The Pearl of France

by Caroline Newark

  ‘And Ponthieu?’ hesitated the bishop.

  ‘God’s bones, Langton! Don’t try my patience. Bring the prince to me.’

  The bishop departed next morning but before he reached the river I saw another visitor riding up the slope. I recognised the livery, it was one of Aymer de Valence’s men,

  The only word we’d had since the autumn, when the last of Sir Robert’s followers had been dispatched to meet their fate, was that someone had collected the Martinmas rents from the tenants in Carrick. Our spies thought this proof that Sir Robert might be on the move again but nobody knew for certain. Ned was of the opinion that he was still in Ireland while Ralph thought it more likely he was in Norway, with his sister. My husband kept his own counsel on the matter, as did I. I hoped this time the news would be good.

  I was to be disappointed. The news was unremittingly bad. Sir Robert was at large in the isles off the western coast and his armies were on the march. From my husband’s point of view the only bit of cheerful news was the capture of two of Sir Robert’s younger brothers. Without thinking twice he condemned them to hang at Carlisle and sent a stern letter to Aymer de Valence, castigating him for his failure to capture the Scottish king. It seemed that whatever de Valence did, however many other men he killed or captured, without Sir Robert on his knees my husband would not be satisfied.

  There was no sign of spring either in the world outside or in my husband’s heart. He was in a vile humour and I kept out of his way for fear his ill temper would alight on me. I was sorry for his attendants, but most of them had been with him for many years and were well used to his furies. He threw things, cursed and found fault with everyone, even with the kindly prior, who by now must have thought we’d outstayed our welcome.

  It was a burden to have my husband’s household descend on such a little priory for so long a time. I hoped we’d not plundered their resources to the point where they’d not have sufficient to see them through the winter and reminded myself to ask the bishop when he returned if something was being done to help. I couldn’t help but notice how the brothers seemed less pleased to see me and how my husband’s men had begun to squabble with the priory’s lay servants: small matters like the use of salt, or the spilling of ale.

  It was into this brew of bad temper and strained relations that my stepson and my husband’s treasurer returned two weeks later. The weather had closed right in and the unremitting rain had turned the countryside to a sea of mud. I head the noise of their arrival and made sure the chamberlain had arranged for wine and food and fires. But no amount of care on my part could avoid the coming crisis.

  My husband had dressed himself in his regal finery for the occasion. His attendants trimmed his hair and beard and carried him to his chair, the one with the magnificently carved back he used when passing judgement on unfortunate prisoners. He sat on a velvet cushion to give him some relief and further cushions were piled at his back, but his crimson fur-lined mantle lay in loose folds over them. What Ned and the bishop would see was not a sick and ailing father but the imposing figure of the powerful king of England ready to rule on his son’s request.

  Ned looked cocky and self-assured as he strode into the chamber. He wore a fine blue quilted tunic with silver embroidery on the front and a scarlet cloak, lined with lambswool and edged with miniver. His fingers were covered in rings and he wore a jewel-studded belt slung low about his hips. He looked magnificent. He was followed by my husband’s treasurer, clad in clerkly black, with his arms, as usual, full of parchment rolls. As they crossed the floor, my husband, who would have taken in Ned’s gaudy attire in one cursory disapproving glance, did not even give his son time to open his mouth.

  ‘Why did you send this man here with your request?’ he said, nodding at the bishop who was attempting to make himself look as small and insignificant as possible. ‘Why did you not come yourself?’

  I could see Ned’s confident manner melt away in the heat of his father’s fury but he raised his chin and tried to appear brave.

  ‘I thought your grace might prefer to have time to consider my request before I came in person. I thought ...’

  ‘You thought?’ bellowed my husband. ‘You thought? You’ve never had a considered thought in your life. Not one. And who is this person to whom you propose giving your birthright? Is he some worthy noble, some baron who has served our cause for a lifetime? No! He’s a man who’s not even been a knight for twelve months. A nobody! A useless covetous churl.’

  Ned blanched under the force of his father’s anger but he was not going to give way. I could see the muscles tighten in his jaw.

