The Follies of the King

by Виктория Холт

  * * *

  Someone was kneeling by his bed. A cool band was on his brow.

  ‘Are you streng enough to pray with me, my lord?’

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Edward.

  ‘I am Thomas Dunhead of the Dominican Order.’

  ‘So you have come to pray for me?’

  ‘And to pray with you.’

  ‘I thank you. I have need of prayers.’

  ‘So think I, my lord. Let us pray for your return to health.’

  ‘Stay,’ murmured Edward. ‘If I return to health what is there for me? It is better for me to die. I am half way to death it seems and cannot have much farther to go.’

  ‘Life is God’s gift. We must wait until we are called to abandon it. Until that time comes it is our duty to cling to it, to preserve it, and to live it in that manner whch best pleases God.’

  ‘You are a free man, Friar Thomas.’

  ‘Let us pray together,’ said the friar.

  ‘Shall you come to me again?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘If I am still here.’

  ‘You must be. Your sins are many and you will need time to earn remission.’

  When the friar had gone Edward felt better. It was comforting to have contact with human beings.

  The next day the Dominican came again. When they were alone together from his robes he brought forth meat and bread.

  ‘I have brought food for your body as well as for your mind,’ he said. ‘You are in need of nourishment if you are going to live long enough for repentance.’

  Edward took the food and ate it ravenously.

  ‘That is well,’ said the friar. ‘I will bring more tomorrow. And we will work together to save your soul.’

  And the next day he came again.

  They prayed at first and then the Dominican said: ‘I have talked with my brother Stephen of your state. He is a bold fellow. He has many friends. When they heard of what was happening to you here, they were enraged, for they know that your Queen lives in adultery with Roger de Mortimer.’

  ‘It is all so remote to me,’ said Edward. ‘I scarcely ever think of it now.’

  ‘The people are growing restive. My brother Stephen loves a cause, providing he thinks it a good one. My lord, when your strength is built up―’

  ‘Yes?’ said Edward slowly.

  ‘My brother is thinking of a plan of rescue.’

  ‘God is answering my prayers,’ said Edward. ‘And my son― could you speak to my son?’

  ‘It would not be easy to approach the King. He is surrounded by men who are your enemies. His mother and Mortimer will let none approach him. My brother, who is a born conspirator, says that it would be better for you to escape from the castle first. Then you could rally supporters and let the King know where you were.’

  ‘Am I dreaming?’ asked Edward. ‘I do sometimes, you know. Then I find it difficult to know whether I am in the past or the present.’

  ‘This is no dream. We have friends outside. Now you must feign to be very sick. It must not be known that I bring you nourishment. When the time is ripe I shall come wearing two hooded robes. In the cell I shall take one off which you shall put on. We shall leave the castle together. Before this though I shall bring one of my brothers so that the guards are accustomed to seeing two of us. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Edward. ‘Yes, indeed I do.’

  ‘You must feign sickness. If they think you are too ill to rise from your straw they become careless. The doors are left unlocked until after I have left. It is possible that we can bring about your escape.’

  ‘If you were discovered―’

  ‘It would cost me my life, I know. I should lose it most barbarously through the traitor’s death. But then the sooner I should come to heaven. It may be that God has chosen me as his instrument. He cannot wish that adulterous pair to rule our country.’

  ‘If I escape from here I shall never forget you.’

  ‘My brother and I do not work for rewards but for the glory of God and the suppression of evil.’

  ‘I can do it,’ said Edward. ‘I can see it is the answer to my prayers. I shall go from here and I shall see my son again. When I look on his dear face and see the compassion there for his father I shall know that God has taken me into His care once more.’

  * * *

  He was growing stronger. Such was his constitution that it responded quickly to the nourishment Friar Thomas Dunhead brought to him. He drew new strength from the knowledge that he was not deserted. He had some friends in the world.

