All the World (Hand in Hand Chronicles)

Chapter 22: "Weaponless must I fall, and die in bands?"

They besiege Scarborough within a week. Well. All right, besiege is a little dramatic. Four people with swords stand outside to prevent exactly me from leaving. We are still getting messages out and in via the back. Ergo the four people aren't even doing a good job.
The four people have men with them but not like a lot. I could probably take them all in single combat but no I'm not supposed to talk about that.
"I've tilted against and beat every man out there. Honestly we have good odds," I say.
"Do not talk about that," Aimee says, "It will not work. Remove it from your head. No."
Edward gets me a message that he has no army yet. He says yet as though one will come. He also orders them to desist.
I'm briefly allowed to talk to them:
"Can I help you with anything?" I shout, from the ramparts.
"You're under arrest, Piers," Surrey shouts, clearly already sick of me.
"I can't hear you! Shout a little louder. Are you lost?" I ask. Then, overly helpfully, "York is that way!"
"Just come out, Piers!" Percy shouts.
"I don't know who that is. Are you lost?" I ask.
Aimee finds me morbidly funny but she eventually makes me stop.
We wait for another message from Edward. We can't stay in here very long, and they'll actually start besieging and stop camping outside the castle. On the eighth day of the 'siege' Edward's message comes. He has no army. But he's negotiated with Pembroke for my safety. I assume that means bribed.
"It's over," I say, quietly, to Aimee as we look at Edward's letter.
She looks at me with tears in her eyes.
"I have to negotiate with them. We let them. We talk about the terms. It's all I have," I say.
She nods, "All right. If they take you—,"
"I don't know when we'll see each other again. Likely this is going to be, my last exile. I'll offer to leave. I have money in Italy. I'll send for you. We'll make it," I say, clasping my hand over hers.
The next day, the 19th of May, I let them in. Characteristically, I'm an idiot about this.
"So nice to have you drop by gentleman! Come in, come in," I say, waving them in.
"We have terms of surrender," Pembroke says.
"What a coincidence, so do I," I say, smiling.
"I've spoken to King Edward," Surrey says, stiffly, "He's allowing you to remain in our custody."
"You're to remain in custody at Wallingford," Pembroke puts in, "Until you have stood before Parliament for your crimes."
"Am I going to get to know what crimes you're making up or is that a surprise for me before Parliament?" I ask. Aimee looks like she agrees too much to stop me from saying it.
"Your actions have been deplorable. You've defrauded England, and twisted the mind of the King," Pembroke says.
"My crime is love. If you must try me then admit my crime is love. I love our king, I've never denied it. And for that you try me," I say, arms spread out, "Tell me gentlemen. When the poets tell our story, are you eager for the part where you arrested a man, tried him for the crime of loving someone?"
"You've abused your position, and sought to make yourself a king. These acts are treason," Surrey says, "For this you must stand trial."
"If I fought for power I wouldn't be standing here gentlemen. I fought for love. You don't get to deny it. You get to take me. But in your hearts if you have them, you know what you have done," I say, "And when you love someone someday. I pray it's not torn from you by all the world. For this is more pain than I'd even wish upon you."
"Are you going to surrender yourself?" Pembroke asks, "England is tired of your wit, Gaveston. Soon we'll be rid of you."
"Not ominous at all that, I'm pleased to be in your company," I say, removing my girdle. I hand it and the dagger on it to Aimee. She's strong and mostly glaring at them. I press the dagger into my sister's hands. It's the one Edward gave me, years ago.
"See that my daughters have it," I say, to her, also removing another dagger from my boot. I hand that to her as well.
"You surrender your weapons to us," Pembroke says.
"I'm coming quietly," I say, taking another dagger from my other boot, "These are my property they're the property of my daughters now."
"They are weapons," Percy says, "They aren't for girls."
"Aye. And men like you roam England," I sneer, "And they are my girls."
