Read The Confession of Piers Gaveston Online
Authors: Brandy Purdy
Shortly after we became lovers, Edward decided that we should be wed.
I greeted this solemn pronouncement with raised eyebrows. “Surely it cannot have escaped Your Grace’s attention that we are both men?”
Ever impractical, Edward decided we would not let this stop us.
And soon we were standing before the tapestry of a unicorn being captured by a virgin, in the room adjoining Edward’s bedchamber, being joined in holy wedlock, or “a compact of brotherhood” as Edward would ever afterwards describe it. Edward was solemn and joyful in celestial blue and rose silk, babbling on about the sacredness of the occasion, while I, in spring green and scarlet satin, was trying very hard not to laugh.
The ceremony was performed by a fat monk with greedy fingers, eager for the bulging purse of gold Edward offered him. I believe Edward found the fellow in a tavern, the redness of his nose, slurred speech, and weaving walk seemed to indicate a fondness for strong drink, indeed I smelled it upon his breath as he hiccoughed his way through the service.
As he slipped the ring—set with the biggest ruby I had ever seen—upon my finger, where it remains to this day, Edward said: “Before the eyes of the world, let it be known that I adopt you, Piers Gaveston, my beloved Perrot, as my brother. But in truth, before the eyes of God, we are as surely and truly bound as husband and wife. I hereby take and acknowledge you as my own, tonight, tomorrow, always and forever, and beyond life itself.”
As I told Edward at the time, letting it be known will not make it be believed.
Afterwards, when we were alone together in Edward’s enormous bed, I lay idly twisting my hand, watching my ruby sparkle and flash in the candlelight.
“Verily, it looks just like a candied cherry!” I exclaimed. And Edward explained that it was indeed known as “La Cerise” or “The Cherry” because of this resemblance.
And then he raised his head from my chest and, with a besotted smile, asked: “Do you love me?”
“Yes,” I, in all sincerity, answered, and then I turned the question back on him. “Do you love me?”
“How could anyone not love you?” he demanded, sitting up and shaking back his love-tousled hair. “You are the living God of Beauty, you are perfection personified, your every gesture gives new meaning to the word grace …”
He said much more, but at that point I stopped listening. There was that sinking feeling in my stomach again!
“Edward,” I interrupted his rapturous recitation of my charms, “how much did you say this ruby is worth?”
“£1,000 my love!” he answered proudly.
I nodded and forced a smile. We must all learn to live with our disappointments.
On October 31
st
—All Hallow’s Eve—Edward and I set aside our finery and donned simple clothes and went out to mingle with the commonfolk on the village green. We joined hands and danced round the bonfire, lighting up the dark night, to keep the evil spirits at bay on this special night when the veil between the worlds is thin and the souls of the dead are free to wander as they will.
We ate our fill of roast suckling pig, and merry serving maids made certain our tankards of apple beer were never empty. Edward bobbed for apples and joined in the old game of tossing the peelings over the shoulder to see who one’s husband or wife would be. It is said that they will land in the shape of the first letter of that person’s name. And for those who did not know their letters he deciphered them, drawing squeals of delight or dismay from the maidens who surrounded him.
And we eagerly sat down at the trestle table to have our share of sweet, creamy apple crowdie. It was a moment of high excitement that everyone looked forward to. Baked within the crowdie were a pair each of coins, marbles, rings, and beads. According to tradition, whoever found the coins would be rich, the rings would soon marry, the beads withdraw from the world to take holy orders, and the marbles would lead a cold and lonely life. How I laughed at the expression upon Edward’s face when he found both a ring and a coin in his crowdie, while I received a marble. Verily, whoever baked it did not stir the mixture very well to have so many tokens found so close together! Those around us heartily clapped Edward upon the back in congratulations and shook their heads and sighed to condole with me. Even as Edward scoffed and assured me that I would never be cold or lonely as long as his life endured, I laughed and joined my voice with the others informing him that “the crowdie never lies!” And then I pulled him from the bench and we ran back to join the dancers round the bonfire.
But Edward’s pleasure was short-lived and he drew back nervously when a woman came forth robed in green with a crown of dried flowers upon her unbound hair to represent the Goddess, hand-in-hand with her consort, the brown robed and antlered Horned God. Though the Church, in its persistent attempts to purge this night of its pagan taint, would have us believe they are only a lad and lass from the village costumed to represent summer’s end and autumn’s start, I am not deceived.
Edward’s lips trembled and he turned and fled when he saw me kneel reverently before them.
I found him cowering amongst the trees, darting anxious glances back at the bonfire, no doubt imagining the dancers were lascivious, cavorting demons even though he knew them to be nothing but good and simple country folk.
