The Follies of the King

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘‘Tis no more than a whore she be,’ said one man. ‘The true King will rise up, depend on it, man. God will not be with those that live in adultery.’

  Such talk tempted the King to reveal his identity and he was warmly welcomed and several men swore they would stand with him. His father had defeated the Welsh but he had brought good rule to the country and they wanted no adulteress and her paramour ruling them.

  The King was filled with hope. Hugh was more realistic. A few men at an inn would count for little against the armies the Queen had raised.

  Still it was good to see Edward in better spirits and they talked through the night of how they would raise men and Edward should win back what he had lost.

  In the morning they were less sanguinary. The terrible fate of the elder Hugh had sobered both of them. Edward was terrified more for his friend than for himself. He was certain that they would not dare harm him.

  ‘What we must do,’ said Hugh, ‘is to disguise ourselves, sound the people and if many feel as this innkeeper and some of his friends do we may raise men to fight for us.’

  ‘You are right, dear Hugh,’ said Edward. 1 think we could take the innkeeper into our confidence,’ replied Hugh.

  They did and the man was clearly excited to be drawn into the conspiracy.

  Welshmen of strict morals, he reiterated, will never support a whore and her paramour.

  For some days they lived in high hope. Edward pinned his faith on his son.

  ‘He is but a boy yet,’ he said. ‘When he is a little older he will never stand against his father, that I know.’

  ‘But he has to grow up and much can happen before that,’ Hugh reminded him.

  There were days when their cause seemed hopeful but although there were some who sympathised with him they had no desire to go to battle for his sake.

  It was not long before the Queen and Mortimer heard of his adventures.

  Mortimer said: ‘It is a pitiful attempt, but it would be wiser to put an end to his wanderings. Moreover, we want the Despenser. We will send a force to take them and bring them to us. A certain amount of harm can be done by these wanderings.’

  ‘Let us send Henry of Lancaster, Edward’s cousin. That will show that people of authority are with us. Lancaster should not have much difficulty in finding him.’

  The news that Henry of Lancaster had come into Wales in search of the King quickly spread and Hugh suggested that they go into hiding because he was not altogether sure who were their friends.

  They disguised themselves as peasants and left the small band of supporters they had managed to muster to wander the country like two itinerant farm hands.

  They were discovered by a farmer sleeping in one of his fields. He wanted men to help dig a field and they would be given food and lodging in payment for their work, he told them.

  Hugh said quickly that they would be glad to earn a lodging and a meal but they were so urgently in need of the latter that they must eat before they worked.

  The farmer studied them suspiciously and at length agreed as he said to humour them, so they were given cold bacon and bread with ale which due to their hunger tasted good to them.

  Then they were set to work. Strangely enough it was Hugh rather than the King who betrayed them. Edward was quite handy with a spade. As a youth he had gloried in physical labour as a release from lessons. He had enjoyed working with the blacksmith and had often helped with thatching and digging trenches. In those days too he had sought the society of grooms and workmen, so he slipped naturally into the role of farm worker.

  Not so Hugh, and it was very clear to the farmer that he had an unusual pair in his house.

  There had been rumours about the King and the Despenser and he had heard that they were in the neighbourhood. He wanted no involvement in these matters. God alone knew where they could lead a man. Someone would be calling him traitor next.

  He sent one of his workers into a nearby town with a message for the mayor.

  He had a strange pair working for him and he thought it was his duty to tell someone who was wiser than he was and would know what a man should do in such circumstances.

  The messenger was asked questions. Indeed the itinerants were interesting.

  They sounded uncommonly like that much sought after pair, the King and his favourite. Bearing in mind what had happened to the latter’s father— and the whole country was aware of that— no one wanted very much to do with these matters. Careless dabbling could bring a man to the terrible fate of that new law against traitors which made honest men shudder in their beds to contemplate.

  It was not long before Lancaster’s men arrived at the farm.

