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services performed.
    Even Edward could not help feeling a little sorry for Warenne in that moment.
    He had returned crestfallen to his pavilion, the roars of the crowd in his ears, hatred for Gaveston in his heart.
    And then Arudnel.
    Gaveston’s friends were warning him. ‘You cannot hope for your luck to continue,’ they said. ‘Leave Arundel to one of us.’
    But Gaveston was drunk with success. He was supreme. He was sure of it.
    He had staged this tournament that he might show these people that he was superior to them in every way and he was going to prove it. This was his triumph.
    He knew that fortune was smiling on him that day. He was aware of the King’s burning gaze. He felt as though he had been born for this day. From henceforth these men who had set themselves against him should acknowledge their superior. The tournament was a symbol and they knew it.
    And so to Arundel— Edmund Fitzalan who had recently married Warenne’s sister Alice. They were a close community, these noble lords. Arundel had behaved arrogantly to Gaveston. He was another one of those who resented the friendship with the King.
    Ambition rode with Gaveston. Every bit of skill he had taken such pains to acquire must do him good service.
    The roar of the crowd was deafening. He looked towards the canopy.
    Gaveston knew his dear friend was watching, praying, hoping― Arundel was down. A silence, then the uproar.
    Gaveston, no― the Earl of Cornwall― had proved himself to be the champion of champions.
    Two of the greatest jousters of the times and both defeated! This was triumph indeed.
    ‘You have done it,’ said Walter Reynolds. ‘Rest on your laurels, Perrot. You have brought these two down.’
    But Gaveston shook his head. ‘No, it shall be Hereford too. I’ll not rest until I have defeated the three of them.’
    ‘My dear lord, you tempt the fates.’
    ‘I have done that all my life, Walter. And today the fates are with me.’
    There was no dissuading him and soon he was riding out to meet Hereford, proud Humphrey de Bohun, Constable of England, and another of those who considered himself part-royal because he was married to a sister of the King’s.
    He was considered to be a great champion at the joust and his wife Elizabeth was seated under the royal canopy with her brother, the King.
    Elizabeth would be praying for her husband; but the King’s thoughts, of course, would be all for his beloved Gaveston.
    Gaveston felt like a legendary hero on that day. He knew he could not be beaten. Fortune was smiling on him. He, the son of a humble Gascon knight, was becoming the most important man in the realm.
    Even as Hereford rode towards him, he knew.
    And incredibly it happened. The mighty Earl, the champion jouster, was lying in the dust and the new champion Piers Gaveston, Earl of Cornwall, was riding round the field to come to rest before the King.
    Edward could not hide his joy and pride. There were tears in his eyes.
    ‘My champion of champions!’ he murmured.
    So the day ended in a resounding victory for Gaveston, a humiliating defeat for his enemies. The crowds were shouting Gaveston’s name and vying with each other to wear his colours.
    Gaveston asked the King if his lord was pleased with the little entertainment he had devised for his amusement.
    ‘Dear Perrot,’ replied the King, I am more than delighted. But I see some black looks around here. Do you?’
    They laughed together— intimate laughter, implying shared secrets.
    ‘My dear lord,’ said Gaveston’s young wife, ‘you were wonderful. There can never have been such a noble knight.’
    ‘Is that so?’ said Gaveston. He glanced at her briefly then turned to the King.
    ‘Magnificent Perrot,’ cried Edward, ‘I will come with you to your pavilion. I want to tell you of my special appreciation.’
    Margaret was about to follow them when her husband turned to look at her.
    There was that in his eyes which commanded her to stay where she was. She stood,