“You should not have brought me here tonight, Piers!” he cried. “Now I will surely go to Hell!”
“If you do it will be a Hell of your own making,” I shrugged, nonchalantly taking a bite of the apple I held.
“I take it that you do not believe in Hell,” he frowned.
“Certainly not! It is nothing but a horror story the Church tells to frighten its children into submission! All that nonsense about poppets with pins stuck in them, dark rituals with black candles and inverted crosses, and the Lord’s Prayer recited backwards, sacrifices of virgins and babies, and familiars in the form of giant, sinister toads and black cats suckled on blood from the Witch’s Mark! It would all be very amusing if innocent people didn’t have to die because of it! Stories like that feed people’s fears, Edward! Witchcraft, as you think of it, is born of the mating of superstition and fear and is completely foreign to the Lady’s loyal adherents. The truth is infinitely more beautiful and, to most minds, boring.”
“What do you believe then?” he asked, curiosity overcoming his fear.
“That when we die we sail away to the Isle of Apples and there eat of the magic fruit and become eternal.” I took another bite from my apple then offered it to him.
“When you speak of these things, I almost forget my fears!” He accepted the apple and took a bite. “I almost forget that I saw you kneel before that horned devil!”
“That was no devil, Ned!” I laughed incredulously. “The Horned God is the consort of the Lady! He is the lord of the woodlands and of the hunt, that is the reason he sports antlers; there is no deviltry in it! He is born at the winter solstice, unites with the Lady at Beltane—what you call May Day—and dies at summer’s end—Samhain; All Hallow’s Eve. It is life renewing itself, a circle that goes round and round with no end and no beginning, and it is beautiful! He is the sun to Her moon, as you are to me,” I said, reaching out to stroke his golden hair. “But come, do not be afraid, Nedikins, I am with you, and tonight is a night for dancing, feasting, and love.” I took his hand and led him deeper into the shadows.
EVENTS LEADING UP TO MY BANISHMENT
From the start we have been too open and indiscreet. In the beginning, I did try. I urged that we keep our love behind locked doors, but Edward has such an open and honest nature; he does not know the meaning of the word “discreet” and has no desire to learn.
It was when we accompanied his father to Scotland in 1303 that these concerns first began to weigh so heavily upon my mind. It was a burden, I soon learned, that Edward was not inclined to share with me.
When one thinks of a soldier’s tent “cramped” and “small” are the words that generally come first to mind. But a prince of the blood must have something more palatial, a portable palace in miniature, replete with fine furnishings and a feather bed.
As Edward’s companion of choice, and a mere knight in rank, etiquette required that I sleep on a pallet at the foot of his bed to be within ready call should he require anything during the night—besides the knight himself, of course. That first night, as I prepared to lie down upon my pallet, Edward sat up in bed and gave a howl of protest.
“No! I will not have you sleeping at the foot of my bed like a dog!” He patted the empty space beside him.
“Nedikins, we are in a tent. Here the walls are not stone or wood. And see,” I pointed to the entrance flap, “there is no door that we might lock. Be patient, wait until we can be assured of privacy; this brief respite will only make us enjoy it more!” Again, I started to lie down, but Edward would not be dissuaded.
“No! If you do not get into bed with me I shall get out of bed and pass the night with you on the floor! Now be sensible, Piers,” he pleaded, patting the mattress again, “and come to bed!”
I knew full well that to acquiesce would be flying in the face of sensibility, but I gave in; I was tired and not inclined to argue. But while Edward slumbered peacefully, I passed a very nervous night, keenly aware of every sound, fearing someone, especially the King, might enter and catch us lying entwined and naked.
Later, when we were back at Langley, we were involved in a foolish escapade. We trespassed on Walter Langton’s land and poached his deer. Rather than apologize, Edward assumed an air of princely pomposity and answered his father’s Treasurer and longtime friend with great arrogance and disrespect. My laughter only encouraged him and made matters worse. It was not one of our shining moments.
As punishment, Edward was deprived of my company and his allowance. But meek acceptance was not for him, oh no, he must bombard everyone whose opinion might hold sway—his stepmother, sisters, and even the despised Walter Langton—who, in Edward’s mind, was entirely to blame—with a barrage of groveling letters beseeching them to use whatever influence they possessed to persuade the King to reinstate me. And he managed to obtain funds from some obliging friends and courtiers and proceeded to follow his father about the countryside hoping to be forgiven, he even sent him two barrels of sturgeon as a conciliatory gift. To me he sent dozens of despondent letters in which he poured out his heart, penned maudlin poetry, and agonized over what I was doing in London and who I was doing it with. He implored me to have my meals sent up to my room instead of taking them in the Common Room of the inn or at taverns lest I be seen and desired.
