The Confession of Piers Gaveston (7 page)

“Go to the King,” I bade my page, “and tell him that if he visits me tonight I will be sweet to him.”

Ignoring all objections, including my own, Edward decided I must have the grandest wedding England had ever seen.

We spent hours arguing about my wedding clothes, shouting and nearly coming to blows amongst swathes of velvet, satin, silk, taffeta, and lace.

Edward would have me arrayed in celestial blue silk.

“You will look heavenly!” he enthused, draping the costly sky-colored silk about my shoulders.

“A heavenly fool, you mean! It is the color of purity and therefore best left to virgins and brides! This marriage is mockery enough without my very garb making a joke of me! Nay, take it away!” I thrust it aside. “Send it to Meg for her marriage gown if you like, but I will not have it! Methinks I shall wear this sea green satin embroidered with vermilion instead,” I announced, draping it round me and turning to consult my mirror. “Do you not think it fine, Nedikins? The delicacy of the green with the fire of the red!”

“Ah!” Edward sighed, clasping his hands and looking fit to swoon. “None shall be more beautiful than you!”

“Ungallant!” I charged. “What of the bride?”

“None!” he emphatically declared.

And soon I found myself standing before the church doors with Edward at my side watching the bridal procession wend its way towards us.

“I love weddings,” Edward whispered. “Oh Perrot, don’t you wish it were ours?”

“No!” I answered sulkily. “I grow weary of these foolish spectacles! I wish that this one were done rather than just begun!”

But even then my bride was drawing near, a slender girl garbed in celestial blue silk and flowing red-gold hair crowned with gilded rosemary. Sweet music surrounded her, played by fair-haired boys in white silk with colored ribbons streaming from their sleeves, and maidens gowned in white, their hair unbound beneath floral wreaths, bearing the bride-cakes on gilded trays. Then Edward was descending the steps to take Meg’s hand. He bent to place a chaste kiss upon her softly blushing cheek then led her to me and placed her hand in mine.

Not a word of my vows do I remember speaking. It was like there was a fearsome black crow inside my head cawing over and over again: “This is a mistake! This is a mistake!” And then the Bishop joined us, binding our hands together with a length of white silk, to show that we were now one.

Our guests, gathered round the church steps, began to cheer, and Edward, veering wildly betwixt shrill laughter and heartrending sobs, stepped forward to pour silver coins over our heads as Meg and I shared our first kiss.

Our hands were unbound and the crowd surged forth to congratulate us.

I looked at Edward with tears pouring down his face and decided he should be even sorrier before the day was out. I fished a silver coin from where it had caught in my jewel-encrusted belt and slowly raised it to my lips and bit it.

“Silver!” I said petulantly. “Am I not worth gold?”

“Not on your wedding day!” Edward sobbed.

“Ah, well,” I shrugged, “there is always the wedding night!” And I stepped past him to take my bride’s arm and escort her inside the church for the wedding mass.

Gloomy and teary-eyed, Edward sat beside me at the feast that followed, and grew even more so when I refused to quarrel with him on the grounds that it was all his doing. He was my sovereign lord, and I a loyal servant of the Crown, and he bade me marry the lady; did he honestly expect me to disobey a royal command? And though the great trestle table fairly groaned beneath the bounteous array, and music, laughter, and revelry surrounded us, Edward and I could do nothing but drink and carry on our taut and taunting flirtation while our plates remained untouched and those around us wondered what was wrong.

“Nay Nedikins,” I taunted sweetly, “what’s done is done! You have made your bed and will have to lie in it, whether it pleases you or not, and you must do so alone. Tonight,” I directed a meaningful glance at my bride, “duty takes me elsewhere!”

Edward grasped my hand so tightly a bruise would be blossoming there by morning. With a quaver in his voice and his eyes full of tears, he begged me to tell him that I loved him still and nothing would ever change that.

I offered him my most beguiling smile and stood up from the table and, leaning down close, bade him follow me. He did, and I gave him every assurance that my feelings had not altered.

Edward returned to the table with a dreamy and contented smile and was delighted to discover that he had suddenly acquired a hearty appetite.

