Read Online Isabella: Braveheart of France by Colin Falconer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Colin Falconer
Tags: Mysteries & Thrillers
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king calling for spiced wine and beef.
Margaret squeezes her arm. “I only ever see him smile like that when he is with Edward,” she says.
Later, she sees them sitting together, staring at the Yule log smouldering among its bed of holly, Gaveston on the carpets leaning against his king’s thigh. Margaret is right. It is the only time Edward ever looks content. The wolfhounds are curled around them, all legs and yawning and snoring. The king bends to kiss Gaveston’s head.
Everyone is secure in their affections except the Queen. She might stand under the kissing branch of the mistletoe and its bright red berries all Christmas Eve and not draw a single glance from dog or man.
Chapter 15
Edward avoids her bed and her person after Gaveston arrives at Windsor. Perhaps he anticipates her petulance.
It is more than petulance, and he cannot avoid her forever.
She finds him sitting in his bathtub. A servant is scrubbing him with rosewater as he sweats in the steam. Gaveston is sitting at the window, watching. Edward’s back is towards her but Gaveston makes a face as she enters to warn him.
“Why have you done this?” she asks him, dispensing with pleasantries.
“I find it relaxing,” he says. “And I was starting to smell.”
“I don’t mean the bath. Why did you bring...” She glances at Gaveston and he makes an elaborate bow. “...why did you bring him back?”
Edward sends his man scurrying to the door. He leans back in the tub, the sweat pouring down his cheek in rivulets. “The question should be: ‘why did I let him go?’ My father would never have allowed the barons to dictate to him like this.”
“You are not your father.”
This is the wrong thing to say. Even Gaveston raises his eyebrows at this.
“I am the king of England!” he shouts and stands.
He glares at her, fists clenched at his sides. Hard for a man to look regal or righteous when he stands naked in his tub. Gaveston hands him a towel. Edward hurls it back at him.
Isabella has never seen him naked; their lovemaking to this point has been conducted in candlelight under linen sheets. Her eyes travel the length of him. Even when wet, he is an impressive man. She feels her cheeks burn.
Gaveston widens his eyes in mock horror and grins at her. His expression is so lascivious she wants to slap him. Has he no shame? Flustered, she turns on her heel and leaves.
He returns all of Gaveston’s forfeited estates and signs a public proclamation to be read at the Guildhall in London that the good and loyal Piers Gaveston has returned at the royal command, after his exile contrary to the laws of England.
He then orders his sheriffs all over England to fortify their castles and take in provisions, and sends to Gascony for more troops. His barons conduct musters of their own. Archbishop Winchelsea finally declares Gaveston excommunicate.
Having thrown his gauntlet in all their faces, Edward flees north to Yorkshire. He takes with him his Chancery clerks and cartload of documents. It is clear that he does not intend to return to London with his government anytime soon.
***
Gaveston takes his wife, Margaret, to York as well. By the time Isabella arrives, the child is born. Margaret returns to her service and Gaveston finds a wet nurse for the infant.
Isabella hates the castle; she hates the north. Even this late in the winter there is still snow on the north tower. Her apartments are dull and draughty, unlike the vibrant burgundies and royal blues at Windsor and Langley. She misses most the hooded fireplace with a plentiful supply of logs from the scullery and charcoal braziers glowing in every room.
Her demoiselles warm the bed sheets with pans of heated charcoal. What she wants is a man to warm them with her.
“Am I ugly?” she asks Margaret. “Is there something about me that does not please him?”
“It is not you. You are beautiful, Isabella.”
“Then why does he not want me?”
“Only Edward can
Margaret squeezes her arm. “I only ever see him smile like that when he is with Edward,” she says.
Later, she sees them sitting together, staring at the Yule log smouldering among its bed of holly, Gaveston on the carpets leaning against his king’s thigh. Margaret is right. It is the only time Edward ever looks content. The wolfhounds are curled around them, all legs and yawning and snoring. The king bends to kiss Gaveston’s head.
Everyone is secure in their affections except the Queen. She might stand under the kissing branch of the mistletoe and its bright red berries all Christmas Eve and not draw a single glance from dog or man.
Chapter 15
Edward avoids her bed and her person after Gaveston arrives at Windsor. Perhaps he anticipates her petulance.
It is more than petulance, and he cannot avoid her forever.
She finds him sitting in his bathtub. A servant is scrubbing him with rosewater as he sweats in the steam. Gaveston is sitting at the window, watching. Edward’s back is towards her but Gaveston makes a face as she enters to warn him.
“Why have you done this?” she asks him, dispensing with pleasantries.
“I find it relaxing,” he says. “And I was starting to smell.”
“I don’t mean the bath. Why did you bring...” She glances at Gaveston and he makes an elaborate bow. “...why did you bring him back?”
Edward sends his man scurrying to the door. He leans back in the tub, the sweat pouring down his cheek in rivulets. “The question should be: ‘why did I let him go?’ My father would never have allowed the barons to dictate to him like this.”
“You are not your father.”
This is the wrong thing to say. Even Gaveston raises his eyebrows at this.
“I am the king of England!” he shouts and stands.
He glares at her, fists clenched at his sides. Hard for a man to look regal or righteous when he stands naked in his tub. Gaveston hands him a towel. Edward hurls it back at him.
Isabella has never seen him naked; their lovemaking to this point has been conducted in candlelight under linen sheets. Her eyes travel the length of him. Even when wet, he is an impressive man. She feels her cheeks burn.
Gaveston widens his eyes in mock horror and grins at her. His expression is so lascivious she wants to slap him. Has he no shame? Flustered, she turns on her heel and leaves.
He returns all of Gaveston’s forfeited estates and signs a public proclamation to be read at the Guildhall in London that the good and loyal Piers Gaveston has returned at the royal command, after his exile contrary to the laws of England.
He then orders his sheriffs all over England to fortify their castles and take in provisions, and sends to Gascony for more troops. His barons conduct musters of their own. Archbishop Winchelsea finally declares Gaveston excommunicate.
Having thrown his gauntlet in all their faces, Edward flees north to Yorkshire. He takes with him his Chancery clerks and cartload of documents. It is clear that he does not intend to return to London with his government anytime soon.
***
Gaveston takes his wife, Margaret, to York as well. By the time Isabella arrives, the child is born. Margaret returns to her service and Gaveston finds a wet nurse for the infant.
Isabella hates the castle; she hates the north. Even this late in the winter there is still snow on the north tower. Her apartments are dull and draughty, unlike the vibrant burgundies and royal blues at Windsor and Langley. She misses most the hooded fireplace with a plentiful supply of logs from the scullery and charcoal braziers glowing in every room.
Her demoiselles warm the bed sheets with pans of heated charcoal. What she wants is a man to warm them with her.
“Am I ugly?” she asks Margaret. “Is there something about me that does not please him?”
“It is not you. You are beautiful, Isabella.”
“Then why does he not want me?”
“Only Edward can
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