The Follies of the King - Plaidy Jean - Страница 41

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comment. He would never have allowed his people to suffer. He would have done something. He would never have let the Scots beat him. He had been a

great King. And what had they now?

There were jokes about the King’s relationship with pretty Gaveston. Did

they remember all that money which was spent on making a fine tomb for him at Langley? Such extravagance while the people went hungry.

There was something wrong with England as events were proving and they

must look to their King for the reason.

Then John Drydas appeared.

He was the son of a tanner from Powderham and all his life people had

commented on his long legs, his flaxen hair and his likeness to the King.

People used to nod and wink and say that if Edward the First had not been a moral man, never known to stray from his marriage bed, it would have been

almost a certainty that John of Powderham was the result of some rural royal frolic.

The likeness was uncanny.

John of Powderham was a dreamer. He used to fancy that he was the son of

the King. When famine struck Powderham he used to sit on the green with the villagers gathered round him and tell them what he would do if he were king. He would see that the people were fed; he would have prayers said in churches, he would have prayers and offerings made to the saints that they might intercede with God to shut off the rain and bring out the sun. There was so much he would do if he were king.

‘Tis a pity you’m not the King, John Drydas,’ said his friends. ‘You’m

wasted tanning skins.’

He began to think that he was. Ever since he was a boy he had been

interested in the King for the likeness had been evident from early days. Some said that one of the King’s ancestors might have fathered a son on some country wench years ago and the likeness had come through in her descendants. Faithful husbands Henry the Third and Edward the First could certainly not be blamed.

But the royal streak was there.

When the story of the changeling had been spread about it had been of the

utmost interest to John of Powderham. He had talked of nothing else for days.

Then the idea had come to him. ‘It were like a dream,’ he said, ‘and yet

t’were not a dream. It was some fancy I had of long ago? I were lying in a room all silks and velvets? I remember it hazy-like? like there be a mist

between me and that day.’

His friends urged him to try and remember. And it was amazing how the

visions kept coming to him.

‘Of course I were a very young baby,’ he told them. ‘But a baby has these

flashes of memory like, I do believe.’

The village was excited. It was rarely there was so much to talk about and it was a relief from the continual discussions of poverty and hardship.

Then one day as his admirers sat in a circle about him he told them that he was in truth the son of King Edward the First and therefore their King.

He was beginning to remember. One night while he was sleeping in his

magnificent cradle, men came and carried him away. He was too young to know what was happening to him and his first memories after that were of the tanner’s cottage. It was perfectly dear. The man who called himself Edward the Second was a changeling. It was clear enough was it not? Look what had happened

when he went to Scotland. Look at the life he had led with the wicked Gaveston.

Was that what could be expected from the son of Edward the First? Everything he did pointed to the fact that he was not his father’s son.

He looked very like him, pointed out some.

‘He is tall and fair-haired. There are many men tall and fair-haired. What of me then? Do I not look the spitting image of him?’

They had to admit this was so.

‘What will ‘ee do about it, John?’ asked the miller.

‘I reckon I ought to do some’at,’ said John.

‘You should go around the country, telling people you be the true King.’

‘Yes, maybe that’s what I should do.’

John of Powderham was a little apprehensive. It was all very well to

proclaim himself the true King in his own village. Going round the country telling others was a different matter.

But his friends were determined.

They had to put a stop to the present state of affairs as soon as possible.

They wanted a real King to rule them and to see John Drydas, standing his full height with his yellow hair thrown back and his long shapely legs? Well, if that wasn’t the dead image of Great King Edward they didn’t know what was.

???????

The Queen said: ‘This after the changeling story is too much. Every tall fair-haired man in the country will be setting himself up as the King. You have to make an example of this one, Edward.’

Edward agreed with her. He had talked over the matter with Hugh who had

actually seen the man.

‘He is handsome enough,’ was Hugh’s comment. ‘Tall and fair. And he

certainly has a look of the late King and yourself. But what a difference! The poor creature has no grace, no charm. He is an uncouth yokel.’

‘What do you expect him to be?’ demanded Isabella tartly, ‘brought up by a tanner! I doubt you, my lord, would be as charming and graceful if you had been brought up in a hovel instead of the ancestral home of the Despensers.’

Hugh tittered sycophantically. They were beginning to hate each other. In

due course, thought Hugh, he would not have to placate her. It would be the other way round.

The Queen said: ‘I do believe this man should not be treated lightly.’

Edward looked at Hugh. Oh God, prayed Isabella, let me keep my temper.

This is going to be darling Perrot all over again.

Hugh was not completely sure of his position, so he said quickly: ‘There is much in what you say, my lady.’

‘Poor fellow,’ said Edward, ‘I doubt he means any harm.’

‘He is only helping to make you more unpopular than you already are.’

Edward said petulantly: ‘The people are so tiresome. Am I to blame for the weather?’

‘They won’t blame you for the weather,’ said the Queen, ‘but for doing

nothing to combat the effects of it. They don’t realize that Lancaster rules them now? not their King.’

She was not going to argue with them. If the King liked to be lenient with this man, let him. His folly was leading him to disaster fast enough.

She left the two friends together. Now they would put their pretty heads

together and talk of the past. Hugh must be sick to death of hearing of the talents and virtues of Darling Perrot.

But John of Powderham was not allowed to go free. He was arrested and

imprisoned. He was given a chance to bring forward proof which might

substantiate his claims to be the son of the King.

Of course, the poor fellow could do nothing of the sort. But he insisted on his claim. He knew it had happened the way he had said. What more proof did they want than the character of the present King.

He had given his accusers the opportunity they needed.

Poor John Powderham was sentenced to that horror which had become

known as the traitor’s death. He was hung, drawn and quartered.

An example to any of those who might have notions that Edward the Second

was not the true King of England.

???????

There were further signs of unrest.

Soon after the affair of John Drydas, a certain Robert Messager was in a

tavern having drunk a little more than his wont when he remarked that it was small wonder things went wrong with the country when the manner of the

King’s way of living was considered.

There was quiet in the tavern while he went on to speak very frankly of the King’s relations with Gaveston and now it seemed there was a new pretty boy favourite. It was a wonder the Queen— God bless her? endured the situation.

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