All the World (Hand in Hand Chronicles)

Chapter 19: "When I forsake thee, death seize on my heart!"

We pass a quiet, if pleasant holiday in Scotland. My little girl is now just three years old. She can talk quite well, and is a quiet child, mostly clinging to her mother or aunt. She's fond of me and my attention, but sometimes she sees me from across a room or as she's being loaded onto a litter, and it's not realistic (I've been told) I come and pay her full attention. To that end I develop a code with her to show I've noticed her and will come supply a hug. Both hands into fists, then tap my chest and finish pointing at her. Soon she can do it as well. It takes us a couple of hours to teach it to her but we're basically in hiding in Scotland. We have time. Maggie and I already have several non-verbal codes to use primarily for us both to get out of boring dinners because it seems Aimee is right it is like two thirteen year olds.
Finally back with Edward over the holidays I'm ignoring the looming threat of Parliament in spring. So is he. And we have a decent distraction before we go.
We're parlaying with Robert the Bruce.
He's noticed we're here, and Edward wants a parlay. He doesn't want war, due to lack of funds and general lack of ambition. I would have been fine fighting but Edward's King and I have 'poor impulse control', according Aimee which is odd because nobody but her has ever said that about me before.
Edward chooses me and Gloucester to go meet the Bruce. Good enough fun, I'm still the Earl of Cornwall, which means something everywhere but England apparently.
Our instructions for the parlay, are as follows:
"I need Bruce to think I can fight him and beat him, but not to actually fight him, and not make any concessions, all right?" Edward asks.
"Got it," I say.
"That didn't make sense," Gloucester says.
"I've got it," I say.
"Good do it," Edward says.
Gloucester doesn't like me but he's a royalist, being Edward's nephew. He doesn't like me for valid reasons though, to do with my personality, and a couple of my favorite facial expressions. He's fine with Edward and I.
"Let me do the talking," I say.
"Why?" Gloucester asks.
"I'm annoying and it's a Scotsman we're talking to?" I point out.
"I don't usually agree with you Gaveston but, you have a point," Gloucester grunts.
We parlay in a field, of Bruce's choosing but both sides I'm sure have support. Well, we have bow support. I assume they have angry-scots-men-in-the-woods support.
Robert the Bruce is a tall man, handsome enough with thick dark hair, and a merry grin the moment he sees us. He's in traditional Scottish dress, but I don't know if that's for our benefit or not. They do usually dress in wraps of wool as opposed to a tunic and things like shoes.
"Piers Gaveston, Earl of Cornwall, this is the Earl of Gloucester," I say, politely.
"So you're the gentlemen who have been squatting at the bottom of my country?" Bruce asks.
"Oh King Edward is here. And he's giving you the opportunity to talk," I say.
"Oh really?" Bruce asks, "Gaveston. Have you ever warred in Scotland?"
"With the old king, I'd be surprised my reputation precedes me," I say.
"Then you'd know what's taken this new king so long to talk to me? He's got no claims here, nor did his father," Bruce says.
"Ah but he has his father's warlike heart," I say, not daring to glance at Gloucester who made a strange sound. He knows I'm lying. 
"Then where's he been?" Bruce asks.
"Domestic affairs have kept him south. Till now. A new wife, who feared for her handsome, courageous husband at war. You understand, the things we'll do for women," I say. I think Gloucester stares at me then kind of nods to make up for it.
"I do not. I once drew a sword upon my wife when she dared say I'd not hold the throne," Bruce says, completely amicably despite the statement.
"That's different, all right. My point stands, King Edward is glad to stake his claim to the Scottish throne and for my part I'll gladly help him. However. His nobles complain of the cost of war. So we're forced to do this. I don't actually want to succeed, nor does the King we'll have war, that's why I was sent. Actually, do you recall the battle of Falkirk?" I ask.
"I was not there, but yes," Bruce says.
"There was an english soldier, who, despite being on fire, was refusing to retreat from the fray of battle?" I ask.
"Why are you proud of this?" Gloucester breaths.