  Conspiracy was like new life to him. He would do it. It was not the end. He and Thomas Dunhead would walk out of this castle together. He exulted to think of what he would do when he was free.

  Edward, my son, my son! You will come to your father’s aid.

  And then, all he wanted now was to live in quiet, peace and dignity.

  It was not difficult to deceive Berkeley and Maltravers. They did not want him to die, it seemed. If he did they would be deprived of their post and their fun. Perhaps he should not think that of Berkeley for Berkeley was showing himself possessed of a conscience. Now that Edward’s sense of perception was increasing he could see that Berkeley had no love for his task and that his repulsion for it was growing. He was not such a man as Maltravers.

  So he lay on his straw during the day and waited for the moment when he should walk out of the castle.

  Stephen came with his brother. Dressed as a Dominican he was allowed into the prison chamber. They must have thought he was very close to death, thought Edward.

  Stephen had an exuberance his brother lacked. His eyes glowed with the love of adventure.

  He thought it would be dangerous for one friar to enter and two to go out.

  Some of the guards might be observant. Then the whole plan would be wrecked.

  He would come with his brother in the robes of a Dominican. Underneath these he would be dressed as a scullion. In the room he would give Edward his robe and Edward should go out of the castle with Thomas. He would slip out of the room in his scullion’s clothes so that he might not be noticed. They would arrange the bed so that it appeared that Edward was in it. Then the escape might not be noticed until the next day.

  It seemed a good plan if it worked.

  Finaily the day came. The two men entered the room. They knelt and prayed for a while. Then Edward put on the robe and he and Thomas walked out of the castle without protest. Stephen as the scullion left soon after.

  Less than a mile beyond the castle, horses were waiting.

  To feel the fresh air intoxicated Edward. He felt suddenly young and strong again, full of hope.

  ‘It is over,’ he cried. ‘I have come through hell. God is with me.’

  * * *

  He rode between the brothers Thomas and Stephen.

  ‘To Corfe Castle,’ said Stephen. ‘There you will be received, my lord, by your friends. Once It is known that you have escaped from your captors there will be many to rally round you. The people are weary of rapacious Mortimer and the sinful Queen.’

  ‘And the King―’

  ‘The King is but a boy but there are signs that he is wise beyond his years and he likes not his mother’s conduct. He is displeased with Mortimer― Everything will be different soon, my lord.’

  ‘I would not wish to be put back on the throne,’ said Edward. ‘I accept my unworthiness. But if I could but see my son― if I could do homage to him as England’s King― I should be content.’

  Corfe Castle rose before them. One of the strongest castles in the kingdom set there on the peninsular of Purbeck, impregnable, menacing to enemies, guarding the land.

  ‘Henceforth I shall always love Corfe Castle,’ said Edward.

  The gates were opened. The party rode in. What a different reception this was.

  ‘How can I ever thank you?’ cried Edward.

  ‘We but did our duty,’ answered Thomas Dunhead.

  ‘My first
desire is to send a message to my son,’ said Edward. ‘It shall be done. First we will rest awhile and then we shall take your message. Stephen and I will take it together.’

  ‘I thank God for his mercy,’ said Edward.

  They partook of food and wine and Edward was taken to the chamber which had been prepared for him.

  He could not help but compare it to the misery of Berkeley.

  ‘We shall leave at dawn,’ said Thomas.

  ‘I know my son will soon be with me,’ replied Edward.

  He fell into a deep sleep. It was light when he awoke. Something had awakened him. He had been prodded. He could feel the sharp pain in his back.

  He opened his eyes.

  It was a nightmare. It could not be true. Fate could not be so cruel.

  Standing by his bed were Berkeley and Maltravers.

  ‘My lord’s attempt has come to naught,’ said Maltravers in a tone of mock concern.

  ‘What happened?’ cried Edward starting up.

  ‘It was not without its shrewdness, that plot,’ went on Maltravers, talking over him, ‘but we were not so easily deceived. The empty bed was discovered almost as soon as Edward Plantagenet had left. He must think we are fools at Berkeley. We discovered the direction in which he had fled and here we are at Corfe to continue taking good care of him.’

