The Confession of Piers Gaveston (9 page)

Though our times together were few and brief—diplomatic missions often took him away—I found a certain contentment with John, for a time at least. Unlike Edward, he is confident and strong, a man of the world neither gullible or naïve, and he could be so gentle and caring, though now I must force myself to remember that.

Edward and John were two very different men, and I loved them both in different ways, but if I had to choose … as hard as it may be to believe or understand, it is Edward I always come back to, and not because he is a king. I close my eyes and see the endearing smile and tousled golden hair of the boy I loved at Langley and my heart swells with love for him! Judge me not too harshly; remember instead that Love has made fools of far wiser men than me!

THE KING AND QUEEN RETURN
 

In January of the year 1308 Edward married Isabelle, the daughter of King Philip IV of France, in a lavish ceremony at Notre Dame. It was accounted a splendid match by all, both being young, blonde, and beautiful. And hope ran rampant that “Isabelle the Fair” would cure Edward of his ridiculous obsession with me.

“Isabelle the Fair,” that was what they called her, though I always thought the name I gave her, “The Ice Queen,” much more apt. Hers was not a vibrant golden beauty like Edward’s, but the very opposite, a frosty white-blonde pallor. She was like an untouchable virgin goddess with a latent voluptuousness lurking just beneath the ice; ice which she hoped Edward would be the one to melt. I knew the first time I saw her that she was in love with him; it was there in her eyes when she looked at him, until humiliation and pride taught her to hide it.

When they returned to England the court assembled to meet their ship at Dover. I shivered in the salty breeze and felt at the same time giddy and nervous as I stood there at the fore of a large and splendid retinue, waiting to meet the woman Edward had married.

My brothers were with me, and I was nearly rendered deaf with Arnaud on my right and Raimond on my left, clamoring to be heard, both of them insisting that their wives be appointed ladies-in-waiting to the new Queen. And Guillaume swaying before me, staggering drunk even at this early hour, and imploring me to find him a wife, “a blonde with pretty paps and plump thighs,” so that she too might serve the Queen. I tried very hard to ignore them and sought to divert myself by watching the other courtiers instead.

Once again Edward’s arrogant cousin Tom of Lancaster had proven himself worthy of the name “Buffoon” in his diamond-patterned tunic and hose of blue, red, and yellow satin, with a mountain of silk roses and ostrich plumes dyed to match piled upon his hat, and his emerald velvet mantle dripped with row upon row of multicolored silk fringe. He adopted a haughty pose and held his chin high and stroked his little gold beard as if it were a cat. His wife Alice stood nearby and I whispered to her: “Do you think he bleaches it with the juice of lemons to keep it so golden?” causing her to shriek with laughter and draw many disapproving eyes in our direction.

Pembroke stood beside Lancaster, somber but elegant in black velvet, pointedly ignoring my attempts to flirt with him. Burstbelly stood nearby, his stomach straining and bulging against his white and silver tunic. And Warwick glowered darkly at me and caressed the hilt of his sword while the wind vainly endeavored to comb the tangles from his long black beard.

As for myself, I was dressed to dazzle and all eyes and mouths were agape at my magnificence. I wore a turquoise brocade tunic embossed with a pattern of emerald and gold vines and blood red roses, the same shade as my red silk hose and the long flowing liripipe attached to my hat. A bevy of peacock feathers swayed gracefully atop my diamond-spangled hat and a matching fan dangled from my bejeweled belt. I wore rubies, emeralds, and diamonds on all my fingers, about my neck, wrists, and waist, and on my shoes, and my mother’s crescent moon brooch sparkled on my shoulder.

As soon as the ship docked and the gangplank was in place Edward was racing towards me, deserting his bride in a flurry of sky blue brocade and ermine, heedless of the wind taking his fine feathered hat and carrying it out to sea. His face was all aglow and he laughed joyously in that way he has—like a donkey braying, only much more melodious.