"That was me," I say, moving my tunic to reveal the still present burns scars.
Bruce nods appreciatively, "You're no Englishman, are you?"
"Gascony."
"Explains it perfectly."
"Aye, but the point of the narrative is I'm not here to parlay, I'm here to look as though I've parlayed," I say.
"Why should I believe that King Edward has anything to bargain with? From what I can tell Scotland is mine," Bruce says.
"From what I can tell don't waken the beast. That is the son of Edward Longshanks. His father's siege machines have been idle too long how many more castles do you have, Bruce?" I ask.
"Plenty. And we'll be glad of his advance, the clans have been idle," Bruce says.
"Our parlay is this," Gloucester looks prepared to sell me to the Scots, "Don't challenge our occupation of the southern border. And those siege machines stay in England, as does the army of Lancaster."
It's all bluff of course. We have no army. And no, Edward has no intention of invading.
But it's nice that Bruce can't be sure of that.
"Is that really how you got those burns?" Gloucester hisses, as we walk back. He's seen them before, they're usually a bit visible past my tunic, but like most of the men I've campaigned with he's seen me bare chested.
"Why do you think Longshanks picked me to go tutor his son in jousting?" I ask, dryly.
"You tutored the King in jousting?"
"No. I was supposed to," I say.
"Gaveston, how are you that articulate yet half of England hates you?"
"More than, and I'm only charming or clever once a year, for less than an hour," I say. Gloucester laughs, shaking his head.
When we return we appraise Edward of the parlay, and that Bruce has temporarily accepted our presence here. We do warn him it won't necessarily last.
"I'm happy to invade Scotland though. Honestly it keeps me out of England," I say, holding up my hands.
"No. We can't afford it," Edward mutters.
Parliament convenes in a few weeks. To which point, Edward must go back south. The Earls have sent word, once again, they'll only meet him without me there. We expected as much, and Edward's too paranoid for my safety to suggest I leave. Isabella goes back south with him. I and my household remain in the north. Good enough excuse is that I can defend the border, which I wouldn't mind doing. But it's a thinly veiled guise. It's clearly to keep me out of England.
It is now the spring of 1411. This is significant to me because the thirteen year old informs me that she's now sixteen and proves it by pointing out which year it is and that she'll turn seventeen at the end of the year.
"We could have consummated the marriage last October when I turned sixteen," Maggie says, as we stand on the roof of the castle, watching the clouds roll over the heaths has proved entertaining. Nearly reminds me of Ireland.
"And? The marriage only existed so I'd be of the royal family, for all the good that's done," I sigh.
"I know. We don't know what's going to happen, after this Parliament," she says.
"No, but it won't be good," I say, holding up Richmond's most recent letter. Just to me. He couldn't tell me details for fear of being intercepted. However he told me to have my affairs in order and have no plans to return to England. That's enough.  I showed it to the girls, who agreed that likely means I'll once again be exiled.
"No, it won't. So we're either looking at exile, or you stripped of your titles," she says.
"More than likely, which means back to Ireland, probably," I say. That's not the worst for us, it is for me and Edward.
"If we have children and appear a normal family it least gets us a better entry to the courts of Europe," she says.
I sigh.
"I want to be a mother," she shrugs.
"You are right though," I say, "And if something happens to me a son would hold my titles and protect you from either an unwelcome remarriage or their wrath."
"Nothing's going to happen," she says.
"Beyond them, even if I fell in battle or of illness. No, a son is protection for you. I'm not fond of the idea of using you a shield but—,"
"I'd rather us all alive," she reasons, "We go to the pope. We even go to Italy. You're an unfortunate noble with a wife and a young child."
"And a mistress and small child, no you're right," I say, "I'd really not like to have to use it but." But a son is protection for her, ten times more than for me. And if I fall in battle or am imprisoned or the like, she's not a widow of an unconsummated marriage about to be shopped out. Within even five or six years a son would be of nominal protection.
