‘But, my dear Bishop,’ said Gaveston, ‘it is you who will need His help and I am sure that, seeing the pious life you have led, He will not deny it now.’
The Bishop ignored Gaveston. Poor Perrot, that angered him more than anything. He could not bear to be treated though he were of no importance.
Walter Reynolds came in, rubbing his hands together.
‘My lords, my lords, it was as good as one of our plays. You showed him the door, indeed you did. I’ll warrant the old prelate is trembling in his shoes.’
‘Methinks he was expecting it, Walter,’ said Perrot. ‘He could not hope to go on in office after all he has done to our gracious King.’
‘Well, Walter,’ said Edward, ‘what would you say if I set you in the old rogue’s shoes and made you my treasurer?’
Walter’s answer was to go down on his knees and kiss the King’s hand.
‘Walter,’ said Edward. ‘You deserve your honour. Serve me well and there will be more. I remember my friends.’
‘And must not forget your enemies, dear Prince,’ said Gaveston.
‘Nor shall I. It was good fun, was it not― seeing the old fellow brought low?’
‘Now we shall cease to be plagued and must think of others who have offended you.’
‘And of those who have been my friends. I intend they shall never regret it.’
‘This is a great day for those who long to serve you well, my lord. I shall let it be known that good and loyal friends had cause for happiness this day. Even our little drummer Francekin shall have a pair of kettle drums.’
‘That pleases me,’ said Gaveston. ‘Francekin is a good little nakerer and pretty withal.’
They were happy together making plans for the future.
The tournament had been planned to take place in the old town of Walingford which was situated in the Thames valley between Reading and Oxford. Gaveston had arranged it and to it he invited all the knights renowned for their chivalry.
Gaveston was smarting a little from the treatment he had received at the hands of some of the leading barons of the country― men such as Lancaster, Lincoln, Warwick, Surrey, Arundel and Hereford. They had their followers too, and they all showed clearly how much they deplored his friendship with the King. Moreover they were constantly stressing the lowness of his birth— a very sore point with Gaveston who considered himself their superior in every other way. They were never going to let him forget that he was the son of a humble Gascon knight while they belonged to the greatest families in the country. Many of them were royal or connected with royalty and they believed that the King should take his counsellors from their ranks instead of surrounding himself with minions of low birth.
Gaveston planned to teach them a lesson. He was going to show them that he could outshine them all in that display of chivalry which was considered to be at the very heart of good breeding. He was not only graceful on horseback but there were few who could handle a horse better. Edward said that when he watched Perrot on horseback he could believe he was some mythical creature, half-horse half-man, so well did he and the horse move together.
The days which preceded the tournament were full of excitement. Edward and Gaveston laughed together at the trick they were going to play on the arrogant barons. They were bringing into the country many young men from France who had not yet made their names but whose skill and vitality could, Gaveston was sure, outwit and overcome the proud barons at every turn. Perrot would lead them and the King would be seated under his canopy to watch the play and to present the trophies.
It was going to be a most exciting occasion.
On the appointed day people came from miles to see the contests. The roads were full of travellers with the usual company of beggars and pickpockets in their wake. Pennants fluttered from those pavilions in which knights donned their armour and waited to be called to the fight. They were beautiful, those pavilions, many made of double satin, the valences embroidered with their owner’s motto. The Royal Pavilioners and Sergeants of the Tents were busy all through the day preceding the tournament, setting them up and making sure they were not damaged. Merchants of London and the big cities vied with each other to obtain contracts for making and maintaining these pavilions. And a colourful sight they were.
When the King appeared there was a great shout of greeting from the people, for there was nothing they loved more than displays of this sort and the rumour had already been circulated that the King was at some variance with certain members of his court who did not like his friend Gaveston. They knew of course that the late King had banished the Gascon and that the new King had recalled him and given him, as well as a rich and royal bride, great honours.
The feeling had seeped out that the tournament in some way a contest between the King, who had his own idea of what a King’s duties should be, and those barons who wanted to impose their will on him.
As yet the outcome of this struggle seemed of little importance to the people. What they wanted to see was an exciting tournament and when the combatants emerged they would pick their favourites.
The King had taken his seat beneath the royal canopy and among his party was Margaret de Clare, his niece, the newly-married wife of Gaveston. As soon as the knights appeared in their splendid armour, her eyes sought her husband among them and as she recognized him, they shone with a pride which was matched by the King’s own obvious love for his friend.
Gaveston was chafing against the fact that he had been designated as one of the challengers, believing that he should have been greeted as a champion. Well, he was here to show these arrogant knights what he thought of them. He and his group of challengers were determined to inflict such defeat on them as would never forget.
His friends understood what was expected of them. They were young, vital and spoiling for the fight. Although the leading champions were here, some of them were not in the first flush of their youth, their limbs might well be stiffening a little and it was speed and agility which were needed in the fight― not arrogance and strains of royal blood.
It was a brilliant show. Edward knew that his Perrot was going to succeed.
There was an air of confidence about him and for days he had been complaining bitterly of the treatment he received from many scions of ancient houses.
They were going to be taught a lesson and Edward was longing to see it administered.
Edward made it clear that the tournament had been devised by the Earl of Cornwall (he and Gaveston had decided was the title by which he must be referred to from now on) for their pleasure and that it was a joust à Plaisance― which meant that it was purely for sport and that each lance would be fitted with its coronel— an iron head roughly shaped and with several blunt points which would prevent harm coming to the combatants. This was different from a joust à l’Outrance which meant that the contenders fought until one was forced to surrender and would surely be wounded― often severely— or even killed, for such jousts as these were fought with a sharp lance or spear.
Gaveston distinguished herself with great éclat. In a very short time he was tackling one of his greatest enemies the leader of the Champions, John Warenne, Earl of Surrey and Sussex. With great panache and with a certain malicious delight, he went into the fight. He had challenged Warenne because he knew that he was one of those who deplored the King’s friendship with him and had not hesitated to make his feelings known.
Warenne was a handsome young man just about twenty years of age. His father had died when he was six months old and he had not long before succeeded to his titles on the death of his grandfather. During the preceding year he had been married to the King’s niece, Joanna, the daughter of Edward’s eldest sister Eleanor and the Count of Bar, so he considered himself a member of the royal family through marriage. He was a proud young man and pleased to be connected with the King and on more than one occasion he had done his best to humiliate Gaveston.