The Follies of the King (47 page)

‘Your son-in-law is too gentle,’ she said.

‘I know it well.’

‘Then he should be removed.’

Mortimer nodded. ‘Berkeley is hampered by his conscience. He cannot forget that Edward was once his King.’

‘Then he is no man to have charge of him.’

‘I want them to go back to Berkeley. Berkeley is the place. My son-in-law shall take him back.’

‘And then―’

‘I shall find some pretext to remove Berkeley and send another man to help Maltravers.’

‘Who?’

‘I am turning it over in my mind. Gurney perhaps, Thomas Gurney. There is a man who will work well for money and the prospect of advancement.’

‘My dear,’ said the Queen quickly, ‘it must not look like murder. There must be no wounds.’

Mortimer nodded. ‘You are right as ever. A slow death lack of food, lack of fresh air― despair― these should be our weapons.’

‘But we cannot wait too long. Edward is restive. But for the Scottish matter, he would want to see his father. Gentle Mortimer, we cannot afford to wait.’

‘Nor shall we. ‘Ere long I promise you this burden shall be lifted from us.’

‘Never forget, it must seem as though it were an act of God.’

‘So shall it,’ Mortimer promised her.

* * *

So he was back in Berkeley― not the same room this time. They had chosen one over the charnel house. The stench was nauseating. The food they brought him was inedible. Although he grew weaker his strength held out and he astonished his jailers by his grip on life.

Maltravers told him how his friend the Dominican had died.

‘Quite a spectacle! They strung him up and cut him down alive―’

‘I do not wish to hear,’ replied Edward.

‘But, my lord, you are no longer in a position to decide what you will and will not hear. It is my wish to tell you how your dear friend died.’

‘Have done,’ muttered Thomas Berkeley. ‘It is a pointless matter. The Dominican died bravely― leave it at that.’

Yes,
thought Maltravers,
it was time Berkeley went.
That night Berkeley came into the room.

‘I have come to say good-bye,’ he told Edward.

Edward seized his hand. ‘No, no. You must stay with me.’

‘I have orders from the court to leave you. Another will be taking my place.’

‘Oh no― they are taking you away from me because you are the only friend left to me.’

‘Oh, my lord,’ cried Berkeley, ‘I will pray for you.’

‘It is strange,’ said Edward, ‘that it was only when you became my jailer that you were my friend.’

Berkeley did not speak. His emotion was too strong for him. He had deplored the conduct of the deposed King. He had been one of those who had worked to bring him down. But he must have pity for the man and he was convinced that none should be treated as he had been, no matter what his crimes.

His instincts cried out against it; and he was filled with misgivings because he knew that this was why he was being withdrawn from his post. The Queen and her lover would have no mercy.

He knelt before Edward and kissed his hand as though he were taking leave of his King When he had gone blank despair came to Edward.

He thought of the brave Dominican being tortured; the only relief he felt was that Stephen had escaped. Lancaster had been taken from him and now Berkeley. And it was because these were humane men.

* * *

Isabella had sent for Sir Thomas Gurney. Mortimer was with her when the man arrived.

‘Go at once to Berkeley Castle,’ said the Queen. ‘You are to take Sir Thomas Berkeley’s place. He will have left by the time you arrive.’

Thomas Gurney bowed.

‘You understand the position well,’ went on Mortimer. ‘The late King is an encumbrance to the good of the country. He is in a weak state. There can be no doubt that his days are numbered. It would be a blessing to bring him to his end.’

Gurney bowed. He understood that his task was to expedite Edward’s departure.

‘There must be no sign that the King has been helped to his death,’ said the Queen. ‘No outward violence. Such could rouse the people to revere him. You know how they are all seeking martyrs.’

‘I understand, my lord, my lady,’ said Gurney.

‘We shall not forget those who are of service to us,’ replied Mortimer.

So Sir Thomas Gurney took his leave and with all haste left for Berkeley.

* * *

Edward hated the man as soon as he saw him. He was another such as Maltravers. He knew they meant him ill.

He would lie in his bed at night and listen to footsteps waiting for them to come in and kill him.

For that was what they were going to do. He was taking too long to die and they were impatient. He saw that in their faces. In the morning they came in to look at him and he would pretend to be asleep.

‘It would seem he has made a pact with the devil,’ grumbled Maltravers. ‘He has the constitution of an ox.’ Maltravers had picked up the stool and seemed about to crash it down on Edward’s head.

‘Have a care.’ That was Gurney. ‘You know the orders. No sign of physical ill treatment. A blow from you could cost you your head.’

‘True enough,’ agreed Maltravers and Edward heard him put the stool down.

‘They are strong, these Plantagenets,’ murmured the new jailer Gurney.

So they insulted him and brought him muddy water to drink and food which cattle would have refused. But weak as he was he still lived on. There was a mischievous tenacity in him. He was not going to die to please them.

* * *

The messenger had risen with all speed from the Marcher land which had been restored to Mortimer since his return to England. He had urgent news for his lord.

As soon as he was admitted to Mortimer’s presence he threw himself on his knees for one always feared powerful men when bad news was brought to them.

Perhaps in this case the great Mortimer, now virtually ruler of England, would reward his good servant.

‘My lord, lord, I have lost no time. You will want to know that your enemy Sir Rhys ap Griffith is calling men to his banner. He is urging them to fight for the true King who now lies languishing in a prison.’