“Perrot! Darling Perrot! Beloved Perrot! Beautiful Perrot!” he cried and threw himself upon me with such force that he nearly knocked me off my feet. Never had he hugged me with such tight urgency or kissed me so hungrily.

I glanced past him at the new Queen, standing amidst her ladies-in-waiting and other members of the royal entourage, which included several of her relations who had come to attend Edward’s coronation on King Philip’s behalf. As she watched us, I saw her confusion and amazement rapidly turn to anger. It was obvious that she knew nothing about me; no one had thought to inform her that Edward’s heart belonged to another, and that other was a man.

I could well understand what a shock such a discovery could be. Remember, I’ve plied my trade for a long time; I’ve seen wives discover that their husbands are prey to unnatural desires. Some weep and rage, others accept meekly, some blame themselves, others withdraw from the world entirely and take refuge in a convent, some are sophisticated women of the world who accept and think nothing more about it, and others harbor unnatural lusts themselves and are quite content with the situation. It was something I now often had cause to contemplate in regards to my own marriage. A day was sure to come when Meg would learn the truth. I knew it would wound her to the quick, but there was nothing I could do to spare her. The wisest thing would have been never to have married her, but the past was a knot I could not untie. And the knowledge that I would one day cause her pain was always there like a thorn in my heart. But it was plain to see that Edward did not cherish similar sentiments about his own bride.

“So easily forgotten,” I mused as we strolled back to the ship with my retinue trailing after.

“What?” Edward stared back at me blankly.

“I am speaking of your wife. She vanished from your thoughts entirely the moment you saw me. It makes me wonder if as soon as I was beyond your sight did you also forget about me?”

“Perrot!” Edward gave a wounded cry. “How can you even think such a thing? I thought of nothing but you the whole time I was away! And I have brought you many fine gifts from France!”

“None of which could ever please me more than having you back does,” I answered. And I meant it. I felt such a twinge of impatience to be alone with him, it was altogether maddening! No matter how vexed I am with Edward when we say goodbye, after a few days apart I am pining for him desperately. “I missed you,” I said softly.

“Oh Perrot! Did you really?” Words do not exist that can do justice to the glory of his smile.

“Did you think I would not?” I teased.

“Well …” he hesitated, blushing sheepishly and studying his shoes. “You are so beautiful I feared that someone might make advances and that you, in your loneliness, might accept them.”

“Just because I am beautiful does not mean that the concept of loyalty eludes me.”

“Then you were faithful to me?” he asked hopefully.

“In my fashion,” I answered with a little shrug and a smile to further tantalize. “But, Nedikins, should you not look to your wife now? New circumstances and a new land; anyone would be made anxious by that.”

“What? Who? Oh, yes, my wife! Verily, it shall take me some time to grow accustomed to this married state! Come and meet her, Piers, I know she will love you just as much as I do!”

“Oh Edward,” I hung back in dismay, “it would be the death of me if anyone else were to love me even half as much as you do!”

Edward just laughed. “My Perrot is so witty! No one can make a jest like he can!”

I let Edward lead me up the gangplank and introduce me to his bride. Edward really had no thought of sparing her, the way he continued to gaze upon me, devouring and undressing me with his eyes … anyone could see he was in love, and not with his wife!

Isabelle looked me up and down with regal disdain.

“Does Your Majesty not find it demeaning that this person should appear here in the garb of an oriental potentate with the intention, I think, of outshining you?”

“How could I possibly mind?” Edward breathed without taking his eyes off me.

“And what exactly does this person do?” she asked.

There was a sharp intake of breath all around. Burstbelly nervously gnawed his nails. Warwick’s grip tightened round the hilt of his sword, and Lancaster glared daggers at me. Pembroke sought my eyes and shook his head vigorously, begging me not to tell. They were afraid I would be blunt and tell her exactly what my duties consisted of! I confess I was sorely tempted to, but instead I said sweetly with an insinuating smile: “I am His Majesty’s Principal Provider of Entertainment.” Anyone with a soupçon of sophistication could figure it out and my eyes flashed a challenge.

