Play Favourites (King Edward and His Favourite Men) - 1. Chapter 1

Edward Bruce, brother of the Scottish king, then committed his whole Scots army to an inexorable bloody push into the disorganized English mass, fighting side by side across a single front. Edward’s knights began to escape back across the Bannockburn. The English forces north of the Bannockburn broke into flight. Many were killed by the pursuing Scottish army. Out of 16,000 English infantrymen about 11,000 were killed. The Scottish losses were comparatively light, with only two knights among those killed. King Edward fled with his personal bodyguard. He arrived eventually at Dunbar Castle. From there he took ship to England.

The Scottish victory was complete and Roger Bruce's position as king was greatly strengthened by the outcome. On the 24th of June 1314, the Scots had celebrated a glorious victory.

“I am deceiving myself,” he said repeatedly. “Yes, they despise me. But it is not only because of the battle I lost. No, I know all too well why they despise and why they hate their sovereign. They hate me because of Gaveston.”

Edward turned abruptly and hurried back to the window. He looked outside. His eyes rested on the green. They had played on the green when they had been boys. Piers Gaveston and Edward had been friends, best friends, and innocent friends. Until the day that Edward would never forget.

Edward closed his eyes again. He remembered the day. Spring had come. The sun was out. It had been a warm day. Gaveston had come to his room.

“What was his age then?” Edward mused. “Yes, he was seventeen. And so was I. Everything changed that day. Had you not come to my room, my beloved, your fate would have been a different one. My fate would have been a different one also. You would still be alive. And I would be a happy man. And we would still be friends.”

Edward stopped breathing. He remembered the day all too well. He remembered Piers happy smile when he had opened the door and had entered Edward’s chamber. Edward had returned the smile. He had felt a warm shiver running through his body. Something had changed. He had not been able to explain what had made the difference then. Meanwhile he knew. He was so well aware of it.

“Had you not entered my room that unfortunate day, my dear and beloved Gaveston,” Edward said under his breath.

‘Would you be happier now if I had not come to your room then?’ the voice of a shadow whispered.

The voice was familiar. The voice was Gaveston’s. Piers Gaveston was dead, murdered for his unfortunate love for the King of England. However, Piers Gaveston had never ceased to be. Piers Gaveston still lived with Edward. Like a shadow, Gaveston or what had remained of the unfortunate man, followed wherever Edward moved.

Edward closed his eyes briefly. Piers Gaveston’s death had left a permanent scar. Edward turned, yet stopped within the movement when he heard a knock at the door.

“My beloved spouse, please open the door,” he heard the voice of Isabella, the queen. Her voice was soft. However, the queen was not able to hide her despair.

Edward did not respond. He bit his lip and his look was stern. Isabella, the French sovereign’s sister and Edward’s spouse. Isabella who just couldn’t cope with the facts. Isabella who insisted on loving her husband and her king.

“Why can you not just behave like any other empress and queen does?” Edward said angrily, yet not loud enough for the queen to hear. “It’s all about politics. It’s not about husband and wife. Why can’t you understand and accept it?”

Edward turned back to the window. He heard Isabella’s voice again. How he hated that sad and depressed undertone. Every day she confronted him with that weakness of hers. She was not a sovereign queen. She was a weakling and wimp.

Her voice faded away finally. Edward took a deep breath. He wiped his forehead again.

“She haunts me,” Edward almost spitted the words.

‘Why don’t you get rid of her?’ the mocking voice in his head asked.

Edward straightened.

“Hush, Piers Gaveston,” Edward said aloud. “I cannot kill nor ban her for the sake of the country. England is not strong enough to resist the French greatness and power. Isabella is just a pledge. Why can’t she accept her fate? Why can’t she accept the fate of a true queen? A queen must never love.”

The voice in his head laughed aloud. “Why, my lord? You say she has no right to love. But you think the king has the right to love then?”

“Ah, well, my dear Gaveston,” Edward said. “A king must love. He must love his country, his people, his duty, his life and even his death.”

‘Be careful what you wish for, Edward, my lord’ the voice said seriously and then retreated.

Edward felt cold suddenly. He raised his eyes and looked into the room. The voice had gone and with it Edward’s memories. Edward II, King of England, the sovereign, was back. Edward walked to the door majestically and unlocked it. He opened the door and entered the hallway. He walked down the corridor upright, descended the stairs and entered the grand hall. Everybody fell silent at his sight instantly. The peers gazed at him. Edward made a gesture with his hand. Everybody stepped out of his way. Everybody lowered their eyes. Edward sat down on his throne and looked at them all.

“The battle is lost. Long live England,” he said in a measured voice, looking from one to the other.

For a brief moment the peers and noblemen just stared at him. Then, however, like one voice, they responded.

“Long live the King.”