The feast dragged on for what seemed like hours as I watched the seemingly endless procession of dishes parade past my eyes. There was a roast peacock so skillfully re-dressed in its gaudy plumage that I would not have been surprised if it had suddenly begun to screech and flap its wings, a pair of calves heads, one silvered and the other gilded, elaborate subtleties, allegories pertaining to matrimony sculpted of sugar and marzipan, wobbly jellies of red, yellow, and green, and all manner of meat pies, fish, fowl, and game, soups by the score, and cakes, pies, and custards too numerous to name.

Edward and the servers tried to tempt me, but I felt as if cold stones were lodged within my heart and belly, and I could do nothing but shake my head and drink cup after cup of hippocras, hoping vainly that the warm spiced wine would melt the uneasy coldness inside. And still that crow inside my head kept cawing: “This is a mistake! This is a mistake!” and I prayed the hippocras would silence him or drown out his cries.

Then it was time for the eagerly awaited ritual of the bride-cakes. Custom dictated that every guest bring a small, round, flat cake adorned with currants, honey, fruit, or nuts, and stack them as high as they could upon a table. The bride and groom must stand, face to face with the table of cakes between them and lean forward and kiss. If the cakes remain in place the marriage will be happy, fruitful, and prosperous, but if they topple the very opposite will come to pass. Need I even tell you that they toppled?

Edward was at my side in an instant declaiming like a hero of legend: “Nay, my beloved Perrot, do not fear! By my life, you shall be happy and prosper, I swear!”

At his words Meg smiled and ventured to ask shyly: “And shall we have many children, Uncle Edward?”

Edward could not answer, so I smiled and confidently asserted “Dozens!” and kept smiling even as Edward stamped his foot down hard upon mine to show how much he disliked my answer.

Nearby stood Warwick, Lancaster, and Lincoln.

“Generally I do not hold with superstition,” The Black Dog growled, stroking his long black beard strewn and matted with bread crumbs and sour cherry sauce, “but this is one time when I think it will prove correct.”

Burstbelly nodded and grunted his agreement but could not offer further comment as his mouth was crammed full of cake.

“Aye,” The Buffoon nodded, preening in his pink and orange striped taffeta and stroking his little pointy gold beard. “Do you think The Gascon even knows what to do with a woman?”

“Poor lass, she might as well have stayed in the convent and took vows,” War-wick answered, “for all the good this marriage will do her. Methinks being the bride of Gaveston and a bride of Christ are not so dissimilar; either way she will spend her days sequestered in the country with her maidenhead unbreached and nothing to do but ply her needle and pray!”

Hearing their words, I had the most amusing idea for a jest and my eyes eagerly sought Aymer de Valence, the Earl of Pembroke, the wisest and most esteemed of Edward’s councilors.

I found him standing near a window-seat, looking very distinguished in deep green velvet. His gray-speckled black hair was newly cropped and the style suited him well. Indeed, I thought him a most elegant figure, so tall and trim, and far too serious, and it was neither the first nor the last time that I found myself lamenting that he stood with Warwick, Lancaster, and Lincoln as my enemy. He is such a solemn man and guards his smiles and laughter like a miser, and this I have taken as a challenge. Someday I will make the Earl of Pembroke smile at me!

“My Lord of Pembroke!” I rushed up to him and laid my hand upon his sleeve. “You are a married man!”

“Yes, Gaveston,” he nodded indulgently, condescendingly, as if he were speaking to a simpleton or a small child, “as you well know, I am a married man, and yonder is my lady-wife,” he indicated a lovely silver-haired woman gowned in gray satin. “Why do you not go and talk to her? She finds you charming and amusing.”

“Unlike you!” I pouted. “But this is something I cannot discuss with your lady-wife; if I tried you might challenge me to a duel! Lean down a little, you are too tall!”

“Oh very well!” he frowned. “But do stop stroking my sleeve as if it were your pet!”

He obliged me and leaned down and I whispered into his ear: “When I am alone with my wife what am I to do?”

