The Follies of the King, стр. 75
His voice shook with emotion as he said: ‘I know that it is due to my sins that I am brought to this pass and it is a great grief to me that I have incurred the displeasure of the people.’
His eyes were bright in his ashen face and his voice sounded firmer as he
added: ‘But I rejoice that my son Edward is to be their King.’
Neither Adam of Orlton nor Sir William Trussell made any attempt to bow.
He no longer represented the crown; he was an ordinary knight. They owed him no especial respect.
They left him and he sat on a stool and covered his face with his hands.
Lancaster found him thus, and he was moved to pity at the sight of him.
‘Let me help you to your chamber, cousin,’ he said gently. ‘This has been a sad ordeal for you.’
‘Henry,’ Edward replied, ‘I am no longer your King.’
‘I know it,’ answered Lancaster.
‘He broke the staff before my eyes and in such a way, cousin, that I knew to him it was a pleasure.’
‘Rest a while. I will have food and wine sent to you.’
Edward said: ‘My son is King now. Young Edward? He is young yet?
only a boy.’
‘Yet old enough to force his will, cousin. He would not take the crown until he had your consent to do so.’
A smile touched Edward’s ravaged face. ‘Is that so then?’ he asked.
‘‘Tis true. He said he must first have your consent and would have none of it without.’
‘Then someone still cares a little for me.’
Edward once more covered his face with his hands. He could see the young
boy— tall, so fair, his blue eyes flashing, his mouth stubborn as he knew it could be. He would have faced his father’s enemies as they tempted him with the crown.
His hands were wet with his tears.
‘May God bless you, son,’ he murmured. ‘May you be happier than your
father.’
Lancaster led him gently to his chamber where he lay on his bed and, though his black thoughts crowded on him like lowering clouds, there was among them a bright streak of hopefulness.
‘My son, my son,’ he murmured. ‘You care a little for me.’
ESCAPE
THE Winter was passing. Young Edward had been crowned at the end of
January by the Archbishop of Canterbury, that Walter Reynolds who had once been a crony of the new King’s father and who had now joined those who were against him. Walter Reynolds had always been a man who was ready to join the side where he could find the better advantage.
The Queen was in good spirits. She might not be Regent but saw to it that
she and Mortimer had great influence with the young King.
Sir John of Hainault had returned with his troops to his native land, for they had become restive after being away from home for so long. As for Sir John who had been of inestimable help to her she gave him a pension of four hundred marks a year which he was loath to accept declaring that all he had done had been for love of her.
She was at the height of her power and her beauty, for this had flourished since she had thrown aside the cloak of docility. She often laughed to herself to contemplate how everyone knew of her liaison with Mortimer and yet none
raised a voice against it.
Often they talked of this but as the winter passed uneasy thoughts came to her. She discussed these often with Mortimer who attempted to soothe her.
Mortimer was taking every advantage of his position. His success had been even beyond his dreams. All his estates had been returned to him together with those of his uncle who had died in the Tower. Honours had been secured for his
family and he himselfhad been given the title of Earl of March. He was virtually king of the realm; all he had to do was please his mistress and that was easy, for she was a passionate woman long starved of that satisfaction which they had found so spontaneously together. The young King had to be handled with care and there were signs lately that he was beginning to fidget in his harness. The Queen noticed it but Mortimer refused to believe there was anything to be
alarmed about.
‘He questions everything,’ the Queen insisted.
‘Of course he does. He is very conscious of being King. But he is too young, too unversed in statecraft and the ways of the world. He will be a boy for a year or so yet.’
‘He is not like his father, you know. He is clever. He learns quickly.’
‘My dearest, do not fret about him. We shall know how to handle him when
the time comes.’
‘And his father? I worry about him.’
‘Worry about the prisoner of Kenilworth! He will never rise to power again.’
‘But he lives. What if he should rally men to his side?’
‘Edward? My love, you cannot mean that. He is despised by all men. The
people are delighted with their young King and their new rulers. They are
devoted to you. Have you forgotten how they cheer you when you go into the streets?’
‘The Londoners have always been faithful to me, I know. But can you trust
the people? They are for you one day and against you the next.’
‘They have long been faithful to you.’
‘Because they hated Edward’s friends, and he never made any effort to
please them.’
‘Come, my dearest, let us think of other more pressing matters.’
Mortimer laughed aloud as he held her dose to him. He knew how to divert
her thoughts. She was a woman whose sexual appetites were insatiable and for so long they had been suppressed; now that she had found the mate who was
completely in tune with her he could divert her thoughts with amazing ease. Her ambition was great but slightly less so than her desire for Roger Mortimer. He exulted in it, exploiting to the full the power this gave him.
But although for the time her thoughts could be turned in one direction there were occasions when she thought with increasing apprehension of her prisoner husband.
She began to notice as she rode through the streets that the people were less enthusiastic. She even heard murmurings against the newly created Earl of
March. Roger was too rapacious. She realized there could be danger when she heard the whisper that it was Gaveston and the Despensers all over again, for the King and his lover had been replaced by the Queen and hers. She fancied too that young Edward’s manner was changing towards her. She believed he was
asking those around him questions concerning his father. He was growing up.
Since the coronation he had grown very serious, leaving all his boyish pastimes, studying state papers and acting like a king.
It was all very well for Roger to say that they were in complete control.
They might hold the reins at the moment but their young stead was getting
frisky and at times she felt him trying to jerk himself out of his leading strings.
Then her thoughts would go to the prisoner in Kenilworth.
She determined to talk seriously to Roger. She would not allow him to lure her into a sensuous mood. This matter was vital and she was determined to
make him see it as she did herself. She was a woman, she said, with a woman’s intuition and she smelt danger in the air.
‘Listen to me, my gentle Mortimer. I have heard that Lancaster and the King grow close together. They are cousins, remember, and Lancaster will not forget tbat Edward was once a king. It is said that they spend long hours talking together. Of what do you think they talk?’
‘Of what did Edward talk to his dear friends?’
‘You cannot compare Lancaster with Gaveston and Despenser. Lancaster is
a man of power. He could become like his brother who, you could say, ruled this land at one time. Roger, I want Edward removed from Kenilworth.’
Roger was thoughtful.
‘Yes,’ insisted the Queen. ‘They are together too much. He is not treated as a prisoner. They may well be plotting together. My son will be going to
Scotland soon. It is expected of him. They are going to force him to act as his grandfather did and you know how he hammered the Scots. Lancaster must be