Edward made a gesture with his hand. The peers resumed talking. Yet their voices were stiff and their laughs artificial. Edward looked at them with despise. He watched them whispering and tattling.

‘Morons, cowards, and traitors,’ he thought.

A man leaned in suddenly. Edward looked up and took sight of Sir Duffy, one of the few confidants that he still had.

“Sir Duffy?” Edward asked.

“My lord,” Sir Duffy said in a low voice. “Do not be mistaken. They feel affronted. They do not think you are worthy a king. You lost a battle. And they have not forgotten about Piers Gaveston.”

Edward smiled sourly.

“You need not remind me of the facts, Sir Duffy. But many kings lost a battle. And many kings loved their men.”

“Not the way you did love them,” Sir Duffy said with a small smile.

Edward waved his hand lazily.

“Piers Gaveston is dead. He was murdered two years ago. You must know,” Edward said in a low voice, his words barely audible.

Sir Duffy nodded faintly. Edward narrowed his eyes and waved his hand. Sir Duffy retreated.

“What miserable fate I have to face. It is not worth a queen,” she said.

“My lady, calm down,” the man standing behind her said softly.

Isabella turned to him.

“What ugly fate I have to face,” she said again.

Isabella walked past the man and crossed the room slowly.

“My lady, Piers Gaveston is dead. Death came upon him two years ago. That was what you wished for. That was what we all wished for,” her confidant said.

Isabella turned abruptly.

“But nothing has changed, Sir Mortimer,” she said. Her voice was enraged. “The king has not touched me since. Nothing has changed. My fate is still the same.”

Sir Mortimer, the queen’s confidant, stepped up to her. He stopped behind the queen. Isabella felt his breath on her neck. She shuddered slightly.

“My lady, why can’t you endure your fate? We took the miserable’s life. The king has not touched you since, you say. He has not touched another man either,” Sir Mortimer said.

He did not tell the full truth, however. He just ignored Hugh Audley’s existence.

“Can you be so sure, Sir Mortimer?” Isabella asked warily. “I fear he has not overcome his malady. I saw him several times at dinner with Sir Audley by his side.”

There was a tension between them. Isabella did not dare to turn to Sir Mortimer. Sir Mortimer watched her from behind.

“What is it you are looking for, Isabella, my dear and beloved queen,” Sir Mortimer asked finally. “Do you seek the love of your minions, the English people? Do you seek the king’s love? Or do you seek the love of a man?”

Isabella closed her eyes for a moment before she turned to Sir Mortimer. Their eyes met. Sir Mortimer’s words had been bold. But Isabella did not punish him.

“I feel humiliated by him,” she said.

Sir Mortimer gave the queen a small smile.

“My lady, why do you not try to overcome that weakness of yours?” he asked still smiling.

Sir Mortimer folded his hands.

“Sir Mortimer! How can you dare?” Isabella said angrily. Her chest was heaving.

Sir Mortimer kept smiling.

“Think about it, my lady,” he said. “Think about it. You could gain greatness. You could become greater than Edward II, King of England, and even greater than your brother, the French sovereign and king.”

Their eyes met again. Sir Mortimer gave the queen an encouraging nod. Isabella swallowed.

“You are a good counsellor, Sir Mortimer,” she said finally, returning Sir Mortimer’s smile.

Sir Mortimer bowed.

“I am pleased to hear your approval,” he answered.

Sir Mortimer straightened, and then crossed the room. He nodded again at the queen from the doorway. Isabella raised her hand. Sir Mortimer left quickly. The queen watched him leave.

“A good counsellor, indeed,” Isabella said to herself.

She looked into the room for a moment and then moved back to the window. She looked outside for a while. Then she gave a small laugh.

“Indeed, I could be greater than any living king,” the queen said coldly. “I could be greater than all of them. For all those kings are weaklings and wimps.”

Roger d’Amory was sitting at a large dining table amongst the peers and noblemen. He looked up when King Edward entered the hall and opened the banquet that was held for the noblemen who had so well served their country and king in the Battle of Bannockburn.

Roger watched the king enter the hall and mount his throne. King Edward looked majestic. His gestures were majestic. His demeanour was majestic and his look was cold and imperious.

Roger felt puzzled. From what he had heard he had expected to see a broken man. Rumours had spread quickly. Roger had expected to see a vulnerable man. Roger, however, saw a glamorous king.

‘Those rumours cannot be true,’ Roger thought. ‘This man is not a lost and broken man. This man is not lost to his malady either. He is a true king.’

Roger told his uncle his thoughts. The old man gave a laugh.

“Yes, Roger, you see a king tonight. But take a closer look. Then you will see a man who is just dressed up as a king.”

Roger watched the king for another while.

“Pardon me, Uncle, I cannot see the man. He has hidden himself perfectly,” Roger said.

Roger’s uncle shook his head.