  ‘We are betrayed,’ said Hugh. ‘My lord, this will be the end.’

  The King was treated with respect. Not so Hugh. He was roughly seized by men who delighted in heaping indignity upon him.

  ‘Come, pretty boy,’ they said. ‘It will be rather different for you now.’

  They dragged him away from the protesting King. ‘Where are they taking him?’ demanded Edward.

  ‘To his Maker I’d take wager, my lord,’ was the answer. Edward covered his face with his hands. He wanted to shut out the sight of Hugh’s appealing eyes as he was dragged out of his sight.

  He was courteously treated. He was to go to the castle of Llantrissaint, he was told.

  ‘On whose orders?’ he asked.

  They did not answer.

  ‘You forget that I am your King,’ he said.

  And they were ominously silent.

  But he was not really interested in his own fate. He could only think of what they had done to Hugh’s father. Oh, if they should do that to Hugh, he would die of despair.

  So they were parted at last. Their attempts to escape had come to nothing, as they might have known they would.

  And he was to go to bleak Llantrissaint Castle, the prisoner of someone— his wife, he supposed. Mortimer?

  Meanwhile Hugh le Despenser was on his way to Bristol to be delivered to the Queen.

  * * *

  Hugh stood before them. They were seated on chairs like thrones— the powerful beautiful Queen who had once made a show of humility and had been so careful to hide her hatred from him, and Mortimer, strong, bold, virile, as different from Edward as a man could be. It was said that the Queen was besottedly enamoured of him and their association was now of some duration.

  Looking back Hugh could see that it had been inevitable from the moment they had met. They were a match for each other— passionate ambitious people. The Queen was as ruthless as her father who had destroyed the Templars.

  What did she plan for Edward? He trembled to think. That it would be diabolical, he did not doubt. Her father had brought on himself the curse of the Templars. Perhaps she would bring retribution on herself too.

  And young Edward? Where was he?

  If I could but see young Edward, he thought, there might be a chance. I could move him to pity for his father’s plight.

  ‘So here is Hugh le Despenser,’ said the Queen. ‘You look less happy, my lord, than when I saw you last.’

  ‘That was a long time ago, my lady.’

  ‘Indeed it was. Why then you were like a petted dog. You sat on your master’s satin cushion and were well fed with sweetmeats.’

  ‘There will be no more sweetmeats for Hugh le Despenser,’ put in Mortimer grimly.

  ‘I do not expect them,’ replied Hugh with dignity.

  ‘Well, you gorged yourself while they were led to you,’ laughed the Queen.

  ‘Oh, it is going to be very different for you now, you know.’

  ‘So I had thought.’

  ‘We are going to London,’ said the Queen. ‘We are going to receive the homage of my good and faithful people. Alas for you, I fancy they do not like you very much.’

  For a moment he thought of good honest Walter Stapledon and wondered what his last hour had been like in the hands of the London mob.

  ‘I must ac
cept my fate for all come to that.’

  ‘He relinquishes his life of luxury much more easily than I had thought he would,’ commented the Queen.

  ‘Oh he has much to learn yet,’ responded Mortimer grimly.

  Hugh was praying silently: Oh God give me strength to meet what is coming to me.

  ‘Take him away,’ said the Queen.

  * * *

  They left Bristol for London. Isabella rode at the head of her army with Mortimer on one side and Sir John of Hainault on the other. Adam of Orlton was with them. He was determined to have a say in affairs.

  Among the Queen’s baggage was the head of Walter Stapledon. Mortimer had suggested it be placed on London Bridge but the Queen was too wily for that.

  ‘No,’ she had said, ‘he was a churchman and many would say he had been a good man. He was our enemy and he never pretended to be otherwise. Such men have a habit of becoming martyrs and I fear martyrs more than soldiers. Nay. I shall show my virtue by sending it to Exeter and having it buried in his own cathedral. It will be remembered in my favour.’