"But we do need to be ready, and thinking, that direction," she says, "My sister Eleanor has two children by now, I think she's carrying another. People will talk I'd sooner—I just want a start of being normal."
"I'm sorry," I say.
"It's not you. It's how they treat us," she says.
"Because of me."
"No. Because of them, it's their decision you're not doing anything wrong," she sighs, "It's awkward but—isn't it for the best?"
"Yeah," I nod, "That said, let's just consummate the marriage and go from there all right? It's not urgent to have a child. I'm assuming you're a virgin?"
She nods, blushing a little.
"We'll consummate it if that's what you want. Then we'll see, Parliament may actually yield something decent. For once," I say.
"Not likely."
"No. No it's not."
We both know it's not. And the marriage should be consummated. I realize I can't continue ignoring the fact that she's genuinely my wife. And this is a start to eventually having a son. I'll be thirty soon, that's not a young man anymore. She is a good deal younger than I, when I eventually die a son would hold her interests and support her. That's how the world works.
That doesn't mean I have any interest in bedding a sixteen year old girl. I bitterly mention to Edward in my next letter that yes, as she's sixteen we'll consummate the marriage. It's not a surprise he'll be doing the same once Isabella's sixteen, in theory. She's fond enough of him they get on I assume they will in the next year or two anyway. They truly are expected and need children.
I go to Maggie the next week, rather than think about it we agree to get it over with. I tell Aimee and Alice, who then I assume talk to her about it. Blessedly neither of them say anything. It's awkward enough even if it's expected of us.
Maggie is calm and practical, when I arrive at her bedroom. She's always been tough.
"As we discussed we consummate the marriage, and then in the future you decide how much we're hoping for a child, agreed?" I ask.
"Yes," she says, pushing curls from her face. She has her hair down, wearing a white nightdress. For a moment I feel ill. Everything feels so odd. I round myself with the thought of if I want another man doing this. If it's not me it's someone else.
"It shouldn't hurt. If it does—something's wrong don't let anyone tell you differently. In theory you'll enjoy it," I say, I'm sure my face is red. I hold up a vial, "This is oil, it stops it from hurting you."
"How do you know?" Maggie asks, knotting her fists in the sheet. I'm still standing by the door fully clothed that's how far I've gotten.
"Sodomy," I say, flatly.
"Ah," she winces.
"I have lain with Alice too—obviously. Bit different as we weren't actually trying to accomplish anything but amusement. Which is I think a sin but we didn't care," I say.
"She said you were gentle," she says.
"She told me how women experience pleasure—different from men obviously—," I wince a bit, "Because of this you have to give the little Flower this talk because I'm never doing anything like this again—,"
"Deal," she laughs.
I laugh too, "No, seriously. If you're enjoying it it's not unpleasant. Again the ladies can tell you more about that I beg of you ask them not me."
"They said it's not so bad, and Alice said you were kind, that's why she picked you," she says, smiling.
"Oh did she?" I smile too.
She nods, the smile fading a little.
"Again, if you change your mind, or hurt, or whatever, it doesn't matter we don't have to do this," I say, taking a breath, "All right?"
"Okay," she nods, "I do want to—kind of want to like just to do it."
"Okay. Crawl up on the bed for me, you can hold onto my arms," I say, coming over to the bed. I put a hand on her thigh first, sliding it up, slowly. Alice schooled me, however drunkenly, well enough in the art of pleasing a woman.
"The men are stupid," she told me, "They force themselves and then we're not able to perform either. Like life, if everyone is happy things go far better, eh?"
I enjoyed her counsel, and lessons as she wasn't a bad lover. And we got a fine enough child out of that, without actually trying. We weren't trying to avoid it either but still.
Maggie isn't deterred, neither of us fully undress which I'm not used to but I'm also trying to pretend it's not even happening. She's grown in the last couple of years but she's still lean with youth. Still very much a child. I wonder if I looked this much a child when I first gave myself to a lover. Edward. An entirely different moment we fell into each other's arms. Maggie tips her head back, nearly smiling, and though she grips my arms there's not fear there.