  ‘I shall give the County of Ponthieu to my brother, Sir Piers Gaveston.’

  ‘Brother?’ shouted my husband. ‘That conniving fool isn’t your brother.’

  ‘He is,’ said Ned defiantly. ‘We are sworn in blood to each other, to be brothers until death. And brothers we shall be.’

  ‘You bastard son of a bitch,’ shouted my husband. ‘You have no idea of what it means to be a man destined to be king. It would be better for all of us if your true brothers had lived.’

  Ned’s face was drained of colour.

  ‘But they didn’t live, did they? And now all you’ve got is me.’

  ‘I have two other sons.’

  Ned blinked in alarm. I don’t think it had occurred to him that Thomas or Edmund could be a threat. But he continued to stand his ground.

  ‘Piers is worthy of this gift. He is a true and loyal brother.’

  ‘He’s a servant! God’s bones! If I was not afraid of breaking up this kingdom you would never enjoy one yard of your inheritance.’

  ‘Ponthieu is mine,’ replied my stepson stubbornly. ‘It is mine to give away as I please.’

  ‘And what makes you think you have the right to give away your lands? You’ve not gained an inch of this kingdom. It’s all been my doing. I’ve given my life to winning it and keeping it together while all you’ve ever done is idle your time away making merry with your so-called friends. Has it never occurred to you to ask why they would want to be your friends? What do you think they see in you? I’ll tell you what they see - a fool. A fool who casts away his birthright as if it was a worthless bauble. They are nothing but bootlickers, hanging on to your stirrup irons, hoping to gather up your gleanings. Have you not one ounce of sense?’

  ‘You are wrong.’

  ‘Wrong!’ screamed my husband, rising to his feet. ‘A king is never wrong, and unlike you, I know what it is to be a king.’

  With that he took a step forward and struck Ned hard across the face.

  I gasped and made to go forward, but a hand on my arm, stopped me. It was one of my women.

  ‘You whoreson,’ said my husband through gritted teeth. ‘You foul stinking son of a bitch. As God is my witness, I shall disinherit you before I let one foot of my kingdom fall into your hands.’

  Ned held his hand across his mouth which was bleeding from the blow. He unwisely took a step towards his father as if to retaliate but my husband grabbed him before he could raise his fists. It was a most unseemly tussle. My husband had hold of Ned’s hair and was shaking him like a disobedient pup. He gave Ned a shove which knocked him to the ground, then proceeded to kick his son until he was exhausted and cast himself back into his chair. Nobody in the chamber went to the aid of either my husband or my stepson. Nobody dared move.

  Ned struggled to his feet wiping a hand across his bloodied mouth. He looked at his father with eyes which shone with contempt and then without waiting to be dismissed, bowed stiffly, turned his back on his king and walked out of the chamber.

  My husband banished him. At the beginning of March he had decided he was well enough to journey to Carlisle and it was there, in front of everyone that he pronounced the sentence of banishment on Sir Piers Gaveston. I was surprised at the severity of the sentence but of course it was not really Sir Pie
rs he was punishing. The punishment was designed for Ned. Nothing could hurt him more than being separated from his beloved brother “Perrot”.

  ‘You shall leave these shores no later than three weeks after the day of the next tournament, and you shall return to your native land of Gascony where you are to remain at my pleasure until such time as you may be recalled by your king. You shall have no contact with the Lord Edward, Prince of Wales, during this time, nor shall you set foot in any other part of our realm.’

  It was a sentence borne of sorrow more than anger and could have been so much worse. Sir Piers kept his head bowed during the pronouncement, his face totally inscrutable. I glanced at Ned who was white-faced. His eyes were panic-stricken but his shoulders were steady and he did nothing to make his friend ashamed of him or to let his father see how much he was being destroyed.