  ‘You are right, my love,’ replied Mortimer. ‘But are you not always right?’

  She smiled at him lovingly. She wished as she had so many times that Mortimer had been the son of the King and she had come here to marry him instead of the unworthy Edward.

  Hugh le Despenser rode with them. It had been their delight to find an old nag for him to ride on. He and the King had always cared so passionately for horses and they had once possessed some of the finest in the kingdom. This poor mangy animal called further attention to his degradation and in case any should fail to be aware of it as they entered the town through which the processions passed Isabella and Mortimer had commanded that there should be trumpets to announce the arrival of Hugh le Despenser and attention be called to him as he ambled along on his wretched nag.

  Hugh felt sick with despair. He knew that a fate similar to that given his father was awaiting him and he knew there was no way of avoiding it. He fervently hoped that he would be able to meet his death with courage.

  He had eaten nothing since he had been taken. He was growing thin and ill with anxiety more than from lack of nourishment.

  Isabella watched him with apprehension.

  ‘He looks near death,’ she said. ‘Are we going to be cheated of our revenge?’

  ‘He could be,’ agreed Mortimer. ‘Indeed he looks near to it. I’d say there was a man who was courting death.’

  ‘He need not go to such lengths. He does not need to court death.’

  ‘We should not wait to reach London. I doubt he will outlast the journey.

  We should stop at Hereford, and try him there. It would be safer.’

  ‘Alas, I wanted to give my faithful Londoners a treat. How they would have enjoyed the spectacle of pretty Hugh on the scaffold.’

  ‘I’d say it was Hereford or just quiet death.’

  ‘Then it must be Hereford,’ said the Queen.

  They had reached Hereford and there they halted for the trial of Hugh le Despenser.

  His guards told him that the day of his judgment was at hand.

  ‘Little did you think when you sported with the King that it would bring you to this,’ taunted one of them.

  He was silent. He felt too tired to talk. Besides there was nothing to say.

  He was taken to the hall where his judges were waiting for him. They were headed by Sir William Trussell, a man who could be relied on to show him no favour. Trussell had fought against the King at Boroughbridge and when Lancaster had been overthrown he had fled to the Continent. He had returned to England with Isabella and had become one of her firm adherents.

  He now harangued Hugh, listing the crimes of which he was accused. He had mismanaged the affairs of the kingdom in order to gain money and possessions; he had been responsible for the execution of that saint Thomas of Lancaster and had attempted to hide the fact that miracles were performed at his tomb. His inefficiency had been the cause of the defeat of Bannockburn. In fact any ill which had befallen England since the death of Gaveston and the rule of the Despensers had been because of Hugh’s wickedness.

  Of course there was no hope for him.

  ‘Hugh, all good people of this realm by common consent agree that you are a thief and shall be hanged and that you are a traitor and shall therefore be drawn and quartered. You have been outlawed by the King and by common consent and you returned to the court without warrant and for this you shall be beheaded; and for that you made discord between the King and Queen and others in this realm you shall be disembowelled and your bowels burned; so go to your judgment, attained wicked traitor.’

  Hugh listened to this terrible sentence almost listlessly. It was no surprise. It had happened to his father. It was their revenge and he had known from the moment they had taken him that it was coming.

  All he could do was pray for courage, that he might endure what was coming to him with fortitude.

  There was to be no delay, ordered the Queen. Delay was dangerous. He might die and defeat them of their satisfaction. Almost immediately after the sentence had been passed, he was dressed in a long black robe with his escutcheon upside down. They had said he should be crowned because he had ruled the King so they placed a crown of nettles on his brow to add a little more discomfort and he was dragged out of the castle.

  As they prepared to hang him on the gallows which was fifty feet high in order that as many as possible might witness the spectacle, the Queen took a seat with Mortimer and Adam of Orlton on either side of her that they might gloat over the pain inflicted on the King’s favourite.