"Perot," Aimee looks into my eyes. I clasp my hands over hers and the weapons one more time.
"Meet me at Wallingford, with the girls, eh?" I ask, gripping her cold fingers around the weapons, "I'll meet you there."
"I'll see you soon," she says, quietly.
"Yes," I smile.
Then I turn to the men, "That's all. I take it I get no baggage?"
"No, how many weapons do you have?" Pembroke asks.
"No more," I say.
They search me anyway. I didn't lie. I gave Aimee everything. They get no excuse for violence. I sign the terms, which admittedly are safe enough. I'm to be in my wife's custody at Wallingford, and then stand before parliament as they choose to sentence me. I have rare few friends in Parliament. And this gives us time to arrange for me to simply leave. But for now. I go with them. I look at Aimee one last time, and smile.
"I want to stay with Perot," Aimee said, hugging me around the waist, "Please?"
Our father looked at us. The last time I would see him. He probably knew it at his age.
"You can go to an abby. He's going into the king's service," he said, stiffly.
"No, she stays with me," I said, arm around her shoulders. We were the only family we had.
"Why do you want a little girl trailing after you?" Our father sighed.
"Because she's my sister. I'll look out for her, I swear," I said.
"Please?" Aimee said, hugging me, "Let us stay together."
Now I look into her eyes. That was nearly twenty years ago. How little did we know what would become of me then. I smile one more time, "Sorry."
"No," she says, but she smiles too.
Then I leave.
I walk out of Scarborough, with them, into the sunlight. They bind my hands and put me on one of the horses. My blood is rushing in my ears as they bind my legs to the saddle. I really am in custody. They've arrested me. I barely even believe it now, after all that's happened. I've committed no crime.
I am kept under guard, and at night, shackled. The journey south is long, and bound as I am, arduous. Percy and Pembroke will go to meet Edward. Edward tells me of this through messages. I'm not allowed to see him. The last message that I am allowed to send, is that we are nearing Deddington. I send it to my sister, she will get it to Edward. They grudgingly let me communicate with my sister. But then Pembroke loses his nerve and quits allowing me messages.
"Why? I've consented. My wife has our infant daughter, my wife who is but seventeen. I merely wish them to know I'm well. As you're an honorable man what would you fear I told them? You've treated me with grace," I say, kindly, when he refuses for me to send a message.
"You could communicate with the king," Pembroke says.
"My what power you give me that you think a few simple words which you are free to read, could somehow control our noble king? He wants to ensure my welfare, is it not in all our interests that I let them all know I'm well and we are following due process of law?" I ask.
Pembroke doesn't reply. And I do not get to send a message. We are to stop overnight at Deddington Priory. A priory is a reasonably safe place, as it's a house of god. Better than lying on the dirt as I have been. I'm still wearing my belt of knighthood, and decent enough clothes, and the jewels from Edward that I carry with me. I'm surprised they haven't been taken. Now I'm wearing the rings. I need to look the nobleman.
It's a Friday night. I'm put in a room under guard, with at least a bed. I feel the odd urge to pray. Perhaps it's because I'm not allowed to anymore.
"I wonder if you, take orders from the Archbishop. Because I'm not supposed to talk to you," I say. I'm on my knees, head bent. "Virgin Mary. I'm not asking for grace for me. I think I gave up that right a while back. But. Please take care of my daughters. And their mothers. My sister did nothing wrong she fears for me, for her sins. And—Edward is the kindest man in England. He's wonderful, you made him, how was I supposed to stop loving him when he is—the best king England could want? I don't really know if you can hear me but, whatever it is that we're being smited with, whatever I've done. Can you watch over them? The little girls. You're a mother too. This isn't anyone's fault. But maybe mine. If it's mine, I'll bear it but, don't punish them for it. Please. Enough now."
Is it mine? Something went wrong here. Some curse has been laid. What god did I offend? I have no answers. And the cold stone floor yields none either.