Poor Edward! Had he but known! Being seen and desired was how I lived! I frequented the bathhouses and taverns, and I had many patrons among the wealthy merchant class. There was a Flemish mercer, famous for his tapestries, who had me stay an hour with him every afternoon save Sundays. And a goldsmith’s widow, a sad-eyed woman with graying hair, who only craved a little tenderness, which I was happy to provide in the rented room where we met twice a week. And a careworn banker with a bald head as smooth as an egg that he would have me stroke while I sat on his lap and he told me all his woes. And I was not staying at an inn at all, but with my tailor with whom I had a mutually beneficial arrangement—I got lots of beautiful clothes and he got me. Apparently he preferred my warm and pliant body to cold hard coins. And there are people who say I have no head for business!
After two months the King forgave Edward and allowed me to return to him. Edward was ecstatic, though suspicious about how small my London expenditures had been, and how I happened to return with more money and clothes than I left with, but I have my ways of distracting him and he soon forgot all about it. But it was not the end of our troubles, and soon disquieting rumors about the true nature of our relationship led the King to visit us at Langley.
His father’s presence wrought no change in Edward’s behavior. I cannot count the times I had to whisper a reminder that we were within the King’s sight and those keen eyes did not miss much. Time after time I saw them fix, a stern, steely-blue gaze, upon us as Edward flung his arms about me, leaned in so close to whisper in my ear that his lips grazed my flesh, or pressed his thigh against mine when he sat down beside me.
It was inevitable that a confrontation should take place.
One afternoon when I sat alone on the hearth-side settle staring morosely into the flames, a book lying forgotten on my lap, Edward came bounding in like some great rambunctious puppy, panting and pink-cheeked from vigorous exercise. He flung himself down beside me and his arms went round my neck. His lips were pressed to mine when his father walked in.
He was upon us in two strides, seizing Edward by his embroidered collar and pulling him off me. I watched in horror as he flung him aside and Edward slammed face first into the wall. His fingers caught at the tapestry as he fell, taking it down with him.
“Stand up!” he ordered. I obeyed while Edward coughed and writhed upon the floor, endeavoring to extricate himself from the heavy, musty folds of the tapestry in which he had become entangled.
“Piers Gaveston, you have failed me grievously!” roared the gray-bearded Hammer of the Scots, glaring down at me from his great height, like Zeus upon a thundercloud poised to hurl a lightning bolt to strike me dead. “It is not often that I make a mistake regarding a man’s character, but there is something about you I did not notice on the battlefield; you exude a certain sensuality which,” he darted a meaningful glance at his son, his head just now emerging from beneath the tapestry which still lay, like a turtle’s shell, heavy upon his back, “you have clearly used to your advantage. This is what comes from entrusting a poor, landless foreigner with the welfare of the Prince! Take yourself back to Gascony, and do not return if you value your life!”
By now Edward had managed to crawl out from underneath the tapestry and was hugging his father’s ankles, washing the dust from his boots with his tears, and begging him not to take me from him.
“Remove yourself from my sight!” the King thundered as he jerked one foot free and dealt his son a savage kick.
Edward yelped in pain, his arms going up to shield his head from the onslaught of blows that followed. It was not a sight I cared to see and I fled hastily, wincing at every yelp and blow that followed me.
Later Edward came to me, all battered and bruised, with both eyes blackened, and his lip crusted with blood where his father’s boot had split it. He lay on my bed with his head in my lap and wept while I cleansed his face.
I could not believe it, but he had gone so far as to compound his folly by asking permission to give me Ponthieu, which he had inherited upon his mother’s death. With its revenues, I would no longer be poor or landless, and I would be styled the Count of Ponthieu.
Poor Edward, he showed me the place on his head where his father had ripped out a handful of his hair.
“Can you not do something, Piers?” he sobbed.
“Such as?” I asked, stroking his hair.
“Well you are a witch,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “and I have heard it said that a wax poppet fashioned in the likeness of one’s enemy with some clippings of his hair and nails …”
“Edward!” I thrust him from me. “I know nothing of such things! That was not the way of my mother’s witchcraft, nor is it mine! And even if I did possess such knowledge never would I use it! Do no harm, lest it come back to you threefold!”
I rang for my servants and bade them pack my things, while Edward continued to weep inconsolably upon my bed.
“I cannot live without you!” he sobbed, then raised his head to look at me. “Can you live without me, Piers?”
