It could not be long, could it, before he was called?
He looked into the future. Scotland was yet to be won. Who would have thought it would take so long? But Wallace was dead now. Could he complete the conquest before he died? And if he did could young Edward hold it? Oh God, why did You give me such a son? You gave me good daughters and my son … my eldest son – the only one of Eleanor’s to live – is unfit to wear the crown.
He must speak with him. He must imbue in him a sense of duty. Unworthy kings were a danger to themselves and the nation. Remember, oh remember my grandfather John. What misery he brought to England … and himself! And my father – my beloved father – he had not the gifts that make a king!
He himself had them. It would be false to deny it. He had conquered Wales; he had done as well as was possible in France. He would not be afraid to stand beside his ancestors. Great William, Henry the First and Second. No, he would be counted with them.
Death haunted him. Who could say when it would come? It came unexpectedly to some, to his dear daughter Joanna for instance; and to an old man such as himself the call was overdue.
He sent for Edward.
The boy stood before him. Boy! He was a man. It was twenty-two years ago that he had been born in Caernarvon and he had had such bright hopes for him. He was handsome – and very like his father in his youth – the same long limbs, the same flaxen hair, the upright carriage. But what was it he lacked? That virility which had been his father’s, that essential masculinity. There was an almost feminine quality about Edward. It shocked his father deeply. Men would not respect him; they would not follow him into battle.
Where to begin? How to explain kingship to such a creature? He had told him often of the need to please his subjects, that he must be just yet stern. He himself had been harsh at times. He had inflicted severe punishment on those who had offended him. Necessary, he had always told himself. A king must be respected through fear.
Young Edward looked elegant. The King wondered whether his clothes had been designed by Piers Gaveston. His long loose coat was of deep blue caught at the neck with a magnificent sapphire brooch. His long wide sleeves trailed gracefully and his shoes had a longer peak than was normally worn. His beautiful fair hair was held back by fillets of gold set with more sapphires.
Pretty as a girl! thought the King distastefully.
‘Edward,’ he said, ‘I would have speech with you. Joanna’s death has shocked me deeply.’
‘As it has us all.’ The Prince spoke with feeling. Joanna had been his favourite sister and she had been inclined to laugh at his exploits as he had at hers.
‘Death comes swiftly in some cases and lingers in others. But in due course it will come to us all. I want you to be ready, Edward.’
He began to talk of the need to keep the Welsh under control. They could never feel really safe there. They must always be sure that their defences were intact.
Scotland was of course the main concern.
‘But Wallace is dead now,’ said the Prince. ‘He can never worry us again.’
‘Wallace lives on in the people’s memories. They are making songs about him now. He has become a legend. Beware of legends. I shall soon be leaving for the north. I must safeguard what I have won. I don’t trust the Scots. Those who have sworn fealty could turn against us.’
A slim white hand adorned with jewels touched the Prince’s lips as he stifled a yawn. He had heard it all before. When the old man had gone there would not be all this preoccupation with the Scots. Piers and he talked about it often. When the old man was gone …
The voice droned on. The need to do this and that. The Prince was not listening and when the King paused he said: ‘I have a request to make to you, my lord.’
The King opened his eyes wider. ‘What request is this?’
‘Ever since you put Piers Gaveston in the household we have become close friends.’
‘I know that well and perhaps the friendship has become too firm.’
‘You have always said that one cannot have too many friends, my lord.’
‘If they are good and loyal one cannot of course.’
‘Piers is good and loyal. He lives for me, Father. All he thinks of is my comfort. I want to reward him.’
‘He has his reward. He has royal patronage. He has lived in the royal household. What more could a man ask?’
‘I should like to show my appreciation and there is one thing he greatly desires. I have promised I will do my best to get it for him.’
‘And what is this?’
‘Ponthieu.’
‘Ponthieu! What do you mean? Piers Gaveston wants Ponthieu!’
‘I have promised him that I will get it for him. Dear Father, do not disappoint me.’
‘Disappoint you! I tell you this, I know little but disappointment from you. Ponthieu! Your mother’s inheritance to go to this … this … adventurer!’
‘My lord, pray do not talk of Piers in this way.’
‘I will remind you, sir, that I will speak of my subjects as I will. No! No! No! Gaveston shall never have Ponthieu while I live. And let me tell you this, I like not this man. I have heard that he has a strong and growing hold over you. That it is spoken of in whispers and disgraces our royal name. No, sir. Go and tell him no! And that I regard his pretensions as insolent. He had better take care. As for you, you will leave with me for Scotland, and that will be very soon, I promise you. I am going to take you away from your fancy companions. I am going to make a man of you.’
The Prince was pale with fear and anger, but he knew his father’s rages – though rare – could be terrible. He knew too that he must take his leave before the full fury of the King burst upon him.
When he had gone Edward sank into his chair. He felt sick with rage and apprehension.
What can I do with him? he asked himself. Why did he grow up like this. My son … and Eleanor’s. Everything I gave him. The best tutors … the best governors! He has been schooled in war. If he were foolish and without talent it would be understandable. But he is not. He could have been clever. He could have been a worthy king …
And now …
Action was needed.
Piers Gaveston should be banished without delay. That friendship must be severed; and he would get an undertaking from the adventurer – and from the Prince – that they should never meet again without his consent.
Edward was marching up to Scotland accompanied by a sullen Prince. Gaveston had been banished and the Prince was telling himself that he would never forgive his father for robbing him of the one he loved the best in the world. There was one comfort for the Prince. The old man was looking more sick every day. He could not last much longer. He was not in a fit state to come marching north. Why couldn’t he leave these matters to his generals?
The King was too preoccupied to notice his son’s depression.
A new danger had arisen in Scotland.
Robert the Bruce, grandson of the claimant, the Earl of Carrick, who for some years had been on terms of friendship with Edward, had left the English Court and gone to Scotland. He had at one time been one of Edward’s partisans and Edward had quickly become aware of the man’s talents.
Now he was in Scotland and for what purpose Edward had guessed. He had often wondered what would happen to Scotland when his son was King and he had believed that many of the Scots who feigned friendship with England now, would turn when a strong king was replaced by a weak one.
So Bruce was in Scotland. What did it mean? He was soon to learn. Bruce had gone to Scone where he had been crowned King of Scotland by the Bishop of St Andrews.
It was clear to Edward that Bruce had been waiting for his death believing that it would be easier to defeat Edward the Son than Edward the Father, which was, he feared, a wise conclusion. He had, however, decided to wait no longer.