‘Not for long, Perrot. No, not for long.’
‘Methinks he has held it long enough. ‘Tis my belief, and one which I know my dearest liege lord shares, that those who have been good friends to us― to you, dear boy― should be rewarded and those who have been our enemies made to understand that their fortunes have taken a turn for the worse.’
‘I have been considering Langton,’ said Edward.
‘Then let us consider him now and let us not stop considering him until he is no longer in a position to annoy us.’
‘Turn him out,’ said Edward.
‘Precisely,’ replied Gaveston They laughed, recalling their skirmishes with Langton who had, unfortunately at the time, been in favour with Edward I.
‘Do you remember the time we broke into his wood?’ prompted Gaveston.
Edward did remember. There had been a great deal of trouble about that, and he recalled vividly his rage at the humiliation which been heaped on him at the time, for his father had been on the side of Langton over the affair.
It was characteristic that this man Langton whom young Edward had so hated should be favoured by his father. The old King had had such a high opinion of Walter Langton, and Lichfield, that he had made him his treasurer.
He would listen to his advice and often took it for he declared that the Bishop’s long experience was of great service to him.
Prompted by Gaveston, Edward had chosen Langton as a butt for his dislike.
As treasurer Langton was always questioning young Edward’s expenditure, nor was he averse to complaining to his father about it. It was galling that the old King took the treasurer’s side rather than that of his son and complained Gaveston, treated the Prince as an erring schoolboy in the presence of the Bishop which made that old hypocrite more determined than ever to spoil his pleasures.
It was Gaveston who pointed out that Reynolds could be of use to them.
‘That other Walter,’ as Gaveston called him. As treasurer of the wardrobe Walter Reynolds could contrive a little juggling over clothes which he was very willing to do. Indeed, Reynolds was very happy to put his scheming head together with that of Edward and his minion and laugh over ways of deceiving the King and Langton.
It was only natural that when Edward and Gaveston were riding near Walter Langton’s lands they should break into a wood of his and hunt the deer. They had not been without success and had just brought down a fine buck when Langton’s gamekeepers had come upon them, surrounded them and in spite of Edward’s protests that he was the Prince of Wales, had taken them, in a most humiliating fashion, to their master as though they were common poachers.
Moreover, even when he saw who the captives were, Langton had shown an equal lack of respect.
‘How dare you trespass on my land and steal my deer?’ he had demanded.
Edward had replied haughtily, ‘These lands come to you through my father’s grace. I am his heir and therefore claim the right to go where I will.’
Gaveston had nodded approvingly which gave Edward the courage he needed to stand up to the formidable old Bishop ‘You have not stepped into your father’s shoes yet!’ cried the Bishop, ‘and I pray God the time will be long before you do. Let us hope that when that time comes— and it could be a tragedy for the nation— you will have learned more sense.’
Now this had been more than Edward could endure and he began abusing Langton in somewhat coarse terms which seemed more amusing because they were addressed to a bishop and Gaveston had been looking on, convulsed with laughter.
‘I can tell you this,’ the Bishop had replied, ‘the King will not endure your frivolous behaviour, your extravagant dalliance with companions who are no good to you―’
Gaveston had smirked and mincing up to the Bishop had struck a mock pleading attitude which made Edward gasp with laughter.
The Bishop had turned a shade paler as he had said, ‘I shall report this matter to the King.’
‘Pray do,’ Edward had replied, ‘and I shall report him the insolence of a subject towards the King’s son.’
Langton had arrived first before the King. He had distraught and sorrowful and the King had been furious when he heard what had happened.
He sent for his son and the lights of the dangerous Plantagenet temper had been visible in his eyes. Young Edward was the one person who aroused that more than any other. The King’s voice could be heard through the palace and the things he said were very uncomplimentary to his son.
‘How dare you go into the Bishop’s woods? How dare you hunt his deer?
It’s a punishable offence. You know that.’
‘A King should hunt where he wishes,’ Edward had replied.
‘Remember this,’ thundered his father, ‘you are not yet a king. And I tell you there is considerable unease in this realm at the prospect of your becoming one. You will have to mend your ways or by God and all his angels, I will mend them for you.’
‘My lord, it is demeaning to our state―’
‘
It
is demeaning.
You
are demeaning. You and your evil counsellors.’
Little darts of fear had entered Edward’s heart then. He had always been afraid when the King’s thoughts turned to Gaveston.
He had become quieter, more humble. He had listened to his father’s tirade when he was told that he was banished from court, he had bowed his head and accepted the exile. It had been irritating, but it would be simply dreadful if his father began blaming Perrot and decided to part them.
He guessed that when his father did banish Gaveston— a few months before his death— that this affair had first put the idea to do so in his head.
So now Perrot reminded him of the time they had broken into Langston’s wood he remembered not only the incident but the parting with Perrot which had followed and a great anger rose in him against Langton who had been one of their worst enemies.
‘And he remains your treasurer,’ pointed out Gaveston. ‘Dear friend, you are too good to that old rogue.’
‘Someone will have to replace him.’
‘But indeed it is so and there is our old friend, that other Walter. He is just waiting for his chance, and sweet Prince, why should he not have it?’
‘Reynolds!’ cried the King.
‘Who else? Has he not served us― you― well?’
‘You are right. It shall be. Who shall we send for first?’
‘Let’s have our Sport with the Bishop.’
Edward slapped his thigh with excitement. How different from when they had been taken to his presence like humble foresters. Now it was his turn.
