessing upon it, and without belief it has no power.

“Long ago when I was a young maid,” she confided, “our village priest discovered a witch. And though she swore herself innocent, he had her bound in a chair and they poured a sack of salt down her throat and she could not swallow it. Aye, it saved our village the trouble of burning her it did! And I heard tell of another witch who choked to death on a holy wafer. Had she been innocent she would have been able to chew and swallow it! Will you have the charm, fine Sir? It is only a penny and it will keep you safe from Gaveston, I guarantee it will!”

I despised her tales; they sickened me! But, to be done with her, I accepted the charm and took a penny from my purse. It was then that she noticed my hands. There was fear, stark and strong, in her eyes as they darted up to scrutinize my face then dipped back down to regard my hands again. Her eyes went wide with terror and, dropping her basket, she raised her hand in the sign against witches and fled, pale and trembling, stumbling and speechless, down the filth-strewn alley.

“Now will you put on your gloves?” Edward asked peevishly.

A herder was at that moment passing with his pigs, no doubt seeing them safely on their way to slaughter, and in answer I took my pearl embellished gloves of purple velvet from my belt where I had tucked them and flung them down before the swine.

“Piers!” Edward groaned and rolled his eyes. He snatched the charm from my hand and flung it after my gloves into the muck. “Now come along! Our moods are darkening, so let us find a tavern and try to lighten them!”

It was at the Mermaid Tavern, a squalid little place deep in the stews of London, that Edward found his temper could brook no more.

The sun had long since set and we were drinking wine and playing dice with a bargeman, a great big bull-necked, blunt-nosed fellow named Harry, who had no idea who we were. Our coins were nigh gone; Edward habitually suffers high losses, and luck was not with me that night.

Beneath the table I nudged Edward’s thigh as I mischievously addressed the bargeman: “I’ve no coin left but I am not ready to quit the game; will you have me instead?”

Edward choked on his wine and I had to pound his back.

“Aye, I will!” Harry the bargeman nodded, smiling broadly.

Verily, I was surprised! I had not thought myself to his taste; I had meant only to amuse and startle Edward, but … I had made the offer … and, before Edward could stop me, I rolled again—and lost.

“Shall we go upstairs?” Harry asked, jerking his head towards the rickety stairs leading up to the inn’s private rooms. “I’ve won coin enough off you and your friend to afford a room, and I want you to be comfortable.”

I was distracted by the sound of ripping cloth. In his haste to remove a gold brooch to settle my debt, Edward had torn a goodly sized piece from the front of his tunic.

“Would you offer yourself in my stead?” I laughed, seeing his bare chest exposed through the gaping hole.

“Nay!” Harry shook his head adamantly. “Do not get me wrong now,” he turned to Edward, “you’re a comely enough fellow, but the dainty, dark-haired one is more to my taste.” Then, turning back to me, he asked: “So, where do you hail from? What’s that accent of yours?”

“I was born in Gascony,” I answered.

“Were you now?” His coarse, thick brows shot up in surprise. “The same as the evil male sorcerer that has bewitched our dim-witted King?”

Poor fellow, he really did not know that the “comely enough fellow” sitting across from him was actually that “dim-witted King” or that I was that bewitching “evil male sorcerer!”

“Yes,” I affirmed, “exactly like Gaveston!”

“Well now, if the evil Gaveston is anything like you I can well understand why the King is so smitten with him! Aye, it is a pretty piece you are!” He leaned forward then, with a lascivious grin, and asked eagerly: “And have you whorish talents like Gaveston?”

“That you will have to discover for yourself! But it is true I do bear a marked resemblance to him. Is that not so, Ned?” I nudged Edward’s thigh again, and smiled cajolingly, urging him to play along. Then, turning back to Harry, I explained: “Ned’s business takes him often to court and he has seen Gaveston numerous times.”

But Edward was in no mood for games and I really should have known better. He stood up abruptly and jerked me to my feet. And in that moment I knew I had gone too far.

“We are leaving! Here!” He flung the gold swirl-patterned brooch, and the piece of red cloth that was still attached to it, into Harry’s lap. “This should cover my friend’s debt!”

