Isabella: Braveheart of France Read Online Free PDF Page A

conciliatory.”
    “They would not argue with my father, they will not argue with me.”
    Mortimer and Lincoln exchange a look; yes, but you are no Longshanks, they are thinking.
    “What is it that so offends them? If I love Gaveston, so should they.”
    This is too much for Lincoln. “Your grace, who a man loves is a private matter. I have nothing against wives or whores, but I should not like to see them at council meetings.”
    “Are you calling Perro a whore?”
    A man clears his throat. Gaveston is sitting in a window seat, playing himself at chess. The sun comes out, and for a moment he glitters with gold. There are jewels on all his fingers. He gives them a slow smile. “I am still here, you know.”
    Lincoln waddles towards the king, lowers his voice. “This is what they mean. This conversation should best be kept private. Whenever we have things to discuss, he is always here.”
    “I can still hear you,” Gaveston says, and checks his own black king with his white knight.
    “Can this rebellion stand?” Edward asks old Hugh.
    “What makes up a king’s power, your grace? The loyalty of his barons, for they each bring their armies to every cause he fights. But if they are on the other side, then what armies does the king have?”
    “Do you know how to bring down a wall?” Mortimer says.
    “Fifty men and a battering ram,” Edward says.
    “There are subtler ways. Work a chisel into the mortar and work at it until you release one brick. When one brick is out the wall is weakened. Soon you have a large hole. Then you do not even have to bring the wall down, you just walk through it.”
    “Your meaning?”
    “For now we should stop running full-tilt at the wall. Instead you should sidle up to it, examine each brick and find the weakest. Then work at it, until you have it loose.”
    He nods. “Perhaps Lord Mortimer is right. I shall pander to their petty grievances for the time being. But there shall be a reckoning.” He stares at the petition in his fist. “Institution indeed! There is no higher institution than the King himself! He holds the parchment to the candle, waits until it is well aflame, then stamps on it with his boot. Afterwards he grins as if he has solved the problems of the barons for good.
    After they have all gone, Rosseletti appears from the shadows. Isabella’s father has sent him to help her oversee her affairs and assist her with her correspondence.
    In other words, he is Phillip’s spy.
    “You heard all that?” she asks him.
    He nods, slowly.
    “What shall I do?”
    “England needs a strong king. Your father does not wish to see you married to a prince who cannot control his own kingdom.”
    “I just want to go home.” She would like to throw herself on the floor and weep, if it would make any difference.
    “Things will get better when this Gaveston is out of the country. Your position will improve.”
    “Do you think he will really send him away?”
    “He has no choice, your majesty.”
    That night she stares at the Easter moon, haloed by high wispy clouds. She hugs her fur mantle close around her shoulders.
    When she had imagined Camelot, she had not imagined this.
     
    ***
     
    Mortimer’s eyes unnerve her; they follow her across the room without expression. He reminds her of her father, self-possessed and utterly unreadable. She is frightened of him.
    She comes across him next in the hall outside Edward’s audience chamber. He is dressed in black velvet and lounging. He is here as Edward’s trusted man, the one who has secured Ireland with an iron hand.
    “Your grace,” he says and bows.
    “My Lord Mortimer. Have you seen the king?”
    “He is with my Lord Gaveston. They are walking in the garden.”
    She looks beyond his shoulder and sees them below, hand in hand, between the fish ponds, twittering like birds. She envies Edward that; there is no one she can talk to like that.
    “Do you like him?”
    “Who? The king?” A suspicion of a smile.
    “My Lord