‘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 for the sake of thirty-two thousand marks.
It was a great deal of money, but worth it to have in the important post of Archbishop of Canterbury a man who would serve the King rather than the Church, and if his reputation was hardly that to be expected of a good churchman, the King did not care. It was comforting to have Walter in such a position. They could meet often and talk over old times. Together they could mourn for the incomparable Gaveston.
‘The King is mad,’ said Lancaster.
Pembroke agreed with him but there was a feud between them because Lancaster, Warwick and the rest had made break his word. Pembroke was wooing the King, for he feared to be deprived of his lands.
If there had not been this rift between the barons, they would have stood out against this appointment of Walter Reynolds to the important See of Canterbury but, as there was, it came to pass.
* * *
There was news from France of Philip’s final acts against the Templars and when the story was told, Edward was glad that he had acted differently towards that company of knights. In England they became absorbed into the rest of the community, and when they considered what happened to their brethren in France they must be grateful to the King and the English for evermore.
Philip the Fair had pursued them with a ferocity which was hard to understand. True, he wanted their wealth but he could have taken that without inflicting such tortures on them. The rumours which came in from France were horrifying. The Queen listened to them and told herself at least her father was a strong man. Frenchmen trembled at the mention of his name. It would never be like that with Edward. Even now many of the barons were against him and she guessed that Lancaster was waiting for the moment when he could seize power.
Edward was weak. He was a fool when the young Edward was older something would happen, she was sure of that.
In the meantime she must show a certain affection for her husband, even if she did not feel it. It was necessary to get more children and she was determined to. Her bonny Edward was the delight of her life. But she wanted him to have a brother― several if possible.
Although many of the Templars had suffered the most cruel tortures and had been burned at the stake, their Grand Master, Jacques de Molai, still lived. De Molai was a Burgundian nobleman who had joined the crusades and fought valiantly against the Infidel. When he had been invited to Paris some years before he came unsuspecting and almost immediately was seized on, fettered, and submitted to such excruciating torture that he had collapsed under it and confessed to the evil deeds of which it was suggested he was guilty.
That men of logic did not believe he was meant nothing. So rigourous had been the torture that few could have stood out against it, certainly not a man of de Molai’s age.
At this time, the Order had been suppressed and its riches were in the hands of the King of France, but the Grand Master and the Master of Normandy still lived because it had been discovered that, on account of their rank in the Order, their death sentence must be sanctioned by the Pope.
Realizing that death was at hand, and as he had suffered so much that his poor pain-racked body was indifferent to more suffering, the Grand Master made a declaration that he deeply regretted his previous statements. He had spoken as he did under duress. He wanted now to tell the King of France and his accusers that his confession had been wrung from his weak body. His soul was in protest and he now wished to state the truth. He was innocent. The whole order was innocent. His destruction had been the work of his rapacious enemies.
The Master of Normandy joined his voice with that of de Molai.
As this happened beside the scaffold which had been erected in the forecourt of Notre Dame, there was no way of hushing it up because many people had gathered to see the end of these men. Their voices rang out clearly and the crowd was hushed and it seemed, said some, that God himself was speaking through the Grand Master.
In view of the fact that they had rescinded and to placate the growing apprehension and rising anger of the crowd, it was announced that their death sentence should be temporarily waived and the men taken back to their prison.
When the King heard what had happened he was furious. He could not rest while de Molai lived. He had waited a long time to finish him, as he said, and now to have the matter delayed again was more than he could endure.
Meanwhile the prisoners had been sent back to the Provost of Paris.
‘More delay!’ raged the King. ‘There will be no real peace until those men are dead.’ He made a sudden decision. He was not going to wait for more arguments. ‘To when they shall meet their end,’ he declared, ‘They shall be burned at the stake in the Ile de la Cité at the hour of vespers.’
The King’s word was law; and news of what was about to happen spread through the city. That was why shortly before the appointed time, the streets were crowded and it seemed that the whole of Paris was making its way to the spot where the burnings were to take place.
The people were overawed by the sight of Jacques de Molai and his companion for they seemed to glow with some special power.
The poor broken men they had been were no longer there. Jacques held his head high and the light in his eyes seemed to illumine his face. People noticed that his hands did not tremble as he bared his chest.
When his hands were about to be tied, he said to the guards, ‘Suffer me to fold my hands awhile and make my prayer to God for verily it is time. I am presently to die, but wrongfully, God knows. Death is near, and I am innocent of that which I am accused. Because of this, woe will come ere long to those who have condemned us without cause.’