“You have seen him only for the briefest of time, Roger,” the old man said. “I saw him many times before. I cannot be deceived by his glamorous clothes and his grand demeanour. I am able to see the man. I see a lost and weak man.”

Roger looked up and down the table.

“I doubt, Uncle, that these men are able to see the man that you can see,” he said quietly.

His uncle gave another laugh.

“No, Roger, those morons only see a bad man and a weak king. If they looked in a mirror, they would see the bad and evil there. But they don’t want to look at their own miserable faces. Those morons are good in deceiving themselves. Good for them, bad for the king,” the old man said.

Roger looked at the king again. He studied his face. Edward turned his head suddenly. Edwards and Roger’s eyes met for just a second before the king looked aside again.

Roger’s hands trembled slightly, to his own surprise. Edward’s look had shaken him to the core. Roger blinked. He emptied a glass of water quickly. Roger had seen the sadness in Edward’s eyes. Roger swallowed. Their eyes had met for just a moment. Just a second, but long enough for Roger to see the man and not the king.

The hours went by. The guests talked and laughed. But Roger did not get involved. He did not even try to. Roger sat quietly. He ate silently. Even his uncle turned away from him eventually and talked with some other noblemen.

Roger watched the king. He looked for the man. But he was not able to catch another glimpse of him. Roger was not able to stand the banquet any longer. Roger excused himself. He left the hall quickly.

It was way past midnight when Edward left the banquet. He had not spoken to his spouse Isabella who had sat next to him all evening long. Isabella and Edward had departed without a word. Edward had not noticed the change of hers. Nobody had noticed but her confidant. Sir Mortimer waited for the queen in the hallway.

“Very good, my lady,” he said to her in a low voice when she stopped right in front of him.

Isabella raised an eyebrow and gave Sir Mortimer a questioning look. Sir Mortimer smiled a small smile.

“Very good, my lady,” he said again. “I saw you thought about my words. I saw you came to a conclusion, didn’t you?”

“I did, Sir Mortimer,” the queen said coldly. “I was a woman in love. I was a desperate woman. I was seeking vengeance. But I changed my mind. I’m seeking power now.”

Isabella straightened and narrowed her eyes.

“Very well, my lady. So be it,” Sir Mortimer said quietly. “Trust me, my lady, I can serve you well.”

Their eyes met in the dark. Isabella nodded slightly.

“I trust you, Sir Mortimer, for your heart is as cold as mine,” she said.

The queen gave a small laugh. Sir Mortimer curled his lips with delight.

“We have a lot in common, my lady,” he said with a vague smile.

“So let us unite our forces and go to war,” Isabella said. Her voice was cold and determined.

“Slow, my lady” Sir Mortimer said almost under his breath. “The time for war has not yet come.”

“Why not?” Isabella asked warily. “The sooner we get rid of him, the faster we can rise.”

Sir Mortimer shook his head slightly.

“Slow, my lady” he said. “You need the English people behind you, my lady. Imbeciles, no matter. But many and therefore dangerous.”

“So what do you suggest, Sir Mortimer?” Isabella asked attentively.

“Give those imbeciles a reason, my lady,” Sir Mortimer said.

“A reason for what?” Isabella asked curiously.

Sir Mortimer smiled.

“A reason for a riot, my lady. We need a riot, an upheaval in order to bring down the king.”

Isabella raised an eyebrow. Then she nodded slightly.

“I really do appreciate your advice, Sir Mortimer,” she said in acknowledgment. “So what do you suggest?”

Sir Mortimer smiled.

“We need to raise the imbeciles’ anger. We need to give them a reason that will suffice to murder the king,” Sir Mortimer said coldly.

Isabella looked at Sir Mortimer thoughtfully.

“His malady would well suffice,” she said drily.

Sir Mortimer bowed his head slightly.

“Indeed, it would,” he agreed.

“He has not touched another man since Pier Gaveston’s death. Your words, Sir Mortimer,” Isabella said.

“You fear he has not overcome his malady,” Sir Mortimer said in response. “I, too, am certain he is not cured. I forgot to mention Hugh Audley perhaps.”

Isabella gave a mocking laugh.

“I saw them at dinner together. Just because they perfectly hide the liaison from the peers and noblemen’s eyes, does not mean I do not see through them,” she said.

“The peers and noblemen took notice of it also, my lady,” Sir Mortimer said. “But like you said, they hide it and do not make a fuss about it. Edward and Audley give no reason for an upheaval.”

“Edward ought to act more carelessly,” Isabella said with a piercing look at Sir Mortimer.

“Indeed, my lady,” Sir Mortimer said. “But, unfortunately, Edward is not sick with fever. He does not openly demonstrate his affection to Hugh Audley.”

“So why not raise the fever again?” Isabella asked.