When it's through Maggie crawls up a bit farther on the bed but keeps lying there, just fixing her gown a little around her pale legs.
"Are you all right?" I ask, returning to stand by the bed. I fixed my clothes, and washed my hands. I realize she might want to clean up or just be alone but I also don't want to immediately leave.
"Yes," she says, one hand laying on her belly, the other by her leg, "That did feel —nice I suppose. Just stay, it feels weird and I don't want to be alone."
I sit down at the foot of the bed.
"How did you know you wanted to sleep with men, not women?" She asks, quietly, still not rising.
"I was kissing one and tearing his clothes off," I say, nearly smiling.
She laughs a little.
"Highly recommend it. I hope you fall into someone's arms someday like that," I say, smiling now, "I'm glad I got that. Sinful as it was. Sorry you had holy matrimony."
"No. I'm glad it was you," she says, rolling onto her side.
"I'm glad I'm your husband. I don't know who else I'd be doing this with," I say, holding out a hand. She takes it. "Friends still?"
"Best friends," she smiles.
"Do you want me to send Aimee or Alice in? Or one of your other girls?" I ask.
"No," she says, "I'm all right. Really I am. You don't have to worry about me."
"Sort of my job," I smile, "Get some sleep yeah? We can talk tomorrow if you want. Or we can go hunting which is probably illegal here to and Edward can pardon me again."
"We cannot he said that," she laughs.
"Not completely."
"He did!" She laughs. Then she sits up and hugs me, impulsively, just wrapping her arms around my chest. I hug her back, gently. And I think about how it is my job to worry about her now. She's the granddaughter of a king. What would my parents think of me? If my past self, at fifteen, had been told any of this would come to pass, I'd punched whoever told me. It's bizarre. I have a sixteen year old. And a three year old. And I'm banned from an entire country. And yet its so close to a good life.
We are happy.
Edward and I love each other. I have my sister. My daughter. My friends, Alice, Richmond, Jean, and of course Maggie. We are happy. They don't get to take that.
Parliament, never convenes. It's 1311. Lincoln dies and Gloucester replaces him as regent, but then Edward returns at least to the North of England to maintain control.
Lancaster now has inherited more lands through his wife, and is supposed to come and pay homage to Edward for it. Naturally he refuses to do that, he's only a Lancaster. Edward also refuses to go south. I'm remaining in the north, Edward tells them I'm ill and can't journey, not that anyone wants me. Lancaster finally meets him when we are together in the north. It's very circumstantial I'm there. Not like Edward said 'I'm not seeing that snake alone' and dragged me bodily with. Lancaster pays his homage to Edward, but will not even acknowledge my presence. It's better than jibs, I just smile at the willowy man as it unnerves him.
But now Lancaster holds more money than any man in England. He's insanely powerful. He hates me. And he wants to rule Edward. The other Ordainers are ready to help him. I'm Earl of Cornwall but it's nearly a joke. I don't hold my lands. I can't even travel freely to my lands. I'm a prisoner, but at least I'm with Edward. My soul comfort is he's no longer facing them alone.
By the time summer comes and the dispute with Lancaster is pretended to be settled, we're well situated in the north. But we all know trouble is coming. Worse, in a way, on a personal note. Maggie is throwing up every morning, ill with headaches, and extremely tired. At first we think she's ill, but by the time June comes the cause of her illness is obvious.
She's pregnant.
I'm one night in her bed and she's with child, I could laugh if it weren't so utterly stupid. I'm a man without a home, hunted, hated. And my sixteen year old wife is carrying my child. The child of the most despised man in two countries, for now France hates me as well I hear.
Maggie is as unnerved as I. Politically a child would be fine. But our political position is worsening.  And she feels horrible. She's not too young for it, but our situation is precarious.
Edward takes the news in stride. He's convinced that he'll settle the Earls and all will be well.
"My love, nothing has ever worked for us, and not once have they done what you asked," I say, with absolute affection.
"I brought you home didn't I?" Edward asks.
"Yes. Nobody agreed to that though," I say.