Then he cried out on in a loud voice which could be heard throughout that crowded square: ‘God will avenge our death.’
There was a deep silence. Some lowered their heads and prayed. The spectacle of men burning to death no longer excited them. There was a deep sense of foreboding in the crowd that day.
The crackle of the wood seemed ominous and as it burst into flame and the smoke rose many people fell to their knees and prayed.
No good would come to France, they believed. The King of France was cursed. So was the Puppet Pope. For it was those two who had been at the very heart of the Templars’ destruction.
The legend grew and when one month later the Pope died, people were certain that the curse existed. Philip himself lived only eight months after that day when Jacques de Molai and the Master of Normandy were burned to death in the Ille de la Cité.
BANNOCKBURN
EDWARD had something on which to congratulate himself. Since the death of Gaveston, his people had warmed towards him. This was largely due to the Queen whose beauty appealed to them and whose outward resignation to her husband’s conduct won their admiration. The fact that the King and Queen were seen more frequently together and had the lusty young Edward as a certain sign that they now and then lived together as husband and wife, had pleased the people. The King could never be like the great Edward the First but perhaps with his evil genius Gaveston gone forever, there was hope of a return to a normal way of life.
Moreover the feud between the barons was in his favor for they no longer stood together against him. Lancaster’s party was strong but the powerful Earl of Pembroke had quarreled with it over the death of Gaveston, and Pembroke had joined himself with the King.
Edward felt that he could enjoy a period of peace, as far as that were possible without Gaveston. Then there was trouble from the North.
The Scots had rejoiced in the death of Edward the First and the accession of his son which had resulted in their salvation. Scotland under Robert the Bruce had grown stronger, as England under Edward the Second had become weaker.
Bruce was just the man to take advantage of such a position. He had gradually but steadily begun to free his country from the English domination set up by Edward, the Hammer of the Scots.
It was clear, that the second Edward had no heart for a fight.
He was not the strong warlike figure that his father had been. He had retired from the scene of action as soon as it was possible for him to do so and had left the Earl of Richmond in the north, bestowing on him the title of Guardian of Scotland. His task was far from enviable and intermittent warfare between the Scots and English and recently Bruce had made raids over the border into England on each occasion returning with valuable spoils.
The situation was becoming dangerous. One by one those fortresses held by the English were falling to the Scots. Edward groaned and cursed the Scots but he did little to prevent the disintegration of power. Bruce, inwardly exultant, often wondered what Great Edward would think if he could see what was happening Had he lived, the conquest of Scotland would have been brought about. Indeed, it was a happy day for the Scots when he died and his son took the crown.
The Scots had no respect for Edward and an army without a leader, however well
equipped, could not fail to arouse wild hopes in the hearts of its opponents.
One by one the fortresses fell. Perth, Dumfries and Roxburg were taken.
Linlithgow had been cleverly taken when a soldier from the Douglas clan, disguised as a carter, had asked leave to take a hay cart into the castle. As it drew up in the gate‚ way beneath the great portcullis, from under the hay armed men sprang out, entered the castle and took the defenders by surprise. Such incidents put heart into Bruce’s army. They were not so well equipped as the English and must rely on cunning. It seemed they had plenty of this and under Bruce’s leadership, their hopes ran high.
The Castle of Edinburgh seemed to present the greatest difficulty of all as it was surrounded by three sides which were declared to be impassable precipices.
The Scots were in despair when one of the soldiers came to his commander Randolph and told him that as a youth he had had a mistress who was in the Castle and he had cut out steps in the cliff face so that he might visit her. He realized that every time he had visited her he had risked his life but he had come through safely and now he could show them the way.
They decided to try it and with the aid of rope ladders actually made their way up the steep cliff-face to the walls of the castle. They ascended, invaded the castle, killed the unsuspecting sentinels and took it.
This was the greatest triumph and incidents like this were, said Bruce, worth a thousand men.
At this time only three important castles remained in English hands: Stirling, Dunbar and Berwick. Of these, Stirling was the most important and Bruce decided that they must take it, but the castle was well defended and Bruce knew that to attempt to storm it would mean the loss of men and ammunition which he could ill afford to lose. As a great soldier, he was less sangillnary than his men and he realized they would achieve successes in the existing circumstances it would be a very different matter if the English army marched up to Scotland.
However, the more fortresses he could wrest from them before the main attack the better, and Stirling was of the utmost importance.
The Follies of the King Page 14