Undaunted, I flashed Harry my most enchanting smile. “Another time perhaps?”

“Out!” Edward shoved me towards the door.

“Aye, I hope so!” Harry called after me. And I looked back to see him smile and nudge the fellow at the next table and say: “Fancy that, I almost had me a Gaveston of my own!”

Edward’s mood grew darker as we passed a rowdy bunch seated round the hearth swilling ale and singing a bawdy tune about a certain lack-brained King Neddy and his passion for Gavy, and pity the poor fair young Queen with her broken heart and empty bed, so evilly trespassed against by this shameless pair. “Send not your daughters to court,” another verse said, “if you aspire to royal favor send your sons instead, for if the boy be comely he could rise to an earl as Gaveston did!” Actually, I thought it quite clever, but Edward was furious.

“How dare they?” he fumed. “How dare they speak so about their King?”

“They are not speaking, Ned, they are singing.”

“I know they are singing, and the tune they are singing is treason!” he flared back at me.

“Oh surely it has a better title than that!” I quipped.

Edward just glared at me and tightened his grip.

“Edward, you are hurting me!” I cried, pulling away from him and rubbing my arm.

“Let that be a lesson to you then, to comport yourself with more dignity!” And he turned on his heel and left me.

I tossed my head defiantly, signaled to Dragon, and hastily whispered my instructions. Harry the bargeman, this tavern, tomorrow at two o’clock. “And under no circumstances are you to tell him who I am! Do not mention my name or give any hints, even if he offers you money!”

I had almost reached the door when Edward stormed back in, knocking aside a serving wench with a tray of pewter tankards, and seized hold of my arm and hustled me out into the night.

He was in a vile temper, and hidden behind the blue velvet curtains of the barge he gave free rein to the beast in him. Fury made him stronger still and he easily overpowered me, strong though I am, and struggle though I did. I would not give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry out, so I bit the velvet cushion my face lay upon and concentrated on the sound of the oars slapping, the water lapping against the sides of the barge, and the sickening stench of the Thames, though it angered me that it made my eyes water for I would not have Edward think he had made me cry.

Outside the curtains the guards heard Edward’s groans, grunts, and curses. “Hark unto that! His Majesty is putting The Gascon in his place!” And there was much laughter as the joke was repeated amongst the oarsmen.

And in those brutal moments I was nine years old again and back in the best room of my uncle’s inn with the lecherous lodger. It all happened so quickly, even now my memory of it is a series of blurs and violent flashes. My uncle told me to take him his dinner. There was a boisterous crowd downstairs in the Common Room celebrating a wedding so no one heard my screams when he grabbed me. I remember the clatter of the pewter tankard and the dull thud of the wooden trencher that held the greasy mutton hitting the floor. He rammed his knee hard into my back, pinning me facedown upon the bed, pressing my face into the pillow to stifle my screams. I could not breathe! His nails raked my skin, leaving long red scratches, as he tore my clothes away. And then the pain, like an iron rod being hammered up inside me. Then his lust was spent and he was panting and sagging over me. He pressed a sickening, slobbery wet kiss onto the nape of my neck. And it was over. He flopped back on the bed, smiling and exhausted, sighing: “There’s nothing like a virgin!” I pulled on my torn clothes and hobbled away with a burning pain inside me and his seed dripping out of me.

As soon as the barge docked I leapt out and ran up the damp, slime-coated steps, slipping perilously, forcing myself to ignore the burning, throbbing pain, and hugging my cloak tight about me to hide my tattered clothes.

I did not stop running until I reached my bedchamber. But I could not outrun the mocking laughter of the guards and oarsmen.

I sagged against the locked door, but at the sound of Edward’s footsteps I backed away and sank down onto my bed. I yelped at the pain and leapt back up again as tears sprang to my eyes. The footsteps stopped and Edward began his infernal pounding, pleading for forgiveness and entreating entry. I ignored both the King of England and the repentant Nedikins and gingerly lowered myself onto the bed and stretched out on my stomach. Never again would I believe that my body was precious to Edward, henceforth such declarations would be only hollow words; empty flattery.