He doesn't concede that but I'm right.
It's June and getting hot, even here in the North. I spend my nights plotting where we could run to. I fall asleep dreaming of distant lands. All of us. Edward just come forget everything. They can all fight for the crown. I've not jousted in ages I'd be fat if I weren't too ill to eat. As it is I can feel slippery fat over my once lean muscles. I'm doing nothing but fearing the worst.
"I can't sleep," Maggie just walks into my room.  It's hot and the window is open. I'm lying on the bed trying to guess all the countries where they speak French.
"Why?" I ask, not really sitting up.
"I feel so sick," she mumbles, lying down next to me, miserable like a sleepy child.
"Did you try to eat something?" I ask, petting her curls from her face.
"I feel too awful," she says, laying a hand on her belly, "And I can't sleep because it feels weird. In me."
"Lie here. I'll bore you, and you can lean on me how about that?" I ask.
She curls up under the crook of my arm, white night dress draped over the little swell in her belly. She's barely showing through dresses but she was always little. The quickening has been obvious for weeks now to us, and was our only confirmation of the pregnancy. Before that we had no idea the cause of her illness. We is myself and Maggie. I think Alice and Aimee had an idea but were too polite to tell us.
"Why aren't you asleep?" Maggie asks.
"I'm trying to decide where this baby is going to be born. And if we can pass you and Flower off as orphans and me as a woman and Aimee as a man," I say, completely seriously.
"What?"
"Look, we may have to get out of England. I have four girls, and soon this one," I say.
"Not that soon, it comes after the New Year," she mumbles. She does look miserable, she's been very ill from the child, her skin pallid and green tinged, and most food repulsing her, "Do you think we'll ever get to go home?"
"I used to think we would. I used—to believe we'd have some happy ending. Where Edward and I are old and grey. And we're taking his sons hunting. And you girls are I don't know, playing with the grandchildren. And I have my own land wherever that is and you and I still make stupid faces at each other when we're bored at dinner. And nobody notices anymore when I'm in the king's chambers. But it's like I can't even see it anymore," I say.
"I do," she says, quietly. She takes my hand and curls it against her puffy belly. "I see you teaching our baby how to joust. Which is so dangerous—on some fat pony. And we're chasing the kids with wooden swords 'cause we still didn't grow up. And you're useless with discipline 'cause every time the kid runs away to a joust or something you just laugh and say that's your kid. And I have to pretend to be cross but you're pulling stupid faces behind the kid's back. And Edward has us all for these huge Christmas feasts every year."
"And the tales of Ireland. And this Scottish campaign are all just that. All this strife is just stories now, because we've won," I sigh, my rough hand still under her little one, pressed to her belly. "I want it to be true."
"It gets to be. We're supposed to get to be happy. And so is this—thing," she says, pushing her flesh.
"Yeah. Yeah we do," I sigh.
"We'll do it. Promise me that?" She asks, "Because I'm scared too. And we can be scared together."
"Scared together," I say, knotting my hand with hers.
She nods, pushing our hands against her little belly, "I'm gonna get so fat aren't I?"
"Little bit, it'll be worth it though," I say, "Yeah? This Christmas, or New Year, you're going to be holding that beautiful baby."
"Do you promise you'll be with me?" She asks, voice shaking a little, "Because I hate it. But I'm really, really scared. My mum died in birth. I don't want to die."
"I promise. Come hell, or Parliament. Or Ordainers. Nothing is going to stop me from being with you. You, and this baby, and our little Flower, and Aimee, and Alice, you're my family, all right? They can hate me all they want. They aren't going to take that. No matter what happens, here, I will be by your side. And we'll hold this baby together. And I'll probably cry. But I'm going to be right there with you," I say, smiling, "I swear it."
"Thank you," she says softly.
"No, you get that for free. So does this baby. I will always be there. You're supposed to be safe too, you get someone who is always going to be there," I say.
She curls against me, I can feel her shake with sobs.