“Ah,” she nodded, “I should have guessed from your attire; you are His Majesty’s clown and not some vulgar popinjay after all!”

I was so outraged I could not even speak. A clown? Me?

“No, no, Isabelle!” Edward interjected hastily above the courtiers’ laughter. “Piers is my dearest friend in all the world! He is styled the Earl of Cornwall and in my absence has acted as Regent.”

Isabelle turned incredulously to Edward. “Surely you jest, My Lord? Such a position belongs to a man of more mature years and an even more mature mind!”

There were murmurs of agreement and laughter all around. Edward saw that I was in serious danger of losing my temper and began hustling me towards the gangplank.

“Now, now, my dear, Piers is a man of many talents! But I know you are weary from the journey, so let us away to the palace now where we can all take our ease! You can make friends with Piers later. I know that when you are better acquainted you will be the very best of friends!”

“I would not count on it if I were you!” I murmured through tightly clenched teeth, and I could tell from her expression that Isabelle felt exactly the same.

“I object to being referred to as ‘this person,’ Edward!” I fumed, shaking free of his hand and stalking towards the row of horses, litters, and carriages. “She insulted me, repeatedly, and all but called me a fool! And did you hear what she said about my clothes?”

“Oh Perrot, let it be!” Edward implored. “You won’t be wearing them long, so …”

“That,” I said pointedly, swinging round to face him, “is a matter open for debate! Do not be so presumptuous, Edward!”

At the royal coach Isabelle paused and regarded me uncertainly. “Is this person to ride with us, Edward?”

“Yes, Edward,” I turned to him and asked sweetly: “Is this person to ride with us?”

Edward knew he would have to make a choice then and there.

“My dear, this coach is beastly uncomfortable! Yes, it is luxurious, to be sure, but I would not subject you to this torture! You take the next one!” He put his hand on her back and pushed her firmly towards Lancaster’s coach, which stood next in line. “Piers and I will make do as best we can in this one; you ride with Cousin Tom and Alice! No, no, I insist!” And, ignoring her protests, he shoved her inside and slammed the door, catching her purple velvet and ermine train in it. Then he was at my side again. “Get in, Piers, get in!” he urged, shoving me just as he had Isabelle. And before I was even seated his hands were upon me.

“Can you not wait until we reach the palace?” I demanded, hastily reaching out to draw shut the heavy velvet curtains as his hands found their way beneath my tunic and began peeling down my hose.

“No!” he answered, his voice husky with desire. “If you asked me to wait even another moment it would be a torture more than I could bear! Drive on!” he shouted to the coachman. In response there was the crack of a whip and the coach lurched forward as the wheels began to turn, bearing us the short distance to the cliff-top castle.

As we climbed out of the coach, Isabelle and those who had accompanied her from France looked startled and askance at our flushed faces, ruffled hair, and rumpled clothing.

“That coach is fit only to be broken up for firewood!” Edward said to Isabelle. “You see what a rough journey we have had, my dear!”

“It was very thoughtful of Your Majesty to spare her the ordeal,” I simpered.

Then Edward took my arm and whisked me into the palace, abandoning Isabelle once again.

JEWELS FROM FRANCE
 

The gifts Edward brought me took my breath away. Buckles, brooches, chains, collars, clasps, cameos, and rings. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, amethysts, garnets, and pearls in settings of silver and gold and a plethora of loose stones that I might have set according to my fancy. They dazzled my eyes and made my heart sing! I spent hours sitting cross-legged upon my bed with them all spread out before me while Edward sat in a chair nearby watching me.

“I love the way jewels make your eyes sparkle!” he sighed.

“And the way I express my gratitude?” I teased, crooking a finger and beckoning for him to come join me. We made love on my gem-strewn bed. And to please him, that night when we dined alone together in the privacy of my bedchamber, I wore nothing but pearls, great long strands of priceless white Orient pearls girded round my loins.

