The Follies of the King - Plaidy Jean - Страница 31

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They agreed with her. The nurses clucked over him. They had never seen

such a child, they assured her. He surpassed all other children.

Of course, he did. He was to be a king.

She said: ‘I have decided he shall be called Edward.’

‘The King will be pleased.’

She thought: Not after him. After his grandfather. I pray he may not be like his father. No, he should not be. Tall, fine, manly. A great king. But one who would listen to his mother.

Edward came. He stared at the child and none had seen him so delighted

since Gaveston had died. He was smiling. Just for a few moments he forgot his beloved friend.

‘He is? perfect,’ he cried incredulously.

‘In every way,’ the child’s mother assured him. ‘Give him to me. I cannot

bear not to have my eyes on him all the time.’

‘ My son,’ said Edward as though bewildered. ‘My own son.’

‘Your son,’ she answered, ‘and mine.’

‘There is rejoicing throughout the land,’ he went on. ‘They are talking of it at Court. They want him to be named Louis.’

‘I will not have it,’ said the Queen. ‘His name is Edward. Louis is not the name of a King of England but a King of France. He is Edward. I will have no other name.’

Edward knelt by the bed and kissed her hand. ‘I am so proud of him,’ he

said. ‘My son.’

‘Yes, Edward,’ she answered, ‘and mine also.’

He took the child in his arms and walked about the room with it.

He has forgotten Gaveston? momentarily, she thought.

She was glad to see his delight in the child, but her intentions towards him had not changed at all. He had fathered the child, and they must have more. But little Edward was hers, entirely hers.

As she lay in bed with her baby beside her, she thought of the future. The people would be with her. They liked her youthful beauty as soon as they set eyes on it and the King’s treatment of her had incensed them so that they had immediately taken her part. That she had apparently forgiven him for his

disgraceful behaviour with Gaveston and now actually given them the heir they wanted, made her seem something like a saint in their eyes.

She must never lose the respect of the people and in particular those of the City of London.

She therefore decided to acquaint them with the arrival of her son, to send them a personal message and to order that there be rejoicing throughout the capital.

She wrote to the citizens of London.

Isabella, by the grace of God Queen of England, Lady of Ireland, and Duchess of Aquitaine, to our well-beloved mayor and Alderman and the Commonality of London, greetings. Forasmuch as we believe you would willingly bear good tidings of us, we do make it known to you that our Lord in his Grace has delivered us of a son, on the 15th day of November with safety to ourselves and to the child.

May our Lord preserve you. Given at Windsor on the day above named.

She sent messages to say that she wished the city to have three days of

rejoicing in which to welcome the baby. Wine would be in the streets and she hoped that there would be none in the city who did not drink her child s health.

She believed they would know how to make a merry time of it and she would be glad to hear of their rejoicing.

‘God bless the Queen,’ cried the people of London. ‘God bless the little

Prince!’

There were few cheers for the King. But it was said that the timely arrival of the baby had averted trouble with the barons. Everyone was so delighted that there should be a male heir that it seemed hardly likely that those critics of the King would stand a chance against him now. As for the King, he should forget his grievances against those who dispatched Gaveston.

Gaveston was dead and a good riddance.

There was now a baby heir. Let the King settle down with his beautiful wife who was so popular with the people. Let him live a normal married life and beget more children.

THE CURSE OF THE TEMPLARS

AT this time the Archbishop of Canterbury, Robert de Winchelsey, died. He

had been ailing for some time and was an old man so his death was not

unexpected

Walter Reynolds, Bishop of Worcester, who had been an intimate friend of

Gaveston, asked for an audience with the King, which was immediately granted.

Reynolds was a crafty man. He did not come straight to the point which he felt even Edward might consider a little audacious but it had always been Walter Reynolds’ opinion that no delicacy of feeling should come between a man and his ambitions. The See of Canterbury was vacant. A new Archbishop would

have to be appointed and in view of the closeness of his friendship with the King, it could possibly be that Walter Reynolds might step into those shoes so recently vacated by Robert of Winchelsey.

Reynolds fell onto his knees and kissed the King’s hand. ‘My lord, my lord, I see how you still suffer from our terrible loss.’

‘I think of him continuously,’ replied the King.

‘As I do also.’

‘And the manner of his death, Walter, I shall never forget it or forgive it.’

‘You could not, my lord. The happy times we had together?’

They talked of them for a while, Reynolds deliberately arousing the King’s despair. He was more likely to agree when he was in a maudlin mood. After all the three of them had been so much together. Reynolds had made it his duty to provide for their comfort. It had been Gaveston who had considered Walter

should be rewarded in the first place.

At length, Reynolds said: ‘There is Canterbury.’

‘Ah yes, poor Robert. I never liked him. An uncomfortable man, but a good

one by all accounts.’

‘My lord will not be sorry to see him go. You must put someone in his place who will be your man.’

‘The monks have already elected Cobham.’

‘Cobham. That will never do.’

‘You know they claim their right.’

‘But my lord, the monks of Canterbury have no rights over their King.’

‘They were always a tiresome company. They have made trouble for my

ancestors through the centuries.’

‘That is no reason why they should make trouble for you, gracious lord.

Insolent fellows.’

Edward sighed. ‘If he were here he would jibe at them.’

‘He would be angry at the manner in which they treat you.’

‘He was always eager to uphold me,’ said Edward fondly. ‘You know

Clement issued a bull only a month or so ago reserving to himself the

appointment of the archbishop.’

‘Clement! He sways with the wind. The French King whistles and he comes.

There is one thing I know of which could make him change his mind.’

Edward raised his eyebrows and Walter went on: ‘Money. Poor Clement,

but what is he but Philip’s puppet? Philip has him there at Avignon under his nose. Philip says, Come here. Go there. And what does Clement do? He obeys.

He has persecuted the Templars. Why? Because Philip says so. There is one

thing he can do without the help of the King of France, and that is amass money.

I have heard he will do a great deal for it.’

Edward was thoughtful.

‘‘Why Walter, how comforting it would be if you were Archbishop of

Canterbury.’

Walter folded the palms of his hands together and turned his eyes up to the ceiling.

‘I would serve you with my life, dear lord.’ Then he fell on his knees. ‘If only this could but come to pass! Can you not see our dear friend looking down on us from Heaven. Sometimes I think, lord, that he is working for us. He could never forget us, could he, any more than we could forget him? I wonder whether Clement would go so far.’

‘Let us find out,’ said Edward.

They did, and discovered that the Pope was willing to go a very long way

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