full of bread and cheese, nodded.
‘I will see the king?’ he spluttered.
‘Tomorrow morning after the Jesus mass,’ I reassured him.
Chapeleys, a little more comforted, undid his cloak and let it fall over the back of the chair. Demontaigu followed me to the door.
‘I must go,’ I said, staring up at him. ‘My mistress waits. We must prepare for the banquet tonight. You will come?’
‘I am one of the household,’ he replied smilingly. ‘I must be there. I will settle this anxious soul, then return to my chancery office.’ He lifted my hand, kissed it and opened the door, and I slipped out into the cold darkness. I made a mistake that night. I thought Chapeleys was safe. In fact he was no more than a condemned man, waiting for execution to be carried out.
The banquet later that evening was a splendid affair. Edward had agreed to it at the request of the queen dowager.
‘On that evening,’ he proclaimed, ‘all animosity and hostility will be set aside. We will entertain both the French envoys and the leading lords to a splendid feast in the great dining hall at Burgundy.’
I spent the time before the banquet helping my mistress to prepare for it. Isabella was determined to look magnificent. She did, in a gown of white satin decorated with roses, a crimson girdle around her waist, a golden chaplet of silver lilies with a net of gold sewn with pearls over her magnificent blond hair. She and her husband, also gorgeously attired in a gown of blanched damask embroidered with golden lions, led the principal guests into the hall. Behind them strolled Gaveston, dressed in purple and white silk, holding the hand of his wife Margaret. He bowed to the left and the right as if he was the most favoured person on earth. The rest followed: Queen Dowager Margaret in a high-necked dress of dark green, a white veil framing her prim features; behind her, the principal lords, Lancaster, Lincoln, Pembroke and Hereford, clustered around Robert de Winchelsea, who was garbed in plain brown robes as if he wished to proclaim his austerity and asceticism to all. The Grande Chambre of Burgundy Hall was ablaze with light from hundreds of beeswax candles fixed in their spigots and holders. A range of great Catherine wheels, lowered on pulleys from the raftered ceiling, their rims holding a host of more candles, provided further light. The walls were covered with tapestries and hangings depicting lions and eagles, clear homage to the king and Gaveston, in gold, green, violet and red, whilst silver crowns and golden leopards intermingled with painted scenes from the great romance of Tristan and Isolde. At the top of the Chambre, the royal table on the long high dais was covered by a gorgeous canopy of cloth of gold fringed with silver tassels. The table itself was sheeted with ivory-coloured damask. On this the silver and jewel-encrusted goblets, cups, mazers, bowls and jugs shimmered brilliantly around a magnificent salt cellar carved in the shape of a castle and studded with precious stones. On either side of the dais were ranged two other tables similarly adorned, with a fourth completing the square.
To the left of the tables a fierce fire roared in a huge, elegantly carved hearth. At the far end of the Grande Chambre, above a moulded wooden screen, a loft housed the royal musicians, who, with lyre, fife, harp, tambour and other instruments, played soft melodious tunes. These were soon drowned by the blast of trumpets announcing the beginning of the banquet. Winchelsea intoned the grace, bestowing his ‘Benedicite’ in a peevish voice. The trumpets blared again and the royal cooks paraded into the hall carrying the main dish, a huge boar’s head, its flared nostrils and curving tusks ringed and garnished with rosemary and bay. While the cooks circled the tables, a boy in the music loft carolled the famous invitation:
‘The boar’s head in splendour I bring,
With garlands and herbs as fresh as the spring,
So I pray you all to
‘I will see the king?’ he spluttered.
‘Tomorrow morning after the Jesus mass,’ I reassured him.
Chapeleys, a little more comforted, undid his cloak and let it fall over the back of the chair. Demontaigu followed me to the door.
‘I must go,’ I said, staring up at him. ‘My mistress waits. We must prepare for the banquet tonight. You will come?’
‘I am one of the household,’ he replied smilingly. ‘I must be there. I will settle this anxious soul, then return to my chancery office.’ He lifted my hand, kissed it and opened the door, and I slipped out into the cold darkness. I made a mistake that night. I thought Chapeleys was safe. In fact he was no more than a condemned man, waiting for execution to be carried out.
The banquet later that evening was a splendid affair. Edward had agreed to it at the request of the queen dowager.
‘On that evening,’ he proclaimed, ‘all animosity and hostility will be set aside. We will entertain both the French envoys and the leading lords to a splendid feast in the great dining hall at Burgundy.’
I spent the time before the banquet helping my mistress to prepare for it. Isabella was determined to look magnificent. She did, in a gown of white satin decorated with roses, a crimson girdle around her waist, a golden chaplet of silver lilies with a net of gold sewn with pearls over her magnificent blond hair. She and her husband, also gorgeously attired in a gown of blanched damask embroidered with golden lions, led the principal guests into the hall. Behind them strolled Gaveston, dressed in purple and white silk, holding the hand of his wife Margaret. He bowed to the left and the right as if he was the most favoured person on earth. The rest followed: Queen Dowager Margaret in a high-necked dress of dark green, a white veil framing her prim features; behind her, the principal lords, Lancaster, Lincoln, Pembroke and Hereford, clustered around Robert de Winchelsea, who was garbed in plain brown robes as if he wished to proclaim his austerity and asceticism to all. The Grande Chambre of Burgundy Hall was ablaze with light from hundreds of beeswax candles fixed in their spigots and holders. A range of great Catherine wheels, lowered on pulleys from the raftered ceiling, their rims holding a host of more candles, provided further light. The walls were covered with tapestries and hangings depicting lions and eagles, clear homage to the king and Gaveston, in gold, green, violet and red, whilst silver crowns and golden leopards intermingled with painted scenes from the great romance of Tristan and Isolde. At the top of the Chambre, the royal table on the long high dais was covered by a gorgeous canopy of cloth of gold fringed with silver tassels. The table itself was sheeted with ivory-coloured damask. On this the silver and jewel-encrusted goblets, cups, mazers, bowls and jugs shimmered brilliantly around a magnificent salt cellar carved in the shape of a castle and studded with precious stones. On either side of the dais were ranged two other tables similarly adorned, with a fourth completing the square.
To the left of the tables a fierce fire roared in a huge, elegantly carved hearth. At the far end of the Grande Chambre, above a moulded wooden screen, a loft housed the royal musicians, who, with lyre, fife, harp, tambour and other instruments, played soft melodious tunes. These were soon drowned by the blast of trumpets announcing the beginning of the banquet. Winchelsea intoned the grace, bestowing his ‘Benedicite’ in a peevish voice. The trumpets blared again and the royal cooks paraded into the hall carrying the main dish, a huge boar’s head, its flared nostrils and curving tusks ringed and garnished with rosemary and bay. While the cooks circled the tables, a boy in the music loft carolled the famous invitation:
‘The boar’s head in splendour I bring,
With garlands and herbs as fresh as the spring,
So I pray you all to
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