"The stupidest thing I've ever felt. Is the first time I felt safe, in my life, was when we were exiled. And when I found out I was carrying this baby. When I first thought it was in me. I was so happy, because I wasn't alone. Finally I wasn't alone. They can't take it away," she says, "And why don't I always feel like that? Why is it so out of joint?"
"I don't know. I felt like that my whole life. And Edward was the only thing, for so long, that felt right," I sigh.
And while he is still my home. I have even more responsibilities now. I have four people relying on me, tied only to me. I'd let Alice go live in one of Edward's houses and serve Isabella. But she won't leave our daughter. And I can't bear to let my daughter go. I comfort myself in the idea that with my name she would hardly be safe anywhere else.
We're still in the north of England when Edward finally succeeds in arranging Parliament. It's August. The summer has been unbearably hot. Maggie is now more obviously pregnant and word has spread she's with child. Rumors, apparently, are that it isn't mine.  Richmond doesn't address that. He does write to congratulate me. And once again he warns that I had best have my affairs in order to leave England.
I ask him how to do that when I have nowhere to go.
He gives me the names of Italian bankers. He says he knows I won't leave Edward but he suggests I try. I grudgingly contact the bankers. I need to move money out of England.
It's nice to have money to be able to move, but honestly I'd rather not have to move it.
We stay holed up at Bamburg, our refuge for the past year almost.
Parliament I get second hand through reports from Edward's frantic messengers, and Richmond's droll if more accurate narration. I know he knows Edward is telling me so at this point he's merely telling me for sport? I don't care; he has more details.
We read it together. As a family and a four year old who likes sitting in her papa's lap but shouldn't be exposed to his language.
"Forty fucking one ordinances," I say, my daughter leaned against my chest playing with a toy horse I gave her.
"Richmond says they're limiting his powers, drastically," Maggie's reading Richmond's. She sitting with her feet crossed over mine, lying completely back against a mound of pillows.
"And the final ordinance is I leave England, and all territories. Never to return," I say.
"And if he doesn't agree it's a revolt of Lancaster who is over half of England," Maggie says.
"He has to do it," Aimee says, shrugging.
"Apparently he's offering to do everything but exile me," I say, "He can't do that either he can't fully limit his powers."
"He might as well hand them the crown," Alice says.
"I think he's almost offering," Maggie says.
"We going to Ireland?" Flower asks, looking up at me quizzically.
"No, papa's banished from Ireland as well it seems," I say.
"Why?" Flower asks.
"Because papa is prettier than all of Parliament," I say.
"Richmond had less nice words for that. He says Edward's offering 'his right leg, his soul, his crown, any favor he can think of' to keep you here in England, and then he says 'your ass is nice but not worth the crown, my dear' what does that mean?" Maggie asks, she's reading his.
"I truly don't know. Richmond's special ignore half his commentary," I say, pressing my face into Flower's soft red hair.
"The king's not agreeing apparently," Maggie says.
"I'll write to him," I sigh, "I'll tell him he must agree."
"Then we leave, for good," Aimee says.
"I know," I say, "But him giving up the crown does us no good either. They were never going to let us win."
I write to Edward but he begs me to meet him anyway. Of course I do. We meet in the North of England. He road all night. We're both dressed as the ordinary men we wish we were. We meet on the road and embrace. Me just buried in his arms for a long moment.
"Edward, you must do it," I say.
"They are taking my crown anyway they will not take you," he says, "I will not give them you."
"You have to," I say, "This isn't our end. They're taking your crown if you don't. And my love can cross the ocean."
"No," he says, as I press my hand to his chest, "No."
"Edward. We lost. I'm not leaving you. We'll find me somewhere to go. I'll appeal to the Pope myself," I say, "But it's time."
"I'll bring you back. Again. I'll do it. I'm not letting you leave me," he says.
"Look at me. We'll be all right. Right now our only move is to agree," I say, "All right?"
"No, not all right," he hugs me tightly.
"I'll be okay," I say, pressing my face into his chest.
Edward agrees.
And for the third time.
I'm exiled.