Not his father, sadly. The shame had been felt by all England when the Scots destroyed his army at Bannockburn. It may have been while he was only a brat, a baby mewling and puking in the arms of Margaret, his wet nurse, but the reverberation of that catastrophe rang through every year since. Not even the mauling the King gave the Lancastrians three years ago had wiped out the memory of that disaster, nor of the other shameful losses as the Scots riders ravaged the whole of the North.
That was why he hated his father’s ‘friend’ so much. Despenser, he knew, was in truth a friend to no man. A fellow might rely on Despenser while he was of use to him, but more than that, no. Despenser was too much a creature of his own. He looked after himself and no one else.
The proof had come when Earl Edward was almost ten — nearly three years ago. After Boroughbridge, the King had been wonderfully exuberant. It was a great, a magnificent victory, and he was justified in feeling a fresh confidence. Full of his martial prowess, he launched another offensive towards Scotland.
This was to be one of the most ignominious defeats ever inflicted upon English arms. In God’s name, the memory still rankled with Earl Edward. It was enough to make any man smart, to think of it. The army marched on into Scotland, and found nothing. Only one scabby cow was left behind. The Scots were too adept at gathering all their folk and goods, and retreating before the King’s host. And that meant that there was no food. Demoralised, starving, racked with scurvy and dysentery, the King’s forces were forced to retreat. Many died. Even the King’s own bastard, Adam, whom the King had taken on his first campaign, succumbed.
Worse was awaiting them. As the King passed into Yorkshire, intent on raising more forces, the Bruce circled around them, almost cutting off the King himself. King Edward panicked and was forced to flee — but not before asking others to rescue his wife, up in Tynemouth. He was at Rievaulx, with Despenser, but Despenser refused to go and rescue the Queen. Oh, the King and he escaped, at the expense of losing all the baggage, a load of treasure and many of the state’s official documents, but they left the Queen to the mercy of the Bruce — this a man who had seen his own mother and sister tormented by Edward II’s father. Oh, the Bruce would have been happy to capture the English Queen. He would have made great sport with her, if he’d taken her. As it was, she had been forced to flee by ship, and in the dreadful journey, two of her ladies-in-waiting died.
Yes, she blamed Despenser for that, and so did Earl Edward. Despenser was a coward, who persuaded his father to run to safety while leaving his mother to the mercies of their enemies.
He wouldn’t forgive Despenser for that. Never.
Morrow of Feast of Gordianus et Epimachus28
Lydford
It had come as a great surprise to him that the wedding had been so far prepared that there was little to do other than confirm the orders for ale, wine and food.
‘Edith, my child, what has happened to you?’ Simon breathed when he saw her for the first time in her wedding dress.
She was wearing a simple white woollen tunic, embroidered with a pattern of plain flowers, also in white. It trailed on the ground, concealing her feet, and was loose in the skirt, but tight over her bust, with a daring, scooped neck that showed a little of the top of her breasts, though not indecorous quantities; her forearms, too, were exposed, the sleeves ending at the elbow, with long dangling strips that reached to her knees. Her hair was plaited, and partly concealed beneath a loose veil, that was little more than a square of filmy cloth sitting over her head, leaving her face free.
‘My little girl, you’re beautiful!’ Simon breathed, and in a moment he felt curiously giddy. The sadness of losing his lovely daughter was mixed with an immense pride to see that she had turned out so wonderfully. He gazed at her for such a long time that she coloured prettily and bent her head in embarrassment, but he gently lifted her head for her, a finger under her chin, and smiled at her. And then he felt the flood of tears threatening.
‘Don’t cry, Father,’ she whispered, a trace of real panic in her voice.
‘I won’t cry over this, maid. You’ve a good man here, and you’ll make him proud of you.’
She smiled, and walked beside him along the grassed pathway to the church door where everyone waited for them.
And that, in truth, was much of his memory of the day. The priest stood and portentously intoned the words, while the two children — he hoped he would grow to remember that they were adults now — smiled shyly at each other and the crowds waiting, putting on the ring on her fourth finger, swearing their vows to each other … Simon knew all this happened, but it was all he could do to keep a grip on his wife’s hand as it all progressed. He remembered to announce the dowry, which stunned the audience when they saw the King’s purse and his money, but after that, when Baldwin clapped him on the back, and Jeanne came to him and congratulated him on acquiring a stolid, stable son-in-law who would be a credit to his family, all he could do was mumble. It was only later, when he sampled the brides-ale, that he began to feel a little more normal.
‘She looks lovely, doesn’t she?’ Margaret said as the shadows lengthened and the crowds grew rowdier, the priest bellowing at a small group of men gambling on a cockfight, while others drank themselves to a stupor on a grave nearby.
Simon took a deep breath and let his eyes range over all the people in the yard. ‘She looks almost as lovely as you did, Meg, on the day I married you,’ he said, and encircled her waist with his arm. He could see his son Peterkin running about with three friends from the town, all playing tag, and as he looked over at Edith, he saw that she was wearing two little crowns, one of primroses, one of cowslips, and a necklace of violets. And suddenly he felt an enormity of sadness welling up in his breast, as though his life was all but ended.
‘Simon? Are you well?’ Margaret asked.
‘Of course I am. Are you?’
She turned a little away. ‘I feel so happy, I almost feel sad.’
‘He has a good wife, there. He’d best look after her.’
‘With that dowry, he’ll be able to afford to,’ Margaret said.
‘I hope so,’ Simon responded. ‘I wish them both all the happiness in the world.’
Baldwin had approached with Jeanne, who had arrived the day before, fetched by Edgar, and heard his last words. ‘So do we all, Simon. So do we all.’
Beaulieu
Despenser sat back in his seat as the two men entered. ‘Well?’
‘We’ve not been able to look until today, Sir Hugh,’ the first, Ivor, said. ‘We looked through all his belongings, but there was no sign of anything there.’
‘You are quite sure? The phial could be very small, perhaps only the size of a sword’s pommel?’
‘There was nothing there that could hold oil. We’ve been through everything.’
Despenser ground his teeth with frustration. It wasn’t as if he had all the time in the world. There were reports coming to him of possible invasion plans for the conquering of England. Joseph had just returned from the prior of Christ Church with another story of shipping off the coast of Holland, and here he was, trying to find the oil that could provide salvation. Oh, he’d told that fool of a friar that he didn’t believe in the oil, but that was less than honest. He didn’t know whether the oil was St Thomas’s or not, but that didn’t matter. Not now.
Before he had wanted it for himself, just to prove to the King that Despenser had his best interests at heart. However, now he was beginning to change his mind.