Gaveston would now pay for the fury he had aroused in the hearts of
powerful men.
It was their turn now.
―――――――
Lancaster, Hereford and Arundel had arrived at Warwick Castle.
‘So you have him here,’ said Lancaster.
‘He is in one of the dungeons. He has lost his bombast. He is now full of
fear as to what we have planned for him.’
‘So should he be,’ replied Lancaster grimly.
‘What shall we do with him?’ asked Warwick,
‘He must not be allowed to live,’ Lancaster pointed out. ‘Every day he is
alive could mean danger. What if the King mustered an army and came to take him? What would our position be then?’
‘We should be fighting against the crown,’ put in Warwick. ‘Civil war.
There was enough of that under John and Henry.’
‘There is one thing to be done,’ said Lancaster. ‘We must pronounce
sentence and carry it ont. The man is a traitor. He has stolen the crown jewels. A fortune was left behind at Scarborough. He is under excommunication. He
deserves death and at a trial he would be found guilty. My lord, there is one thing we must do. We must carry out the sentence before there is more trouble.’
‘He deserves the traitor’s death.’
‘Hanged, drawn and quartered. Yes, but how? Moreover, he is connected by
marriage with Gloucester’s sister which gives him a link with royalty. It is enough that he loses his head.’
‘Who will strike the blow?’ asked Hereford looking from Warwick to
Lancaster.
Arundel said: ‘The man who does that places himself in danger.’
‘It is no time to think of that,’ retorted Lancaster sharply. ‘The blow must be struck. He must lose his head.’
‘When?’ asked Arundel.
‘This night.’
‘So soon?’
‘Who knows what tomorrow could bring?’ cried Lancaster. ‘What if the
King arrived to take him from us?’
‘There will be no peace in this land while he lives,’ said Warwick. ‘The
people will rise against the King if Gaveston goes back to him. They like not this relationship between them. They want him to be with his Queen. They want another man such as his father was― a family man who will give the country heirs.’
‘Great Edward the First gave us our present King. He was great in all things save one— the giving of an heir.’
‘Hush my lord. That’s treason.’
‘Treason― among friends. We know it is all true.’
‘That may be. But let us rid the country of Gaveston and see what comes
then.’
‘He must go.’
They all agreed to that. And who should actually strike the blow? That man would be the enemy of the King forever.
They came to a decision. It should be an unknown hand that killed
Gaveston. The noble earls would merely be spectators and the men who struck the blows should be humble soldiers whose identity would be lost when they mingled with their fellows.
It was the only way.
―――――――
‘Come, Gaveston.’
It was Warwick who spoke to him.
‘It is time to go.’
‘To go where?’
‘Whither the Mad Hound leads.’
‘You never forget that, do you?’
‘There are some things which are never forgotten.’
‘You harbour more resentment against me for calling you that than for
snatching the championships at Wallingford.’
‘Have done. There is little time for such badinage. You should be saying
your prayers.’
‘So you are going to kill me?’
‘You are going to meet your deserts.’
‘And my fair trial?’
‘ I promised none of those things.’
‘You will have to answer to Pembroke.’
‘That will be no affair of yours, Gaveston. You should be praying for your black soul.
‘There is little time for that now.’
‘Tis so. Then use it.’
They took him out of the castle. He now saw the nobles earls on horseback
waiting. They were as still as statues cut out of stone.
They sat him on a horse. He savoured the smells and signs of the night. The good earth; the scent of grass, the dark star-speckled sky. He had never noticed their beauty before. He had loved the blue of the sapphire, the rich red of the ruby, the glitter of the diamond, because they had been the symbols of riches and power. Now he wanted to savour other beauties but it was too late.
Where were they taking him? Away from Warwick? Why, he wondered.
The Mad Hound had been eager to take him but perhaps he was not so eager to have a hand in his death.
He noticed then that Warwick was not among them.
It was Lancaster who rode ahead with Arundel. They were going into
Lancaster’s estates which bordered on those of Warwick and could not have
come more than a few miles.
Were they on the way to Kenilworth?
But no. They had stopped.
He was ordered to dismount. He did so and a troop of soldiers surrounded
him.
They walked forward; he with them then. They had come to a hill which he
knew from the past. Blacklow Hill. He remembered passing it when he was in Edward’s company. How strange that then he should have had no premonition
of this.
The three earls did not follow him. He knew what that meant. They were
afraid. They wanted him dead but they did not want to kill him themselves. That was a task for someone else.
This was the moment then.
The soldiers were all around him. He stood at the foot of the hill. He looked back. His last look at the earth: the dark hill before him; the silence of the night broken only by the ripple of a nearby stream. The smells of earth, the beauty of the earth― so much that he had never had time to notice before.
He glanced back at the figures of the earls seated on their horses. The
sentinels at the gates of the Earth, crying out to him: No admittance to you, Gaveston. You are banished― banished from life.
Someone had come close to him. He was just in time to see the flash of
steel. Then darkness and he was falling― His life had been ended by an
unknown hand but those men sitting on their horses, silent, still as stone, were the men who had murdered him.
He could hear a rushing in his ears. Vengance, Vengance, it seemed to say, and then something else― perhaps it was his own voice.
Edward― Edward― this is the end.
―――――――
Warwick waiting in the castle was afraid of what they had done. They
should have waited, given him his trial, for he must surely have been found guilty. But they had taken justice into their hands.
He had captured him, brought him to Warwick Castle and sent word to
Lancaster. But he had not gone out with them to Blacklow Hill.
There was a banging on the castle door. It echoed uncannily through the
vaulted roofs.
Warwick opened the door. Two men stood there. They were carrying a
headless corpse.
‘He is no more, my lord. The Earl of Lancaster has his head. We have
brought his body to you.’
Warwick stepped forward and looked at the grisly remains of that once
graceful body which had charmed the King.
‘Take it away!’ he cried. ‘Take it from here. I will have nought to do with it.’
‘My lord, where would you have us take it?’
‘Take it―’ He tried to think. ‘Anywhere,’ he cried, ‘but away from here.
‘Take it to the Dominicans of Oxford. They will give it temporary refuge.’
So wild did he look with the foam at his mouth― Gaveston’s mad dog
indeed.
The men hurried off. They knew that Gaveston could not be buried in
concentrated ground. He had died excommunicate and with all his sins upon