I long to be at Wallingford. I'll meet them there. We'll plan for my next, and please god final, exile. I pretend I'm lying next to Edward at Langley, and it's Saturday and I'll go jousting and he'll watch me and fear for me. And we're young and happy and don't know what life has in store.
I awake to shouts.
I sit up and move to the window. I slept clothed, I don't trust them that much, but I did honestly give Pembroke more credit than this.
Outside I can see perhaps half the number of guards Pembroke had with us. And they are being surrounded by Warwick's men. So this is how I die.
"Well, well, the Black Dog of Arden is here!" I call, cheerfully, to Warwick, "How goes it gentlemen?"
Warwick, ever flustered by me, cries, "I am no dog, I'm the Earl of Warwick!"
"I know. It's an insult. Is that really what you're going with? I'm embarrassed on your behalf. Would you like to go again? I'll insult you again and you'll be wittier about it," I say, perching in the window, very polite about the offer.
"Get him out," Warwick snarls.
This is how I die. They mean to kill me. I have no weapon. Edward isn't even aware I'm here and he has no army.
They enter my room and drag me from it. They bind my hands behind my back and drag me on my knees down the stairs. I struggle for what it's worth and get an elbow to my face and eventually a dagger to my throat. My knees are bloodied by the time we make it down the stairs and out to the yard. I'm surrounded by over fifty men. And my mind keeps telling me that. No. No Gaveston. You will not be able to fight them all. Not this time.
Edward, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to leave you.
Warwick rips my knighthood belt from me, and spits in my face. In all honesty, I do not know why he thought I would do anything but spit back in his. This man has known me for years I was always going to spit in his face.
He wipes it off, crying out in anger.
I lick his spit from my face, slowly. So this is is how I die. Antagonizing my murderer.
"Take his shoes," Warwick snarls.
They tug the boots from my feet, and my hands bound, walk me through the streets of Deddington. The city is up despite the early hour, and within a couple of trumpet blasts crowds form.
"Piers Gaveston, the traitor!" Warwick shouts.
The people pelt me with rotten fruit, and a few stones even. They taunt and jeer. I am forced to walk agonizingly slowly, barefoot through the street.
I hold my head high. "Long Live King Edward!" I shout, "Long live the king!"
One of them boxes me in the face for that. I laugh and spit blood back in his.
My feet are bloodied quickly, and a rock strikes my head. I try not to stumble but my vision goes black for a moment. The crowd laughs more.
"How does it feel to die knowing the whole world hated you?" Warwick asks.
"I don't need the world. I have him. And you can't stand it," I say, "Also, is this how long it takes you to come up with something clever to say? Does your wife wait this long?"
"Stop his mouth. Do England a service," Warwick says.
I bite the man who tries, laughing. Then rotten fruit hits me in the face. The crowd is jeering still.  I don't know what they were told. I don't know who they think I am. They know my name. But do they really hate me for the truth?
Warwick dismounts, I suppose we're through town, but we're still surrounded by throngs of people.
"No one will save you. Finally you pay for what you've done," he says.
"I'm a martyr to my love," I say.
"What do you think you're going to do? Do you really believe he'll save you this time?" He asks, staring at me, "You must know you're going to your death."
"Oh yes. But I'm content to stand before the council of heaven. And tell them you sent me for my love of our king.  So I have no fear. What will be your plea when you stand at the gates of Christendom, Dog?" I ask.
"I am the Earl of Warwick" he snarls.
"I am well aware of that," I say, then I spit in his face.
He strikes me in the head and I see stars. I nearly fall but just manage to keep my feet under me. Tournament champion. Not the first time I've been hit in the head.
They put me on a miserable, old horse. The creature looks barely able to support me. I am once again lashed to the saddle.
We ride, furiously, to Warwick castle.
It's a credit to my skill on horses that I stay upright, and balanced, at a gallop, with my arms lashed behind my back on a horse that seems about to trip and fall at any moment. It has to be whipped on it's so old.