The following day found me lounging on a velvet-cushioned chaise and looking languid and alluring—the way Edward likes me to look—in crimson velvet, while Edward sat on a low stool beside me, cradling his lute.

He was serenading me with a song of his own composition and I was pretending to listen. It really was a dreadful thing, something about love being like honey and not being able to be bought with money.

In an imperious swirl of ice blue velvet Isabelle swept in. She stopped short and gasped at the sight of us, nearly causing the lady-in-waiting following her to collide with her back.

“My Lord, I am sorry to disturb you, but I wish to show you something …”

She motioned for her attendant to come forward and I saw that she was carrying a large ornately carved wooden box. Isabelle opened it and displayed its empty red velvet-lined interior.

“Oh!” Edward breathed. “What a beautiful box! Isn’t it a beautiful box, Piers? Wouldn’t you like to have one just like it?”

“He might as well take this one since he already has its contents!” Isabelle exclaimed.

Her eyes raked over me, burning with fury as they fastened upon each of the ruby and diamond ornaments I wore.

Now I understood and turned expectantly towards Edward. Like Isabelle, I was eager to hear his explanation.

“Edward!” Isabelle stamped her foot and struggled to hold back the angry tears she was too proud to let flow. “Edward, you insult me! You have made me a laughingstock, and worse, an object of pity, before the eyes of the entire court! Nay, two courts, for they will have much to say of this at my father’s court in France! You deck your simpering catamite with my gems; jewels my father gave me to celebrate our marriage!”

“But my dear!” Edward exclaimed. “Look at him! Rubies are Perrot’s favorite! And they look so much nicer on him than they do on you; do you not think so?”

I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter. Oh Edward, I thought, how fortunate you are that I am not in Isabelle’s shoes! If I were, you would have a fearsome headache, for I would not hesitate to smash that beautiful box over your dear idiotic, thoughtless, tactless, insensitive head!

“No, Edward, I do not!” Isabelle said emphatically. “And you miss the point entirely! Those are my gems, bridal gifts from my father, and you take them, steal them …”

“Have you forgotten, Madame, that I am the King of England?” Edward demanded. “I can do as I like, and whether one is speaking of the lowest or the highest in the land, the Law says that a wife’s property becomes her husband’s on their marriage day, therefore, they are my jewels and I can do with them as I see fit! Now leave us; Perrot is impatient to hear the rest of the song I have written for him and it is most unkind of you to deprive him of that pleasure!” And he turned his back on her and took up his lute again.

But I was in no mood for songs. I was furious!

“Edward …”

“Yes, my love?” he asked anxiously. “Is anything the matter? Do you not like the song?”

“Yes, of course I do!” I lied. I could not quote a verse of it now to save my life. It was one of those songs that is better forgotten or better yet never written at all. “Edward, how could you do this?”

“Oh I slaved over it for hours, I wanted every word, and every note, to be perfect, and a fitting tribute to you!”

“The jewelry, Edward! How could you do such a thing? Do you not see how this makes me look? And you? Here …” I started to remove the heavy ruby and diamond encrusted chain, “you must give them back!”

“No!” Edward howled. “Oh no, Piers, I cannot! Giving them back would make me look like a fool!”

“Edward, you have already made yourself look like a fool, so it is too late to worry about that! Come now, be reasonable; let us try to set things right before …”

“No! I am the King, Isabelle is my wife and as such her property belongs to me, and if I go back upon my word it will undermine my authority! She will think me of a changeable and pliant mind! The jewels are yours, Piers, I have given them to you, and with you they shall stay! Now lie back and take your ease, and I shall continue my song; there are still eleven more verses you haven’t heard.”

Oh Edward, I thought, you maddening, vexatious, sweet, darling fool! How little you understand yourself and the people around you! You are of a changeable and pliant mind and nary a soul does not know it!

But Edward merely smiled, strummed his lute, and sang on about the similarities of love and honey.