When I did not answer he wept all the more. But what could I say? To say “no” would be a lie, but to say “yes, just not as well,” seemed brutally frank and unkind.
The next day I kept to my chamber. It was known all about that I was banished, and I did not care to face the mocking eyes of the court.
I lay in bed, staring up at the canopy, pondering my fate, then inspiration blessed me. I would go and throw myself upon the mercy of the King! It would be difficult. I would be required to perform a delicate balancing act in which I must stay on good terms with both the current king and the future one.
“Agnes! Dragon! Make haste!” I cried when they came rushing in. “Dress me entirely in white! I am going to see the King and I must look as heart-sore as the most wretched penitent! Where’s that prayer book Edward gave me? Not that one, rubies are far too tempestuous for a time like this! The white one with the pearls on it!”
“Well?” I asked when at last I stood before the big silver mirror Edward had given me, arrayed all in white with the little white pearl-embellished prayer book clasped demurely in my hands. “Do I look suitably repentant?”
“Can you manage a few tears, Child?” Agnes asked. “Nay, do not tax yourself, my sweet; I’ll get an onion from the kitchen.”
“Mayhap a rosary would be a becoming touch?” Dragon suggested. “Have you a white one?”
“Of course!” I cried, scrambling for my jewel coffers. “Edward gives me a new one every Sunday, I must have one in every color and stone known to man!” I sat down on the window-seat and spent several tense and tiresome moments untangling a multitude of multihued strands of rosary beads until I found the white pearl one with the silver crucifix dangling from it.
“What is it you mean to do, Child?” Agnes asked when she returned with the onion.
“I shall tell him the truth,” I confidently declared, “but not the whole of it; there are certain details I would not bore him with.”
“Aye,” Agnes agreed, “the King is a busy man and should not be bothered with trifles.”
And that is what I did. After all, Edward did come to my bed. And he was very insistent, and ardent. I was overcome. A nightmare had disturbed my sleep and left me feeling vulnerable. It was all so new and unexpected! I had never been seduced by a prince before!
“And if you will pardon my bluntness in saying so, Sire, but while I would not offend you for the world, nor would I offend your successor either.”
And knowing that I had lost his goodwill made my heart ache unbearably. I could offer nothing but my most humble and heartfelt apologies, though I knew they would not suffice; nothing could excuse the great and grievous wrong I had unwittingly committed.
When I was too overcome with tears to speak, the King laid a hand upon my shoulder and bade me take heart, he knew now that I was not to blame and lamented that he had been so harsh with me. The terms of my banishment would be mitigated somewhat and distinctly in my favor. I would be allowed to remain in England for another two months, until the tournament season ended, so that I might have the chance to take a few more prizes. He knew that tournaments contributed much to my coffers, the prizes being great and including the like of money, horses, armor, weaponry, and gems. And I was to have a pension of £100 per annum. And now that he understood the circumstances, he could find no fault with my behavior, and actually apologized for his son being the cause of so much distress to me! He removed me not as a punishment, he bade me understand, but for my own sake. “I see now that it was folly to entrust the Prince with such a treasure!” he fumed as he paced furiously before me. “I have thrown a pearl before a swine!”
Yes, I know, I am shameless!
As I went out the door I heard him bellowing at his chamberlain to send for Prince Edward and quickened my steps in consequence. Edward was going to be furious!
“Quick!” I cried as I dashed into my room. “I must change!” I began wrenching my white pearl and lace trimmed tunic up over my head. “My cornflower blue tunic! And the hose and shoes to match! Hurry! Edward will be here soon and he is certain to be in a beastly temper!”
How right I was! He burst into my bedchamber, his face cherry-red with rage, and found me primping before my mirror as if I hadn’t a care in the world.
“What kept you?” I pouted. “I’ve been waiting for you all day!”
“Including the hour you spent pouring lies into my father’s ears?” he demanded as he towered over me, pulses pounding, fists clenched tight at his sides and quaking as he struggled to resist the urge to strangle me.
“Oh that?” I shrugged, turning away from him to rummage through the jewel box Agnes held for me. “Is it even necessary for me to explain?”
“By God’s teeth, I should say it is! You told him …”
“Oh Nedikins!” Eyes brimming with tears, I turned to face him. “Have you so little faith in me? Is it not obvious that I did what I did for us? Do you not see? If he thinks me an evil influence, that I corrupted you, he will never let me come back to you; and think how unhappy poor Perrot will be without his Nedikins! But, if he sees me as the victim, there is hope that we shall be together again before many months have passed, once he is persuaded that you will mend your ways and take no more boys into your bed.”