  The handsome body now emaciated beyond recognition dangled on the rope and Isabella feared that he might die before they could cut him down and administer the rest of the dreadful sentence.

  To her delight she saw that Hugh’s lips were moving slightly as they laid him out and bared his body for the fearsome ordeal.

  This is the man he preferred, thought Isabella . I was humiliated for his sake.

  He took away my friends; he deprived me of my rights. And now he is in my hands these are his just deserts.

  There was little satisfaction though, for Hugh was so quiet. Once she heard a faint moaning, but there were no cries for mercy.

  She reached for Mortimer’s hand. He seized it and pressed it.

  This was the end of Hugh, they were both thinking. There remained the King.

  EDWARD

  KING NO MORE

  Edward was numb with grief. Why was life so cruel to him? First they had taken Gaveston and now Hugh. Why was it his love always brought disaster?

  And what now? He was too numb to care.

  They were taking him to Kenilworth. His cousin Henry of Lancaster had come to him and told him that he was to be his guest.

  Henry had looked at him with compassion. Strangely enough he seemed to understand.

  So they rode side by side to Lancaster’s castle of Kenilworth which lay between Warwick and Coventry. Lancaster was proud of the place. Edward’s grandfather, Henry III, had given it to his youngest son and so Lancaster had inherited it.

  ‘Have no fear, I shall not harm you, my lord,’ he said, and Edward thought how strange it was that a subject should speak to his King in such a manner. He might have been incensed, he might have been apprehensive but he could think of nothing but: Hugh is dead.

  He lay in the room which had been prepared for him. There were guards at the door to remind him that he was a prisoner. An ironic situation indeed. A King the prisoner of his Queen!

  Oh Isabella, Isabella, he thought. I never really knew you. those years you were so meek; you bore my children. You waited patiently until I had time to spare for you. Gaveston never knew what your real thoughts were. Too late Hugh discovered; and even then I would not believe it. And now Mortimer is your lover. You― Isabella.

  She was like her father— Philip the Handsome, ruthless, implacable, feared by all until that final day of reckoning when h
e lay on his death-bed and knew that the curse put on him and his heirs by the Templars was being fulfilled.

  Isabella was cruel. Isabella was ruthless. She hated him. He wondered what she and Mortimer would do now.

  The days passed. Lancaster came to him— gentle and apologetic. It is not my fault that you are here, my lord, he seemed to say, I but obey orders.

  It was never wise to offend a King. However low he had fallen, who could know when he would come back into power again?

  That was a heartening thought. Was that why Lancaster was always respectful? Oh no, it was more than that. Henry was his cousin; they were both royal; men who were close to the throne had the greatest respect for It.

  Henry and he played chess together. It whiled away the hours.

  ‘Henry,’ he asked, ‘how long will you keep me here?’

  Henry lifted his shoulders. Doubtless it would be for Mortimer to say.

  Mortimer. That upstart from the Marcher country, a man who had been the King’s prisoner and escaped! Oh, what a fool not to have had his head long ago.

  But when he looked back, it was over a lifetime of follies. A headless Mortimer would never have escaped from the Tower, would never have become the Queen’s lover, would never have captured the King.

  But perhaps Mortimer was merely the tool. She would have found another lover, another man to lead her armies. She was his real enemy, the She-Wolf of France.

  He tried to give himself to the game. Even in that he was beaten. He had never been able to plan an artful strategy Lancaster could beat him on the board as his brother had done in life. But Lancaster had come to a tragic end. He had not won in the end.

  ‘Checkmate,’ said Henry triumphant.

  The King shrugged his shoulders. He said: ‘You are a kinder jailer than I might have hoped for, cousin.’

  Lancaster rearranged the pieces on the board.

  ‘I do not forget your royalty, my lord,’ he replied.

  ‘You have never forgiven me for the fate of your brother,’ said Edward. ‘But I was not to blame. If he had not parleyed with the Scots― he would be alive today.’