  The younger men in the hall, particularly those who had absconded with Ned to the tournament in Ponthieu, seemed taken aback at what was happening. But amongst the others, the older men, I sensed a degree of satisfaction. There were many who didn’t like Piers Gaveston, who took advantage of his position as Ned’s special friend. Although he could be immensely funny he was also rude, and men didn’t appreciate being the butt of his jokes. I wished Ned had chosen someone else to be his closest friend, someone like Roger Mortimer. He was a steady young men of impeccable lineage. But of course, as every woman knows, the heart loves, not where it is directed but where it chooses.

  It was late that night when my stepson came. I was almost ready for bed but when my women told me Lord Edward was at the door I rose from my knees, put on my warmest robe and asked for more logs to be thrown on the fire.

  He was drunk. Not just slightly tipsy but sullenly, miserably, hopelessly drunk. I should have realised straight away that his visit spelled trouble. He didn’t seem to care about the impropriety of his coming to my chamber nor of the disreputable sight he presented to my women.

  I was glad my husband had no idea his son was here. Sadly we had little to say to each other these days and as his illness still prevented him from being with me as a husband I didn’t think it likely he would choose this night of all nights to come to my bed.

  Ned’s clothing was all awry, his jacket open, his undershirt pulled out, as if he had been brawling, and he was unsteady on his feet. The first thing he did was pour himself a cup of wine then collapse heavily onto the chair by the fire before I even had time to ask him to sit.

  ‘Have you not had sufficient this evening?’ I asked gently, seating myself carefully beside him.

  ‘No. There isn’t enough wine in this dammed castle for that,’ he said, slurring his words slightly. ‘And it would take more than a few miserable cupfuls to get rid of this pain. Drowning is what I’d like to do. Now, wouldn’t that be fun, lady mother? To drown in good Bordeaux wine. The very best. Just what a man needs.’

  ‘Ned, you’re drunk.’

  ‘I know. But isn’t it wonderful to drink and smother sorrow so that nothing hurts anymore? Not one single solitary bloody thing. Would you like some wine, dear lady mother? Something to dull your own pain?’

  He lurched sideways carelessly offering me his cup so that wine slopped over the rim, spilling down the front of my nightgown.

  ‘Sorry.’ He tried ineffectually to mop the dampness with his sleeve, but I pushed his hand away, most unwilling to have him handling me in that fashion. It had been too long since a man’s hand had touched my person and I felt unwelcome sensations stir at his closeness and the feel of his fingers on my breasts.

  ‘Go away, Ned.’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend your person.’

  He hiccupped loudly, and slumped his head onto his chest. I decided that for my sake as well as his, I must be brisk and businesslike. I must play the stern stepmother not the sympathetic friend.

  ‘Ned, you must stop this. You are upset. There’s nothing you can do but accept your father’s ruling in the matter of Piers Gaveston.’

  He jerked his head up. His face was white and drawn, a slight flush on his upper cheeks, and he looked at me out of a pair of red-rimmed eyes. I thought at first it was the wine, then realised with a shock that he’d been crying.

  ‘Upset? Upset about my brother Perrot? Is that the word to use? No my lady mother, I’m not upset. How could I possibly be upset? I thought you of all people would understand. You see, lady mother, the truth is, I’m dying. That is what it is. Didn’t you know? I’m dying. Inch by inch until there’s nothing left of me, nothing but an empty shrivelled husk, no use to man or beast. That whoreson father of mine has ripped out my heart.’

  I looked at him and was consumed by his pain and his despair.

  ‘But what would you know?’ he went on, wiping a grubby hand across his eyes leaving streaks of dirt on his handsome face. ‘You’ve never loved anyone in your life. How could you possibly understand what it means to love someone when you’re married to that, that ...’

  In his drunkenness, Ned couldn’t find a word hurtful enough to describe his father.

  ‘You’ve never felt like I do so you can’t possibly understand.’

  He turned his face away, staring bleakly into the flames. ‘You see, lady mother.’ He spoke slowly now, softly and caressingly, ‘He is everything to me. You might think him very ordinary, just another man, but to me he’s the brother I never had. He is the sword by my side and the fire which warms my hearth. Oh, you may smile, but there is nothing in this world more precious to me than Perrot. He is everything. He’s my entire world, and he’s leaving me.’