“I already thought of this possibility also, my lady,” Sir Mortimer said pensively.

“Do you have a plan? Would it work out?” the queen asked excitedly.

Sir Mortimer smirked.

“We need a man who resembles Piers Gaveston,” he said.

Isabella gave a laugh.

“So why did we kill Piers Gaveston when the man would have served us so well?” she asked in a mocking voice.

“You did not wish for power then,” Sir Mortimer simply said.

“But you did, Sir Mortimer,” Isabella replied.

“I am just your loyal servant,” Sir Mortimer said.

Isabella gave another laugh.

“I see through you, Sir Mortimer. I see clearer now than I ever did before,” the queen said.

“Cleverness is worth a king,” Sir Mortimer said. He flattered. “Pardon me, my lady, cleverness is worth a queen of might and strength.”

“Do not carry it too far, Sir Mortimer,” Isabella hissed. “Do not laugh at me. I might change my mind and get rid of you.”

She looked at Sir Mortimer coldly.

“Why so, my lady?” Sir Mortimer asked. “You are not only looking for power. You are also looking for love. I can give you one and the other.”

Isabella flushed. Sir Mortimer’s words were bold. He was her confidant, yes. But, after all, he was just her minion. Isabella narrowed her eyes. Her voice was cold and threatening.

“No, Sir Mortimer,” she said. “I will be the sovereign. I will rule the country. And I can give you the power you seek. But I can also withdraw it. If you can give me love, Sir Mortimer, well, that remains to be seen.”

Sir Mortimer bowed to the queen. A faint smile played on his lips.

“One hand washes the other, my lady. And one good turn deserves another,” he said.

“Harm set, harm get. The biter will be bitten. Do not forget my words, Sir Mortimer,” Isabella replied.

Without waiting for a reply she walked on and turned around a corner. Sir Mortimer looked after her. His eyes were dark. A malicious smile played on his lips.

“I can see through you as well,” he said almost mockingly. “You are still driven by vengeance. And that will be your doom for I will bring about your ruin.”

Sir Mortimer bowed slightly in the dark, and then turned around and walked back to the hall. He sat down next to Patrick d’Amory.

“You took your nephew along?” he asked, leaning in to the old man conspicuously.

Patrick d’Amory nodded.

“He has already retired to his room. He saw the king. And I am fairly sure he is already enamoured of him,” the old man said.

Sir Mortimer smiled and rubbed his hands.

“So much the better,” he replied.

Roger looked into the dark of the room. He thought of the banquet and he thought of the king. Roger had seen a glamorous king. He had seen a grand man with majestic demeanour. The king was impressive. He attracted attention. He was a handsome man also. His skin was smooth, his eyes were blue, and his hair was blond. Roger smiled at the vivid image.

Edward had looked Roger straight in the eyes. Roger doubted the king had taken notice of him. It didn’t really matter to Roger. For a very brief time, for just a second, Roger had not only seen a glamorous king. He had seen Edward. He had seen the man. Edward’s eyes had revealed the man’s sadness, but also his longing and his love for life. Roger tossed about in his bed. He closed his eyes in vain. He was not able to go to sleep.

“Take him to the green in the morning,” Sir Mortimer said. “The king will surely go for a walk like he always does in the mornings.

Patrick d’Amory nodded.

“You arranged my debt relief. This should be enough for me to do you a favour in return, I suspect. And yet, I dare to beg you another favour,” he said to Sir Mortimer.

Sir Mortimer raised an eyebrow. He gave the man a questioning look. The old man looked at him sadly.

“Do not do him any harm, Sir Mortimer. My nephew is twenty-four years of age He is a young and innocent man.”

Sir Mortimer nodded slightly.

“I will send him away in time. So he will not face any troubles. I will see to it, Sir d’Amory” he said.

Patrick d’Amory’s eyes rested on Sir Mortimer’s face.

“What goes up must come down. Bear my words in mind, Sir Mortimer,” he said gravely.

Sir Mortimer did not respond. Patrick d’Amory left the hall. Sir Mortimer looked after him.

“Is there any victimless crime?” Sir Mortimer whispered.

Sir Mortimer straightened and rubbed his hands. He cast a smile around, and then he left the hall.

“Honesty is the best policy,” he said to himself. He gave a dry laugh. “Whoever has written down these words has surely not known this world all too well. This world is a den of iniquity.”

Patrick d’Amory gave a dry laugh.

“Or is it just a stage and all the men and women are merely players?” he mused.

Patrick d’Amory shrugged, and then walked on. He stopped briefly in front of the door that led to his nephew’s chamber.

“I will sacrifice my brother’s son. It’s not a play, Patrick d’Amory,” he said to himself. “It is my free entrance to hell,” he said drily.

Patrick d’Amory swallowed, and then he took a deep breath and moved on.