The Queen From Provence - Plaidy Jean - Страница 49

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Sober Henry of Cornwall was constantly keeping them in order, a fact which they resented and consequently there was always a certain amount of tension between the boys.

The elder Henry noticed that Edward was often led into acts of folly through his de Montfort cousins. They would urge him to do something which Edward really had no desire to do and indeed left to himself might have been ashamed of doing, but the de Montforts somehow made it appear that to forgo the deed would be weakness.

Thus during this period Edward was often led into mischief of some sort and the more Henry tried to remonstrate the more daring the de Montfort boys became and they were determined that Edward should share their adventure, for if he did not, they implied, he was lacking in daring.

Since he had been given his own establishment Edward had taken to riding through the countryside with some two hundred followers and when they passed through villages they would make sport with the people, overturning waggons, stealing horses, taking off the girls; and what had begun as high-spirited games often became cruel despoliation; and when it was discovered that the young heir to the throne was at the head of the band, people shook their heads with dismay and asked themselves what sort of a King would he make. They remembered King John who had behaved in a similar fashion. They would not have another such as he was. The King was weak; he was extravagant; he favoured foreigners, but at least he was a deeply religious man, a good husband and father and not given to violence.

With the King out of the country and the Queen and Richard of Cornwall co-Regents, Edward seemed to give himself up more and more to this wanton and foolish behaviour.

When his cousin Henry tried to remonstrate with him he told him to be silent. ‘If you do not wish to accompany us, pray stay behind,’ was his comment.

Henry took advantage of this and often stayed behind.

It began to be said that after Edward had passed through a village it was as though a horde of invading soldiers had come to it or the place had been struck by the plague and deserted by all its inhabitants.

On one occasion the disorderly band broke into a priory where the monks were sitting at their frugal meal; they drove them out, ate their food and beat their servants.

At the time it seemed a great joke, but when he told his cousin Henry about it, Edward was angered to see that Henry despised such conduct.

‘It was good sport,’ Edward murmured.

‘What? For the monks?’

‘Monks! They have such dull lives. That was excitement they will remember for the rest of their days.’

‘With the utmost ill feeling I’ll warrant. Edward, you are the heir to the throne. You should remember that. You should take your position seriously.’

‘And you should remember who I am and not tell me what I should do.’

‘I tell you because I fear for you. Do you want the people to hate you before you are their King?’

Edward laughed. ‘What matters it to me? It is not for them to pass judgement on me.’

‘All men pass judgement on each other but never so severely as they do on kings.’

‘You always wanted to spoil the sport,’ cried Edward angrily and slunk away.

A few days later his cousin was one of the party and rode beside him. His criticism was still festering. Edward had tried to forget his words but had found it impossible. They kept coming back to him and worrying him. This made him irritated with Henry. Henry had no right to set himself up in judgement. Henry was self-righteous. Henry was a spoil-sport. Henry pretended to be so wise simply because he was four years older than Edward.

As they came along the road a young boy appeared. He could only have been a year or so older than Edward himself. He saw the party of riders; hesitated and recognised them for who they were. He stood still in the middle of the road unable to move, so frightened was he. Edward and his followers were the terror of the countryside and this boy had been walking along deep in his own thoughts when suddenly he was in the middle of them.

‘What do you here, boy?’ shouted Edward.

The boy was too frightened to answer.

‘Does he not have a tongue then?’ cried Guy de Montfort. ‘If he does not know how to use it he deserves to lose it.’

‘Do you hear, boy?’ shouted Edward.

But the boy still could not speak or did not know how to answer.

‘Seize him!’ said Edward.

Two of his men had leaped from their horses.

‘See how he stares at me,’ cried Edward. ‘Insolent boy.’

‘He should lose his eyes for his insolence,’ said a voice.

Henry cried: ‘No. Let the boy go. He does no harm.’

‘He displeases me,’ retorted Edward, irritated and determined to ignore Henry’s advice.

One of the men had lifted the boy’s hair. ‘He has two ears, my lord,’ he said.

Then he took out his sword and held it aloft.

‘Shall I remove one of them, my lord, since they appear to be of little use to him?’

‘Oh cruel …’ murmured Henry.

Edward was angry suddenly. ‘Shall I be told by Henry what I am to do?’ he asked himself. ‘Henry is a weak man … afraid of losing the goodwill of the people. I’ll show him.’

‘I’ll have his ear,’ he shouted.

The sword came down. The boy fell fainting to the ground. The man with the sword was bowing before Edward, holding a piece of bloodstained flesh in his hands.

‘By God,’ cried Henry, ‘I’ll be no part of this.’ Then he leaped from his horse and picked up the boy.

He murmured to him: ‘Fear not. I will take you to your home. No more harm shall come to you.’

There was silence in the group as Henry walked away carrying the boy in his arms.

‘Ride on!’ shouted Edward.

When they had gone one horse remained patiently awaiting for the return of his master.

Sickened by what had happened and the lighter by his purse which he left with the boy’s family, Henry rode slowly back to the palace.

Henry scarcely looked at his cousin. He could not bear to. He felt nauseated when he did.

He would never forget holding the quivering body in his arms and contemplating the wanton cruelty of what had happened.

He would ask his father to let him go abroad. He no longer wished to be of Edward’s company. He believed he would never be able to look at him again without seeing that boy’s mutilated head.

When Edward returned to the castle, he wanted to be alone. When he was he sat on his bed and buried his head in his hands.

Why should he feel thus? he asked himself. Why could he not shut out of his mind the memory of that boy’s bleeding head and the look of contempt in Henry’s eyes?

Then he thought of the boy. He would carry his mutilation with him throughout his life and when people asked about it he would say: Edward did that.

Henry was right. It was a stupid, senseless act of cruelty. It brought no good to him and terrible suffering to that boy and his family. And all because he had seen the look in the eyes of his de Montfort cousins – ready to sneer at him, as far as they dared, ready to call him a coward.

They hated Henry because in a way they were jealous of him. Henry’s father was the great Richard of Cornwall, brother to the King, one of the most powerful men in the country. They would do anything to discountenance him, but that was difficult. Henry, because of his high principles, was aloof from them – as he was from them all.

Edward had always looked up to Henry. He wanted Henry’s good opinion. Ever since they were babies in the same nursery Henry had been as the elder brother.

Now Henry despised him.

He had to talk to Henry. He wanted to explain. He would find out where the boy lived and send some compensation. It seemed as though he had suddenly grown up and saw how silly he had been. His behaviour had not been that of a man who was learning to be a great ruler.

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