‘In that case, my lord, more barons will absent themselves from your coronation than will attend.’ Lancaster bowed and stepped backwards toward the door. The others followed him.
Edward stared after them.
‘The insolent dogs!’ he cried. But he was afraid.
It was necessary to postpone the coronation. Obviously, it could not take place with so many barons absenting themselves. They must be there to acclaim him as King and show their allegiance.
How difficult they were! After Perrot had made such grand arrangements!
Perrot was going to carry the crown and sword before him and he was so looking forward to doing it. The people of London were anticipating it with pleasure, too. They loved such celebrations and the King so newly married to a very beautiful wife would make it a doubly joyous occasion. Moreover the Queen was the daughter of France and that could mean peace on the Continent.
Such linking of families always benefited those who might be called on to fight.
It could be a happy occasion and the barons going to spoil it because of Gaveston.
As it was impossible to let the coronation on the appointed day and the King was most anxious that the people should not know that it was postponed because of disagreement with the barons; he had a ready excuse. Robert de Winchelsea, Archbishop of Canterbury, was on the Continent. He had been banished by Edward the First with whom he had been in continual disagreement, but on his accession, Edward the Second had sent for him to return to England. Alas, the Archbishop’s health made the journey back to England very arduous, and it was therefore plausible Coronation should not take place because of the absence of the Archbishop.
The Queen was aloof; her uncles were suspicious; and the people did not want the coronation delayed. If the Archbishop of Canterbury was absent, what was wrong with the Bishop of Winchester? They wanted their coronation.
In desperation, the King sent for those barons who had confronted him before. They must change their minds, he told them.
‘There is only one thing which will make us change our minds,’ Warwick told him. ‘Your promise to banish Piers Gaveston.’
The King was dismayed but he saw the purpose in their eyes. This could be disastrous. It could even be the beginning of civil war. Piers had only just been returned to him and now they wanted to send him away again.
But there was purpose in their eyes.
‘The coronation must take place― soon,’ said the King.
They agreed. If not, the people would know that something was very wrong.
‘What can I do?’ cried Edward.
‘Please the Queen and the people,’ he was told, ‘by banishing Gaveston.’
‘You don’t know what you ask!’ cried the King in anguish.
‘What we do know,’ said the implacable Warwick, ‘is what will happen if you do not.’
These barons! They had too much power. Ever since Magna Carta a king was not in truth a king. He had to bow to their will or face― disaster.
The King knew he had to promise. After all promises did not necessarily have to be kept.
The coronation was a disaster. The fact that it was postponed had tarnished whole affair in some way, and the people were aware of certain tensions.
Nevertheless they turned out in their thousands and the press in the streets and about the abbey was so great that when one of the knights, Sir John Bakewell, fell from his horse, he was trodden to death before he could be rescued.
Gaveston had insisted on making the arrangements. He had intended that this coronation should be more splendid than any which had gone before― and he the most splendid figure in it. But his numerous enemies had decided on quite the opposite and on this occasion they proved more effective than he was.
The service was delayed and darkness had descended just after the consecration of the King and Queen. When they arrived at the banqueting hall by torchlight it was discovered that the meal was not ready in spite of the delay.
The barons were very hungry and they complained bitterly and there were audible whispers that Gaveston’s departure must not be delayed. When the food did arrive, it was proclaimed to be cold and ill-cooked and disgruntled looks could seen everywhere.
The Queen’s uncle Charles who was close to her said: ‘This is an affront to you and therefore to France. It shall not be forgotten.’
‘You must write your account of this matter― and others― to your father and we will see what he has to say,’ added Louis.
Isabella had every intention of doing that.
Her coronation had been a disaster and she had not been the centre of attraction, for all eyes had been on that impossible outrageous creature, Gaveston. True the looks cast in his direction had been far from friendly but still it had been as he had intended it should from the first: His day.
The Queen was ready to upbraid the King and tell him that she would complain to her father, but he did not come near her. He must spend as many hours as he could with his beloved Gaveston, particularly now the threat of separation hung over him.
Isabella wrote home to her father: ‘What sort of man have I been married to?
I see little of him. He prefers the couch of his favourite Gaveston to mine.’
Her uncles informed the barons that they were displeased by the treatment given to the Queen and that they would consider it their duty to explain the situation to her father.
Lancaster replied that the Queen’s uncles could be no more displeased with the state of affairs than the barons were and that before long they intended Gaveston to be banished from the country.
Charles de Valois discussed the matter with his brother Louis and they wondered whether it was wise to advise the King to send his favourite away.
‘If he does not,’ said Charles, ‘the barons will rise in revolt.’ He smiled slowly. ‘Our brother will not be displeased at that, I’m sure.’
‘And Isabella?’ asked Louis.
‘Never fear, we shall take care of our niece.’
Charles was right. When the brothers returned to France the King was interested to hear of the English barons’ dissatisfaction with their King.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘We must let them know that if they should decide to rise against him we should not come to his aid.’
‘As your son-in-law, would he not expect it?’ asked Louis.
‘There is no harm in his expecting it. But Edward is not my son. Every King of England knows that France cannot help but watch with interest any disaffection in his realm; and since we can never be sure when he will seek to take advantage of us, we must be somewhat relieved to know that he has his troubles elsewhere.’
‘Do you propose to take action, my lord?’ asked Louis.
The King smiled slowly. ‘Secret action. It shall be known that if the barons needed help we might be prepared to give them― a little.’
Lancaster had received word from the King of France that Philip was displeased with Edward’s treatment of his daughter and, if Lancaster were to make himself head of that party which demanded action against the King’s favourite, he would have the support of the King of France.
That decided Lancaster. The party was more powerful than he would have believed possible. The King had vowed to banish Gaveston. He and they must make him realize it was within their power to force him do so.
Lancaster called together a meeting of the barons.
‘It is clear,’ he announced, ‘that we cannot continue in this way. Gaveston must go. The King of France desires it and no wonder. Gaveston’s presence at court is an insult to the Queen.’