"You know if time is of the essence why didn't you put me on a faster horse? I genuinely want to know your thought process if it occurs. I'm interested in it. Because when you arrest and torture someone again, for daring to love, then perhaps just give them a decent horse? It can be ugly but I thought we were going for speed—-," I cut off because they hit me in the face with the butt of a sword.
"I thought you gagged him!" Warwick cries.
"He chewed through it!" One of the guards says.
We get to Warwick castle by dark.
"Why are you moving me so much? Does it make you feel better? I mean if the idea is to kill me why not do that? Since I'm a traitor, and a sodomite, and a sorcerer, you can just kill me right now. I'd think your conscious would be clear I'm the worst of all devils am I not?" I ask, when we dismount.
"Put him in the dungeon," Warwick says.
"I'm truly honored you think I'm this dangerous, Warwick. Thirty guards? Your horrid dungeon? What am I, Richard the Lionheart? I'm surprised you think mere iron can hold me. My god you hold me in a higher honor than I do myself," I laugh.
They drag me to the dungeon. They'd drag me by the hair but my hair's not long enough to grip. Right before my face smacks the stones I reflect that cutting it off was a good decision given now they can't drag me by it.
They drag me by my feet instead, and put me in chains. The dungeon is entirely dark, and smells of death. I am can see nothing, once their torches retreat.
I lie down, trying to get as comfortable as I can off my injures, chained as I am.
"Edward. I'm so sorry," I whisper. I told him I wouldn't leave. He told me I was the only person who'd ever chosen to stay. I'm not choosing to leave. I don't know what tales they'll tell him. But I hope he understands I fought. I fought to the end.
What about my girls? What will they tell them? My little Flower, my Aimee, she probably won't even remember me properly. What will they say that her father was a traitor? I don't even care if she hates me but I've cursed my sweet girl with my name.
Joan won't even know me. She's five months old. Maggie is tough. Maggie will look after her but Maggie shouldn't have to do it alone.
After all this time Aimee loses me, my poor sister. Edward will look out for her and Alice I know but. We were so happy. We had a good life. Why do they get condemned too? All attached to my name.
And what did I do that was so wrong? I'm in a dungeon. Waiting for my fate. Because I chose to love someone.
And the strangest thing of all. As I lie here in the dark. Smelling the death of so many others who spent their last night in this terrible place.
I wouldn't change a thing. I wouldn't take back a single moment. That's what I wish I could tell Edward. That here at the end I wouldn't change a minute of it. I don't know if I was the hero. But I want to hold on. I'd trade my right arm for one more day with all of them.
"It's not that cold," Edward, laughing, sun in his hair, as he waded into the river at Langley.
"It is February! It is definitely cold," I laughed, my hand still in his as he gently tugged me into the freezing water.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he tugged me into his arms, pressing his face to mine.
"You're saying that because I'm going to freeze to death," I laughed.
He picked me up, out of the water, and kissed me, cold water dripping from his hair onto my face.
Just one more day.
"Flower?" My daughter holding up a handful of wildflowers, dirt falling from the roots.
"I will carry this favor into battle," I said, as she set it on my chest. Lying among the wildflowers. The summer sun warm overhead.
"Papa," she patted my face, tiny little chubby hands filthy from playing in the dirt.
Please just one more day.
I have a drawn out speech for every one of them. Words I'll never get to say. About how good it really was. Forget about the dark side. I'd do it all again in a moment, even knowing this is how it ends.
Because that's what happens in stories. Sometimes there isn't a happy ending.
Eventually they haul me from the cell. I don't know how many days have passed. I'm starving, and filthy, and I can barely see in the light.
When they drag me up to the surface, the Earls are waiting.
"Lancaster, it's been an age," I grin.
"I thought you said he'd been in there for days," Lancaster says.
"He has," Warwick says, almost tiredly, "He's had no food or water."