  Berkeley said almost gently: ‘We have our duty to perform, you will understand, my lord.’

  ‘We have got the Dominican. In the short time left to him doubtless he will regret his recklessness.’

  ‘His brother has escaped,’ added Berkeley.

  ‘But not for long,’ said Maltravers. ‘It will be the gallows and the traitor’s sentence for them. Mayhap they will regret their folly when the rope is cut and the fire applied to their entrails.’

  Edward shivered and Berkeley said: ‘We shall await orders, my lord. In the meantime we shall stay here.’

  So he lay on his bed and despair enveloped him.

  It seemed to him that God had deserted him.

  MURDER AT BERKELEY CASTLE

  THE Queen was frantic.

  ‘Think what might have happened. He might even have raised men to support him!’

  ‘He could never have done it,’ declared Mortimer. ‘He might have sent word to the King.’

  ‘But he did not, my love. And he must never have a chance to come so near to it again.’

  Isabella looked at him, her beautiful eyes brilliant with the excitement which burned within her. There was something in the way Mortimer spoke which told her that his thoughts were the same as hers.

  In such a case as this there was one way and one way only.

  While Edward lived there would be danger and the older the King grew and the less popular the Queen and her lover became, the greater the danger.

  Mortimer wondered what Edward’s revenge on him would be if the tables were turned and he held the power.

  Mortimer knew it would be the traitor’s death.

  They must not be squeamish. It had been obvious to him for a long time— and it must have been to Isabella too— that there was one course of action open to them.

  The King must die.

  They did not need to say the words. They understood each other’s minds too well.

  ‘Your son-in-law is too gentle,’ she said.

  ‘I know it well.’

  ‘Then he should be removed.’

  Mortimer nodded. ‘Berkeley is hampered by his conscience. He cannot forget that Edward was once his King.’

  ‘Then he is no man to have charge of him.’

  ‘I want them to go back to Berkeley. Berkeley is the place. My son-in-law shall take him back.’

  ‘And then―’

  ‘I shall find some pretext to remove Berkeley and send another man to help Maltravers.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I am turning it over in my mind. Gurney perhaps, Thomas Gurney. There is a man who will work well for money and the prospect of advancement.’

  ‘My dear,’ said the Queen quickly, ‘it must not look like murder. There must be no wounds.’

  Mortimer nodded. ‘You are right as ever. A slow death lack of food, lack of fresh air― despair― these should be our weapons.’

  ‘But we cannot wait too long. Edward is restive. But for the Scottish matter, he would want to see his father. Gentle Mortimer, we cannot afford to wait.’

  ‘Nor shall we. ‘Ere long I promise you this burden shall be lifted from us.’

  ‘Never forget, it must seem as though it were an act of God.’

  ‘So shall it,’ Mortimer promised her.

  * * *

  So he was back in Berkeley― not the same room this time. They had chosen one over the charnel house. The stench was nauseating. The food they brought him was inedible. Although he grew weaker his strength held out and he astonished his jailers by his grip on life.

  Maltravers told him how his friend the Dominican had died.

  ‘Quite a spectacle! They strung him up and cut him down alive―’

  ‘I do not wish to hear,’ replied Edward.

  ‘But, my lord, you are no longer in a position to decide what you will and will not hear. It is my wish to tell you how your dear friend died.’

  ‘Have done,’ muttered Thomas Berkeley. ‘It is a pointless matter. The Dominican died bravely― leave it at that.’

  Yes, thought Maltravers, it was time Berkeley went. That night Berkeley came into the room.

  ‘I have come to say good-bye,’ he told Edward.

  Edward seized his hand. ‘No, no. You must stay with me.’

  ‘I have orders from the court to leave you. Another will be taking my place.’