‘Let’s tell Reynolds,’ said Gaveston. ‘We’ll hide him in the chamber and he can hear the great man receive his dismissal.’
‘You always think of the most
amusing
things, Perrot.’
‘It is my duty to amuse my lord. Sometimes I think my role is that of court jester.’
‘There never was a more handsome, witty and charming one― nor such a rich one.’
‘There’s truth in that, I’ll swear. Now to the fun.’
* * *
The Bishop received his dismissal with dignity. It was clear though that he would soon join up with Lancaster and Lincoln, Warwick and such malcontents who were already raising their eyebrows at the King’s preoccupation with Gaveston even though Gaveston had been recently married. He was rarely with his wife and that marriage had obviously been a means of bringing him a fortune.
‘I will be magnanimous, my lord,’ said the Bishop as he departing, ‘and ask God to help you.’
‘But, my dear Bishop,’ said Gaveston, ‘it is you who will need His help and I am sure that, seeing the pious life you have led, He will not deny it now.’
The Bishop ignored Gaveston. Poor Perrot, that angered him more than anything. He could not bear to be treated though he were of no importance.
Walter Reynolds came in, rubbing his hands together.
‘My lords, my lords, it was as good as one of our plays. You showed him the door, indeed you did. I’ll warrant the old prelate is trembling in his shoes.’
‘Methinks he was expecting it, Walter,’ said Perrot. ‘He could not hope to go on in office after all he has done to our gracious King.’
‘Well, Walter,’ said Edward, ‘what would you say if I set you in the old rogue’s shoes and made you my treasurer?’
Walter’s answer was to go down on his knees and kiss the King’s hand.
‘Walter,’ said Edward. ‘You deserve your honour. Serve me well and there will be more. I remember my friends.’
‘And must not forget your enemies, dear Prince,’ said Gaveston.
‘Nor shall I. It was good fun, was it not― seeing the old fellow brought low?’
‘Now we shall cease to be plagued and must think of others who have offended you.’
‘And of those who have been my friends. I intend they shall never regret it.’
‘This is a great day for those who long to serve you well, my lord. I shall let it be known that good and loyal friends had cause for happiness this day. Even our little drummer Francekin shall have a pair of kettle drums.’
‘That pleases me,’ said Gaveston. ‘Francekin is a good little nakerer and pretty withal.’
They were happy together making plans for the future.
* * *
The tournament had been planned to take place in the old town of Walingford which was situated in the Thames valley between Reading and Oxford. Gaveston had arranged it and to it he invited all the knights renowned for their chivalry.
Gaveston was smarting a little from the treatment he had received at the hands of some of the leading barons of the country― men such as Lancaster, Lincoln, Warwick, Surrey, Arundel and Hereford. They had their followers too, and they all showed clearly how much they deplored his friendship with the King. Moreover they were constantly stressing the lowness of his birth— a very sore point with Gaveston who considered himself their superior in every other way. They were never going to let him forget that he was the son of a humble Gascon knight while they belonged to the greatest families in the country. Many of them were royal or connected with royalty and they believed that the King should take his counsellors from their ranks instead of surrounding himself with minions of low birth.
Gaveston planned to teach them a lesson. He was going to show them that he could outshine them all in that display of chivalry which was considered to be at the very heart of good breeding. He was not only graceful on horseback but there were few who could handle a horse better. Edward said that when he watched Perrot on horseback he could believe he was some mythical creature, half-horse half-man, so well did he and the horse move together.
The days which preceded the tournament were full of excitement. Edward and Gaveston laughed together at the trick they were going to play on the arrogant barons. They were bringing into the country many young men from France who had not yet made their names but whose skill and vitality could, Gaveston was sure, outwit and overcome the proud barons at every turn. Perrot would lead them and the King would be seated under his canopy to watch the play and to present the trophies.
It was going to be a most exciting occasion.
On the appointed day people came from miles to see the contests. The roads were full of travellers with the usual company of beggars and pickpockets in their wake. Pennants fluttered from those pavilions in which knights donned their armour and waited to be called to the fight. They were beautiful, those pavilions, many made of double satin, the valences embroidered with their owner’s motto. The Royal Pavilioners and Sergeants of the Tents were busy all through the day preceding the tournament, setting them up and making sure they were not damaged. Merchants of London and the big cities vied with each other to obtain contracts for making and maintaining these pavilions. And a colourful sight they were.
When the King appeared there was a great shout of greeting from the people, for there was nothing they loved more than displays of this sort and the rumour had already been circulated that the King was at some variance with certain members of his court who did not like his friend Gaveston. They knew of course that the late King had banished the Gascon and that the new King had recalled him and given him, as well as a rich and royal bride, great honours.
The feeling had seeped out that the tournament in some way a contest between the King, who had his own idea of what a King’s duties should be, and those barons who wanted to impose their will on him.
As yet the outcome of this struggle seemed of little importance to the people. What they wanted to see was an exciting tournament and when the combatants emerged they would pick their favourites.
The King had taken his seat beneath the royal canopy and among his party was Margaret de Clare, his niece, the newly-married wife of Gaveston. As soon as the knights appeared in their splendid armour, her eyes sought her husband among them and as she recognized him, they shone with a pride which was matched by the King’s own obvious love for his friend.
Gaveston was chafing against the fact that he had been designated as one of the challengers, believing that he should have been greeted as a champion. Well, he was here to show these arrogant knights what he thought of them. He and his group of challengers were determined to inflict such defeat on them as would never forget.