  Tears trickled down his cheeks.

  ‘Everyone leaves me in the end. Everyone. Nobody stays. You don’t know what it’s like to be always alone.’

  His face was a picture of despair.

  ‘Ned.’ I moved closer and took his hand in mine. ‘It feels like this now but please believe me, it will pass.’

  He looked at me in fury and snatched his hand away.

  ‘No it won’t. It’ll never pass. Pain like this doesn’t pass, it pierces you through to the quick. It’s like love. Love doesn’t pass, does it? It endures for ever. But you don’t understand at all. Why should you?’

  ‘Ned, my dear.’

  ‘Why do you keep calling me that?’ he said bitterly, pushing me away from him. ‘You don’t care.’

  ‘I do care for you, dearest Ned,’ I said, grasping his hand again and pulling him against me. His hair was soft and smelled of soap. I felt the warmth of his skin through the fabric of my nightgown and longed to comfort him as I would Thomas or Edmund, but remembered just in time that this was a grown man I held in my arms. I might think of him as a son of mine but he was really no kin to me at all. Any physical closeness would be dangerous for us both. However much I wanted to hold him fast - and I did - it would be unwise.

  ‘You don’t.’ His voice was muffled against my shoulder. ‘I thought you’d love me and be my mother, but you didn’t love me. You never did. He was always there, taking you away from me, keeping you for himself, taking you to his bed and leaving me alone. I wanted you to love me but you didn’t. You’ll never know how much I wanted you. It was so much, so very, very much.’

  I felt myself shaking as his tears soaked the skin on my neck and he clutched blindly at my arms, his face burrowing deeper into the silk folds of my nightgown.

  Gently I pushed him away once more, detaching his arm from round my neck. The situation was fast becoming perilous, turning into something dark and sinister which my mind fought against. I should have known how he’d felt, and in the deepest recesses of my mind I had, but in my pride at the attention he’d always paid me I’d failed to notice him becoming a man.

  I was only a little older than him, and he’d wanted me for himself. He resented his father’s ownership of me as he resented his father’s control over his own life. I recalled the gift of the ruby ri
ng four years ago. At the time I’d thought it merely the generous gift of a kind boy. But I should have realised he was no longer a boy with a boy’s needs. He was a man with a man’s needs.

  ‘Perrot understands,’ he muttered. ‘Perrot loves me. He says he loves me and I believe him.’

  His voice trailed off into a jumble of unintelligible words. Soon he would be insensible and although it was one thing to entertain him in my chamber, I could always make some excuse. But if he crumpled at my feet, what would I do then?

  I rose quickly, signalling to one of my women to summon Ned’s man who was waiting outside. Together we hoisted my stepson to his feet. He was still mumbling but by now his words were completely incomprehensible. The man put Ned’s arm across his shoulder and his arm round Ned’s body.

  ‘Take him back to his apartments,’ I said. ‘Don’t let him wander about in this state. It would be unfortunate if his grace were to see him like this.’

  Indeed, it would be more than unfortunate if my husband saw him in my chamber at this hour with his clothes all pulled about and me in my nightgown, but that was a worry which I would tuck away and refuse to consider. For the moment I had to think what to do about my stepson.

  Alice had hinted to me of the depths of Ned’s feelings for Piers Gaveston, but I hadn’t taken her seriously. I had no idea how deep or how dangerous their attachment might be, but whatever it was, it was wholly inappropriate. A king’s son, the heir to the throne, could never be intimate with a low-born knight. It was unthinkable.

  Like a nervous filly I shied away from that word “intimate” for it had another more sinister meaning that rang as clear as a bell in my ears. I knew nothing of these things. I’d heard bawdy talk, occasional comments by some of my women who were probably as ignorant as me, but nothing more. And anyway, two men like that? It was a sin against God and the Church, a sin of impurity against nature, a mortal sin. It simply could not be true. Theirs must be a love like that of David and Jonathan, a pure, brotherly love which transcended earthly desires. Then I thought of Ned’s red eyes and the desperation in his voice and I wasn’t so sure.