  ‘Oh no― they are taking you away from me because you are the only friend left to me.’

  ‘Oh, my lord,’ cried Berkeley, ‘I will pray for you.’

  ‘It is strange,’ said Edward, ‘that it was only when you became my jailer that you were my friend.’

  Berkeley did not speak. His emotion was too strong for him. He had deplored the conduct of the deposed King. He had been one of those who had worked to bring him down. But he must have pity for the man and he was convinced that none should be treated as he had been, no matter what his crimes.

  His instincts cried out against it; and he was filled with misgivings because he knew that this was why he was being withdrawn from his post. The Queen and her lover would have no mercy.

  He knelt before Edward and kissed his hand as though he were taking leave of his King When he had gone blank despair came to Edward.

  He thought of the brave Dominican being tortured; the only relief he felt was that Stephen had escaped. Lancaster had been taken from him and now Berkeley. And it was because these were humane men.

  * * *

  Isabella had sent for Sir Thomas Gurney. Mortimer was with her when the man arrived.

  ‘Go at once to Berkeley Castle,’ said the Queen. ‘You are to take Sir Thomas Berkeley’s place. He will have left by the time you arrive.’

  Thomas Gurney bowed.

  ‘You understand the position well,’ went on Mortimer. ‘The late King is an encumbrance to the good of the country. He is in a weak state. There can be no doubt that his days are numbered. It would be a blessing to bring him to his end.’

  Gurney bowed. He understood that his task was to expedite Edward’s departure.

  ‘There must be no sign that the King has been helped to his death,’ said the Queen. ‘No outward violence. Such could rouse the people to revere him. You know how they are all seeking martyrs.’

  ‘I understand, my lord, my lady,’ said Gurney.

  ‘We shall not forget those who are of service to us,’ replied Mortimer.

  So Sir Thomas Gurney took his leave and with all haste left for Berkeley.

  * * *

  Edward hated the man as soon as he saw him. He was another such as Maltravers. He knew they meant him ill.

  He would lie in his bed at night and li
sten to footsteps waiting for them to come in and kill him.

  For that was what they were going to do. He was taking too long to die and they were impatient. He saw that in their faces. In the morning they came in to look at him and he would pretend to be asleep.

  ‘It would seem he has made a pact with the devil,’ grumbled Maltravers. ‘He has the constitution of an ox.’ Maltravers had picked up the stool and seemed about to crash it down on Edward’s head.

  ‘Have a care.’ That was Gurney. ‘You know the orders. No sign of physical ill treatment. A blow from you could cost you your head.’

  ‘True enough,’ agreed Maltravers and Edward heard him put the stool down.

  ‘They are strong, these Plantagenets,’ murmured the new jailer Gurney.

  So they insulted him and brought him muddy water to drink and food which cattle would have refused. But weak as he was he still lived on. There was a mischievous tenacity in him. He was not going to die to please them.

  * * *

  The messenger had risen with all speed from the Marcher land which had been restored to Mortimer since his return to England. He had urgent news for his lord.

  As soon as he was admitted to Mortimer’s presence he threw himself on his knees for one always feared powerful men when bad news was brought to them.

  Perhaps in this case the great Mortimer, now virtually ruler of England, would reward his good servant.

  ‘My lord, lord, I have lost no time. You will want to know that your enemy Sir Rhys ap Griffith is calling men to his banner. He is urging them to fight for the true King who now lies languishing in a prison.’

  ‘By God,’ cried Mortimer, ‘I should have guessed Rhys ap Griffith would make trouble if he could. What response does he get?’

  The messenger looked as though he would rather not tell and Mortimer shouted: ‘Have no fear. I would know all.’

  ‘Many Welshmen are gathering to his banner. They are saying evil things of you, my lord. They are saying they will free the King. I had thought you should know.’

  ‘You did well to come to me,’ said Mortimer. ‘I tell you this; the upstart Rhys will find ere long that he has led himself and his followers into trouble.’