‘By God,’ cried Mortimer, ‘I should have guessed Rhys ap Griffith would make trouble if he could. What response does he get?’

The messenger looked as though he would rather not tell and Mortimer shouted: ‘Have no fear. I would know all.’

‘Many Welshmen are gathering to his banner. They are saying evil things of you, my lord. They are saying they will free the King. I had thought you should know.’

‘You did well to come to me,’ said Mortimer. ‘I tell you this; the upstart Rhys will find ere long that he has led himself and his followers into trouble.’

‘Would my lord give me orders?’

Mortimer was thoughtful. ‘Go back,’ he said. ‘Watch and send news to me of how he fares.’

When the messenger had gone he was thoughtful. No army Rhys ap Griffith could raise could have a chance against his and Isabella’s. It was not the thought of that petty force which disturbed him.

It was the growing support for the King throughout the country.

When he and Isabella had come to England it had seemed the entire country was behind them. Now there was murmuring. First the Dunhead affair. That had been a warning. If that had succeeded and Edward had established his head-quarters somewhere he might have rallied men to his cause. Thank God it had been frustrated before its fruition. And now this enemy was attempting to raise the one-time King’s stanclard in Wales. What if men started doing that all over the country?

It would not be wise to take an army to Wales and crush Rhys ap Griffith.

That would set others following his example. There was one thing which must be done and that quickly.

The reason for rebellion must be removed. Why would he not die? He had been subjected to the utmost discomfort; he had been almost starved, set above the charnel house at Berkeley, the stench which should have carried off a sick man by now.

But Edward lived on.

They had been gentle with him. Of course they had. It would be unwise for him to be seen to be murdered. Heaven knew what retribution would follow those who murdered a king.

They would be haunted by fear for the rest of their lives. Edward must die― but by natural causes.

He must be removed in a manner so skilful that all would believe he had passed naturally away.

But there must be no delay. They had prevaricated too long. They must act promptly now.

He would send for a man he knew— a man who had made a profession of murder, a man who was so skilled at the job that he could produce death by violence and none be able to detect a sign of it.

No, on second thoughts, he would not send for the man. This was too private a matter. He would go and see him and tell him what must be done.

* * *

Days merged into night and night into day. It was dark in his room and he was scarcely aware of the coming of the dawn. He had recovered a little. He had a purpose in life. They wanted him to die and he was determined not to.

They had done all they could to impair his health. The smell from below was so obnoxious that at first it had made him retch, but a man can grow accustomed to most things. He noticed it less now. He dreamed of banquets when he had sat side by side with Gaveston or Hugh and imagined that the foul food they sent him was some special dish which one of his dear boys had concocted for him.

He was not going to die to please them.

They watched him daily. He missed Berkeley, Berkeley would have changed towards him as Lancaster had. He and Berkeley would have become friends if left alone. He would have been given fur covers for his bed, a fur wrap, a glowing fire, a game of chess. They had known this so they had sent Berkeley away.

Maltravers and Gurney remained. There would never be any friendship between them and himself.

A dark shadow had entered the castle.

There was a third man. They called him William Ogle. What was there about that man? He walked softly with a cat-like tread. He laughed a great deal.

It was loud, mirthless laughter. It began to worry Edward.

When darkness fell he was aware of the shadows. He had nightmares in which William Ogle suddenly appeared in the darkness of the room.

Whenever Ogle was in the room, a strangeness came over Edward. His whole body felt as though it was covered in crawling ants. He shivered though his body felt on fire.

That was the effect William Ogle had on him.

Yet the man was respectful— more so than Maltravers and Gurney, calling him
my lord
and bowing now and then.

There is an evil about that man,
thought Edward.
I hope he will not stay here long.

* * *

Night. Footsteps in the corridor. Edward lay on his face breathing deeply.

The three men came into the room. One carried a lantern. They stood for a few seconds looking down on the sleeping man.

In the open doorway a brazier threw out a faint light and there was a smell of heating iron.

William Ogle was clearly in command.

He beckoned them close to him.

‘Is all ready?’ asked Maltravers.

Ogle nodded.

‘Remember. Your hands must not touch him. There must be no bruises.

Bring the table here and place it over him and hold it so that he cannot move.

Quickly now― while he sleeps. He must not be touched. Those are orders. No outward sign.’

Silently the two men lifted the table and placed it over Edward so that its sides pinned him to his bed.

He awoke and thought this was one of his nightmares.

He was naked. They had taken his robe. He caught a glimpse of Ogle approaching the bed and in his hand was a long spit glowing red hot.

And then such agony as no man had ever dreamed of. The red hot spit was inserted into his body.

He screamed violently as the fearful instrument of torture and death penetrated into his organs.

‘Think of Gaveston,’ cried Ogle. ‘Think of little Hugh. Think of them, my lord― Think of them―’

Edward tried to struggle but the table was pinning him down. His screams were so loud that they penetrated the thick walls of the castle. Everyone within those walls that night must have heard him.

‘He can’t last long,’ said Ogle, and even Maltravers and Gurney were shaken.

Edward was no longer screaming; his breath was coming in long tortured gasps.

‘His inside will be a charred mass by now,’ said Ogle. ‘And there will be no mark on his body for any to see. The spit is protected by horn so there will not be a hint of a burn even.’

He seemed proud of his handiwork.

Edward lay still now. Ogle withdrew the spit. There was no movement from the body as he did so.