"You die today, Gaveston," Lancaster says, calmly tugging on his sleeve.
"I do? I thought you were here to take me to a tournament," I say, holding my head high as I can when my body aches from lying in that dungeon, "How's the family? How's your brother how's his neck doing?"
"Get the horses," Lancaster says, ignoring me completely.
"You're not coming Warwick?" I ask, he's not dressed to ride, "I'd really like you there. I think it would be complete. After all, when you face your judges in heaven wouldn't you like to say you saw the murder through?"
"You're being put to death as a traitor," Warwick says, but he's fidgeting.
"So why would you have a problem witnessing my death then? I mean I think you'd be proud to be involved in that I'm so simply terrible," I say.
Lancaster laughs, walking up to me, finally, "You're dying, Gaveston. Because you lost. That's it. You lost the game. I won. So you die. You're being taken out of play because it make it easier for me. I warned you long ago that you should have learnt to play better if you wanted to compete."
"That's what you've never understood. I don't want to play your game. Cruelty wins or I'd not be standing here. But I'd rather die being myself,  a good man. Than live being a man like you. So yes I'm going to die alone. I won't learn anything. I won't get to grow old. But I did get to love him. And by god it's been beautiful," I say, smiling.
"Then you made your choice," Lancaster shrugs, motioning to his men.
We leave Warwick castle, and march down the road. It's a lovely morning. English fog. I was hoping I wouldn't die like this. I want more time. Just a little more.
Edward please. I'm so sorry. Please believe me. It was worth it.
"You were worth it," I say, looking up at the sky.
They hold me on either side, one man has an axe. Lancaster nods at the murders.
I brace my feet in the mud, and twist at the last moment. The axe nearly hits the man holding me, and we all fall, dodging.
Lancaster laughs.
"I am a warrior," I tell him.
"Perhaps you are," he says, "Now you die for your insolence."
"I die for love," I say, as they drag me to my feet again.
Not that much more time now. I know it. I never did learn did I? I just want to hold on. I can feel Edward's hands on my arms. I can hear his laugh that day in the orchard. I stayed. I stayed. I have so many things left to say to you.
They lunge again, this time with the sword. I struggle in the mud, it goes past me, I dodge at the last moment.
Please. Let me hold onto him. A miracle would be good just now. But I know it's not coming. I've fought for so long. This is where the chase finally ends. The heroes who die alone against the unbeatable foes. And we learn some lesson from it. I don't know what lesson I am. I always said I'd go down fighting. That's something you say. I have so much I wanted to tell you.
Another takes me from behind, bracing me still. Our feet scramble again in the mud. One more time. Just a few more seconds. Edward please know I tried. I wanted to stay.
The man with the sword comes again. I dodge again, twisting my legs with theirs and bringing all of us down into the mud together. And I don't feel the pain at first. The first thing I feel is the hot blood washing down my gut.
And I look down, the sword is right through me. Pain slowly starts to build.
The guards back away, slowly, looking at Lancaster who is watching passively.
I'm on my knees, sword through my belly. A fatal wound. We all know it. I can't reach and pull it out. My arms are bound. I stand, slowly, pain shooting through my body. I can feel myself choking as it gets harder and harder to breath. The sky is vast and grey above me. Hot blood pouring down my legs onto my bare feet, in the mud. They step away from me, watching. Waiting.
"Go on, cut off his head," Lancaster says.
"Is he dead?"
I can't stand anymore. I fall again. I feel the ground smack me but it's nothing like the pain from the wound in my gut. I struggle but I can't rise again. I can't. I've fallen for the last time. I'm lying on my back, struggling to get air back in my lungs. I can't do it. They are standing over me with the axe. And I fight to keep the life in my body. But I can't stay. For a moment I think the pain is getting better. But then I realize it's because I'm dying.
I'd do it all again. Smile at me once I'd do it all again. I never meant to leave you.
And so I die. I surrender to the pain. And for the first time, I do stop fighting.