As for Gaveston, he was furious and with his fury was mingled led a deep apprehension. He had realized that the powerful Lancaster was the bitterest of his enemies and with these two men— and many others― against him, his position was very precarious indeed.
Lancaster left and Edward with Gaveston returned to Berwick, but they both knew they could not remain together much longer. The King must go to London for another session of Parliament.
Fearfully, they left Berwick together but the parting was near.
‘Let it be Bamborough Castle,’ said Edward. ‘It is a strong fortress and I shall feel that you are far enough from Westminster there to be safe until we can be together.
So to Bamborough they rode, and in the formidable castle there, set high upon a perpendicular rock looking out to sea, they took a painful leave of each other.
The King rode south, determined to defy his barons while Gaveston within in the stone walls of Bamborough assessed his case. He had held the King’s favor for a long time, far longer than he had dared hope. He was a rich man. He had been wise in getting a great deal of his wealth out of England because he had always been aware that one day he could lose everything that remained there. His estates and possessions in Gascony were vast. At any time he could slip away to them. But he loved possessions so much he could never resist the desire to gain more.
He was fond of the King. He was greatly flattered to be so beloved by him.
Edward had been faithful since the days of their childhood, and Gaveston was wise enough to know that his fame and fortune rested entirely on the King’s favor. But the day would come when he must leave that rich field even though there was still much to be gleaned. He would have to choose that moment and not allow his avarice to overcome his common sense.
There in Bamborough, this castle which had stood on its cliff of rock since the days when the Romans had built it, he could look out on a stormy sea and contemplate his fate as so many others had before him. Bamborough, named after Queen Bebba the wife of King Ida of the Angles who had turned the Roman fortress into a castle, could provide only a temporary refuge. He paced the wall and thought of Edward and wondered what the outcome of this visit to Westminster would be.
‘Banish Gaveston!’ That was what they wanted.
They were too strong for him. It was: Gaveston must go or civil war!
Was ever a King so plagued? They would rob him of the most important thing on earth to him and he, the King, who could have commanded them all!
The barons should have been allowed to become so powerful. They had forced his great grandfather King John to sign the Magna Carta and ever since then it was not so much the King who ruled the country as the barons.
Civil war. He contemplated it. It would be insupportable. He pictured himself and Perrot flying before them, being captured by them and then what would they do to Perrot? They would kill him as a traitor. That was what they wanted to do. Banishment was the better alternative. At least he would know that Perrot was alive and awaiting the moment when he could return.
He tried to resist but it was useless. They were bent on Perrot’s leaving the country. How he argued; he even pleaded. They were adamant. Gaveston must go.
It was Gaveston who tried to comfort him.
My friend, he wrote, if they banish me, I shall be back. Do you think they can keep us apart forever? No, we will overcome this as we have those other occasions. Be of good cheer, my dear lord.
It was no use. He was desolate.
The barons had given their ultimatum. Gaveston must leave the country by the first of November or face arrest.
Isabella was with the King again. She was cool but did not reproach him.
She was so eager to have a child that she was prepared to set aside her anger at his treatment of her. One day she would be revenged on him, but it was clear that that time was not yet. It was no use writing to her father and complaining.
He had no time to listen to her. He was too busy with his own concerns; he was continuing with his persecution of the Templars and Jacques de Molai was still his prisoner awaiting the sentence of death from the Pope.
Still she must make herself sufficiently pleasant to her husband to assure his visiting her bedchamber now and then. It was irksome, humiliating in the extreme but of course necessary.
Edward himself was constantly looking for messengers who would bring him news of his dear Perrot. What was he doing now? Who was benefiting from his sparkling wit and the sheer joy of looking at his handsome graceful form?
Was there anything he could do to help his beloved friend? He had been forbidden to go to Gascony by those harsh barons so he so he would be wandering about in France not knowing where he was going to find refuge. The King of France would not help him. He must have heard evil reports of him from Isabella. He could hardly blame Isabella for her attitude towards Gaveston.
He must be fair to her. She had been as good a wife as he could expect. He was ready to admit that his passion for Perrot must be a trial to her. That was why whenever he could bring himself to do so he would spend time with her. He would be as delighted as she was to hear that she was with child. That would salve his conscience considerably.
What could she do to ease his sorrow? He thought continually of Perrot and those places where they had been together and he made a habit of visiting them and trying to recapture those happy times.
Wallingford! How often they had been together there in that ancient castle on the west bank of the Thames. He had always been fond of it since he had heard as a child that his great ancestor William the Conqueror had been invited there by the Saxon, Wigod, who owned it, to receive the homage of the principle nobles before marching to London.
Perrot had loved the place. It was here that he had excelled at that never-to-be-forgotten tournament when he had so humiliated the champions that they had never forgiven him.
Christmas would soon be upon him. How dreary it would be without Perrot!
There was a gentle tap at the door. He called permission to enter. He stared.
He could not believe his eyes. Then the wild joy took possession of him.
‘Perrot!’
‘None less,’ exclaimed Gaveston. ‘Once again I faced perils to be with my lord.’
They were in each other’s arms and Edward was trembling with the wild joy which possessed him.
‘So you came home to me. Oh Perrot, Perrot, friend!’
‘I am no wanderer, Edward. I want to be with my dear King. I care for nothing― as long as we are together.’
‘Perrot, what will they say? What will they do?’
‘That is for tomorrow,’ said Perrot blithely.
He kept him with him. They could not bear to be separated. Perrot could stay away no longer. Where would he go, even if it were possible to be happy away from his King? Holland? France? The first bored him and he was hardly welcomed by the Queen’s father. Gascony, his native land, was denied him. He ground his teeth to remember all the treasure he had stored safely away in Gascony. But this was not the true answer. It was the need to be with his beloved King which had made him face the anger of those dreary barons in order to be with him.
What could they do? There would be trouble when it was known that he was back. He had been ordered to leave and had given his word that he would.