“Good heavens!” Pembroke straightened abruptly. “You mean you do not know? Gaveston, this is most … awkward! Can you not ask His Majesty? Given the close nature of your … ahmm … friendship, I should think it would be best if …”

“Nay,” I shook my head adamantly, “for he is jealous and will not tell me!”

“Well your brothers then?” Pembroke suggested.

“Guillaume is drunk under the banquet table reciting love poems to Edward’s wolfhounds. And I dare not ask Arnaud and Raimond; they would laugh at me for the rest of my life!”

“Yes, yes, I … I see what you mean,” Pembroke nodded commiseratively, “to be sure, your brothers are most disagreeable fellows! Very well then, let us sit down,” he indicated the window-seat, “and I shall do my best to … enlighten you.”

Poor Pembroke was so agitated that I didn’t have the heart to go through with it. “Nay, My Lord, you need not! I like you too well to embarrass you further! Rest assured that in all matters pertaining to the bedchamber I am exceedingly well versed! I sought your advice only in jest.”

“Now, really, Gaveston!” Pembroke fumed. “This is intolerable! You have placed me in a most awkward position!”

“Well, My Lord,” I ventured with a mischievous smile as I pressed my thigh against his, “if you find this position awkward there are others we might try!”

Angry and incredulous, Pembroke rounded on me. “Are you flirting with me, Gaveston?”

“Yes, of course I am!” I said brightly. “Has it really taken you this long to figure that out?”

A perfect picture of indignation, Pembroke leapt to his feet. “I grow weary of your jests, Gaveston! Forsooth, you are a brazen knave, unnatural and audacious! You should be ashamed of yourself! This is your wedding day!”

“You misunderstand, My Lord, this is no jest! And if you object to today, there is always tomorrow, or the day after. As for my wife, she need never know, nor yours either,” I added, standing up and laying my hand upon his sleeve again. “The Italians say: ‘Caress only your enemies,’ so I thought we might try and see if there is truly merit in that phrase. But you are not interested, I think, and my heart grieves for it!”

Pembroke just glowered at me. “Indeed, I am most decidedly not interested! Hush this unseemly prattle now, and take your hand off my sleeve; His Majesty approaches!”

“Ah, Edward!” I cried as I spun round to greet him. “Condole with me, my dearest friend! The Earl of Pembroke refuses to make love to me!”

“Well I should hope so!” Edward exclaimed. “God’s blood, bones, and teeth, Piers, I cannot let you out of my sight for a moment! Thank you, My Lord, once again you have proven yourself to be a man of great wisdom,” he nodded to Pembroke as he began to lead me determinedly away. “Come, Perrot, and leave the Earl of Pembroke in peace!”

“As you like,” I shrugged. “Well, My Lord,” I smiled as I turned back to Pembroke, “we shall have to continue this conversation another time!”

“God preserve me from such a fate!” Pembroke staunchly declared.

As Edward led me away, I turned and winked at Pembroke. But he just glowered at me and repeated his assertion that I was a “brazen knave!”

Soon it was time to see the bride and groom put to bed to the tune of much ribaldry and laughter. Only a choice few would be allowed at first into the bridal chamber so, to appease the crowd, Meg stood upon the threshold while her sister Eleanor knelt and reached up beneath her bridal gown to untie her garters.

It is accounted a sign of good fortune to catch the bride’s garters. If caught by someone unwed, they will marry within a year, and if a man gives the garter he catches to his lady-love and she accepts it their love shall last forever.

The first landed on the head of whey-faced Hugh Despenser, even then talking statecraft with his pompous father—the sly old goat! His perpetually ink-stained fingers twitched the trailing blue silk from his dull cheese-colored hair with unconcealed annoyance as he continued his conversation.

Lancaster caught the second one and turned instantly to present it to his lovely wife Alice with whom, despite her complete and contemptuous indifference, he was passionately in love. Alice just glared at him then turned away with her nose haughty-high in the air, leaving him holding the garter and turning scarlet with embarrassment.

Once the garters were thrown, Meg and I were escorted into the bridal chamber. A gaggle of giggling ladies surrounded Meg on one side of the chamber while a group of bawdy-witted men surrounded me on the other and helped us to undress.