It was a relief that his father was gone. The peripatetic life of a King was the same as that of any important lord, and involved a lot of strenuous travelling from manor to manor, because the size of the King’s household was so vast that it would drain any location of its stock of food within a few days. So the King was forced to land upon a site, despoil it, and then move on again.
But it was not the poor peasants of the area near Eltham which caused Earl Edward such relief at the King’s departure: it was that it was so hard for the Earl to control his anger and frustration in his father’s presence. How he wished, sometimes, that he had been born just a normal man. Not a peasant, but a knight who would never seek to be more than a knight. A man who had a set position in the world, maintaining the King’s Peace, controlling the mob, and making sure that the third class, the working men and peasants, kept to their allotted tasks, producing food for the bellatores and the men of God.
The life of the King’s son was different from that of ordinary men. Christ’s pains, but he knew that well enough. An ordinary man would respect his father and seek no reward. He must only show the correct reverence. But not Earl Edward. The King’s first-born son was different. From early in his life he was separated from his father. He was of the royal blood, so like his mother, he had his own establishment, his own household. And it was like his father’s in every way. The three lived more or less unconnected lives. Each with their own comptroller, their own guards, their own cooks, their own squires and heralds. When all three together descended on an area, the locals groaned under the weight of the demands on their stored foodstuffs.
But when they were together, Earl Edward was constantly aware of conflicting emotions: the natural filial love mingling with gratitude for the magnificent gifts which his overgenerous father lavished upon him, competing with the bitterness and rage caused by his father’s treatment of the rest of his family. Not to mention the other issues.
Not one of them could be raised in his father’s presence, though. The way in which he had lost the trust and goodwill of his nobles, the irrational way he dealt with the French, which risked all the foreign possessions, and, most of all, the shameful way in which he acceded to each and every demand from that snake, Sir Hugh le Despenser. All these were enough to make the Earl’s soul revolt, and yet he dared not raise them. The capricious, unreasonable way in which the King responded to any comment that could be viewed as a criticism made the very idea unthinkable. It was too dangerous.
Just as it was to bring up the way that his father was treating his brother and sisters. All of them taken from their mother and put into the care of others. And his mother, who was a queen, in God’s name, had even had her private seal taken and put in the safe-keeping of Despenser’s wife. That was disgraceful treatment, and humiliating for Queen Isabella.
But the way that the King treated his mother was none of his business, as he had been told. It was hard. Very hard. He had adored his father all those years. When he was a boy, there was nothing his father wouldn’t do for him. All through to the day when the despicable Despenser arrived. From that moment, practically, his mother had been set aside. It didn’t matter that she had remained loyal and loving to him, King Edward just ignored her. Or, worse, tolerated her presence. For the daughter of a French king and sister of three others, this was worse than contemptible.
And no, Earl Edward was not allowed to raise the matter. Despenser might discuss the queen and her children in that sly, fawning manner he had, but not the King’s own son. King Edward would brook no criticism of any sort. The subject was closed.
Even for his son.
Earl Edward of Chester was at the same time a minor, just, and one of the most senior peers of the realm. A confusing position for anyone to cope with, especially a man who had responsibilities like his. For he was not just any earl. He was an earl who would be a king to rival Arthur himself.
After all, he was to become the ‘Boar from Windsor’.
Chapter Three
Château du Bois, Paris
Baldwin and Simon left the Queen’s rooms and strode over the court by mutual unspoken consent, straight to the chamber where the guards were given their ale and wine rations. There they demanded a jug of wine each, and sat at a table with them, raising them to each other in silent thankfulness, and drinking steadily.
‘You be careful, old man,’ Simon said to Baldwin, only half jokingly. ‘You aren’t used to too much wine.’
‘Today it will have no effect, Simon. Today I am already flying high on the fumes of the wine. I feel as though my head could touch the ceiling of the chapel, I am so light-headed with pleasure. We’re going home! At last I’ll get to see Jeanne again!’
The beaming smile on his face told Simon all he needed to know about his delight.
Simon took a long pull at his drink and sighed with satisfaction. ‘I feel the same. Perhaps at last I can plan for Edith’s nuptials with an easy heart. Because I tell you this, Baldwin. Once I get home, I don’t intend to leave it again for any reason. I don’t care whether the King himself comes and orders me to travel — I won’t do it unless there’s good reason!’
‘Nor I, Simon. Nor I. I will be content to stay at my home and take up the life of a rural farming knight once more. To hell with the position of Member of the Parliament! To hell with keeping the King’s Peace and acting as judge of Gaol Delivery! I will sit at home and raise my family. I need nothing more!’
‘So all we need do is take this man back and protect him, and then we can get off home,’ Simon said, grinning broadly.
‘Yes.’
The Queen had asked that the two travel to the King with a personal message for the King from her — and another for her son, should they meet him. They would be journeying in the company of one of the papal legates who had first helped to persuade King Edward II that his wife should be sent on this peace mission: the Bishop of Orange. Bishop Stratford of Winchester and William Ayrminne, who had helped arrange the latest truce between the two countries, were already assumed to be with King Edward, and briefing him on the latest developments in their discussions.
‘There appears to be a general marshalling of all who may be able to sway the King’s thinking,’ Baldwin said.
‘Even us, you mean?’ Simon grinned.
‘Two English bishops, the Pope’s envoy, us … there were others in the party with the Bishops, too. I saw Isabella speaking at length with a King’s herald, who was surely being sent back with private messages,’ Baldwin said. ‘When a Queen feels the need to accumulate such a powerful party to her, you may be sure that the message is important.’
‘How will he react?’ Simon asked. He had no interest in the great and good who had been sent home. He was just keen to set off himself. ‘It is not all good news for our king.’
‘Hardly. Still, the Bishop of Winchester is a sound fellow, I think; a diligent, thoroughly responsible man. He’ll weather the storm. After all, he is more or less used to the King’s temper. He’s suffered from the King’s anger before.’
‘In what way?’ Simon asked.
‘When he was given his bishopric, the King had expected another to be given it, and he punished the Bishop by confiscating all his lands and assets. It cost Bishop John twelve thousand pounds to recover them, so I’m told.’
Simon winced at the sound of such a fortune. ‘At least he is reconciled to the King now, though? After all, he’s been sent here on this embassy to negotiate for the King, so there must be renewed trust, I suppose?’
‘Not necessarily,’ Baldwin said. ‘But Bishop John has more skill than almost any other in the King’s service when it comes to careful, practical negotiation. The King needs him, whether or not he likes it, or Bishop John!’