That meant the murderers of Perrot and most humiliating of all, he was informed that his allowance would cut to ten pounds a day.
He listened quietly but inwardly seething with rage.
Lancaster was contemplating him blandly. Edward was King in name but
Lancaster was in command now.
―――――――
Lancaster faced the King. Edward was thinking: Perrot has always hated you. He knew you meant me no good, my cousin though you might be. But
perhaps it was because you were my cousin and so close to the throne that you always believed you would make the better king.
Lancaster was indeed thinking how feeble Edward was and he was still
exulting in the defeat at Bannockburn. Surely that showed the people the kind of man they had as King. How many English were saying this day: ‘If only
Lancaster had been the son of Edward the First.’
It mattered little now. He was in command. Edward was aware of that for it was obvious.
‘My lord,’ said Lancaster, ‘there will have to be some change of office. I have long felt— and others share my view― that those who hold the highest
posts in the country are not worthy of them.’
Edward wanted to scream with rage. He controlled his anger and said coldly:
‘It is not an unusual state of affairs for those who would rule to dislike a king’s friends.’
‘Ah, if they were but your friends, my lord, none would rejoice in them
more than I. It is as you know, dear lord and cousin, my earnest wish to serve you.’
‘I am glad to hear that,’ answered Edward grimly.
‘So, my lord, it is agreed that Walter Reynolds having bestowed on him the high office of Canterbury should relinquish the Great Seal. One cannot expect him to serve two such great offices in the manner demanded of them.’
So Walter was going now. Thank God he had given him Canterbury. They
could not oust him from his archbishopric.
‘And whom would you bestow the Great Seal, cousin?’
The sarcasm was lost on Lancaster. He had never been a man to look for
subtleties. He had the answer promptly.
‘I― and others agree that John Sandale should have the Seal.’
Sandale. A good churchman and one of Lancaster’s men.
What could he say? It was true Walter held both offices and many could
agree that he had not the qualifications to do so. In fact, a great many thought it was unfortunate that such a worldly man should hold the office of Archbishop of Canterbury. Edward knew he dared not protest.
Lancaster triumphantly went on to mention other members of the King’s
household whom he thought it would be better to replace.
Inside, Edward writhed with shame. Yet what could he do? Who was there
to stand with him now? Those who had supported him at Bannockburn were no
longer esteemed by the people. They shared the shame of defeat. Pembroke and Hereford had emerged from the battle it was true, but shorn of the honours they had won in the past. Gloucester who might have stood beside him was dead. He would never forgive Warwick for the part he had played in Perrot’s murder and any case, Warwick’s health had deteriorated so much that he was a sick man. He could not be sure of Warenne, whose loyalty fluctuated. His political life reflected his domestic affairs which were invariably in a turmoil. His marriage with Joan of Bar, the only daughter of Edward the First’s daughter Eleanor and the Count of Bar, was unhappy and he was at this time living with Matilda de Nerford, the daughter of a Norfolk nobleman— a fact deplored by her family and the Church itself; and the Bishop of Chichester had threatened to
excommunicate Warenne if he did not mend his ways. He was attempting to get his marriage with Joan annulled on the time-worn pleas of nearness of kin.
Meanwhile he continued to live with Matilda who had already borne him several sons.
No he could hardly look for help to a man in Warenne’s position. There was nothing he could do but give way.
Very well, let them do as they would. He would forget them. He would give
himself up to contemplating the burial he would give to Perrot.
Dear Perrot. He had always comforted him. He was comforting him now.
―――――――
Lancaster left the King and rode back to Kenilworth well-pleased with life.
He could see that what he had always hoped for was failing into his hands. That Edward was not worthy to be King, most men knew. Strange to think that he
was still drooling over Gaveston. He was thinking of giving him a grand burial.
Let him. It would keep him quiet while weightier matters went ahead.
King in all but name. The position could not be better. For if Edward were deposed there would still be the young Edward, King of England, and who
better to guide him than his royal kinsman Lancaster. Yes, let Edward concern himself with showering honours on his dear dead friend. It would keep him
occupied and remind people— if they needed to be reminded— of that liaison which had played a strong part in bringing him to his present humiliating
position.
He rode into the castle. Grooms hurried forward to take his horse.
He was momentarily depressed thinking pleasant it would have been to have
found a devoted wife waiting for him, eager to hear of his triumphs.
Alice was there, as good manners demanded, to greet her lord, but her gaze was as cold as ice. It had always been so for him, he remembered. Alice was beautiful, dignified as would be expected of the daughter of Henry de Lacy, Earl of Lincoln and Salisbury. Impious Gaveston had called him Burst Belly because of his girth, but that could not detract from his standing in the country as one of the first earls of the realm— rich and powerful. And Alice was his heiress.
Something she never forgot.
The marriage of Lincoln and Salisbury with Lancaster, Ferrers and Derby
should have been an ideal one― and it was in one sense. But Alice had quickly shown that she had little regard for him and that she knew it was the titles of Lincoln and Salisbury which had been her great attraction. Perhaps if they had had children― But they never had and never would now. Alice had made it
perfectly clear that even for the sake of handing down these high-sounding titles, she would not resume a relationship from which children might result.
It was very unsatisfactory.
Dutifully, she poured the wine for him and offered him the goblet. He took it warily thinking of the cold glitter in her eyes. He wondered lightly whether she would be glad to see him dead. He doubted it. She seemed entirely indifferent to his existence.
‘I have come from the King,’ he said.
‘And suitably subdued him?’ she asked.
He looked over his shoulder nervously. Alice should remember that they
must speak with caution.
She saw his concern and seemed amused. He wondered then if she would
smile in that way to see him carried off as a traitor.
‘The King is eager to win back the approval of his subjects,’ he said. ‘He takes Bannockburn to heart.’
‘Small wonder,’ she replied. ‘And I’ll warrant he is none too pleased with those who did not follow him there.’
‘He is grateful to be spared. He had to fly with Pembroke and might easily have been taken by the Scots.’
‘We live in stirring times,’ replied Alice. ‘The country will be thankful that there are men who, having preserved their Scottish campaign, are at hand to guide the reins of government.’
She was smiling superciliously, hating him. And he hated her. He thought:
Would I could be rid of her? Would I could take to wife a pleasant woman, one who would welcome me, applaud me, take an interest in my actions, be proud that her husband was royal and now was the most important man in the country.