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disconsolate, looking after the King and her husband as they made their way to the most brilliantly luxurious of all the pavilions.
    ‘My lady,’ whispered Walter Reynolds who was standing by and had seen what had happened, ‘you cannot hope to come between such friends.’
    Margaret looked as though she were about to burst into tears.
    ‘My lady is but a child,’ murmured Walter Reynolds.
    The Earl of Warwick asked Margaret if he might escort her ‘It will be a pleasure to do so, dear lady, since your husband is engaged with the King.’
    Gaveston looked round and saw Warwick with his wife. His voice, always resonant and clear, came to them as they stood there.
    ‘Look Edward. The mad hound is taking charge of my wife.’
    Their laughter floated back to the group.
    Warwick had flushed scarlet. He knew that people, instigated by Gaveston, called him the Mad Hound behind his back and it was true that he had an unfortunate habit of spitting as he spoke, which Gaveston called foaming at the mouth.
    ‘He may call me the mad Hound,’ muttered Warwick. ‘One day that mad hound will seize him and destroy him.’

    * * *

    How they rejoiced. How they laughed. Walter Reynolds said they must have a special play to celebrate the occasion. The arrogant nobility had been bitterly humiliated.
    ‘They say,’ commented Gaveston, ‘that Hereford, Arundel and Surrey will never get over it.’
    ‘I hope they will not try to take their revenge,’ commented Edward uneasily.
    ‘I would challenge them again tomorrow,’ boasted Gaveston.
    ‘Oh, but I did not mean at the joust. I fear they will put their heads together and talk against us.’
    ‘Men will always stander those of whom they are envious.’
    ‘Why they be envious? They are rich men and have all they want.’
    ‘They do not have your love, my lord, as I have it.’
    ‘They should know that is for one alone.’
    ‘We should be watchful, my lords,’ said Reynolds. ‘They are in conference with your cousin Lancaster and Warwick.’
    ‘I’ll warrant the mad hound is foaming at the mouth,’ cried Gaveston.
    ‘And that Lincoln strokes his fat belly and is taking a little more food and wine to comfort him.’
    ‘And Lancaster fiddles away to get them dancing to his tune.’
    ‘While our one-time champions lick their wounds.’
    There was much laughter in the royal chamber and when the players came in they made little Francekin perform for them on his new kettle drums. Francekin was such a boy.
    Then they gave themselves up to the pleasure of planning Christmas. How wonderful it would be to spend it together. Edward had a special cotehardie for his friend. It was set with the most valuable jewels he could find. How delighted Perrot would be with that. He could scarcely wait to give it to him.
    He lay dreaming of the joy in store for his dear friend.
    But Gaveston’s thoughts were on another prize.
    ‘You know, dearest boy,’ he said, ‘that you will soon have to go to France.’
    Edward pouted. ‘Oh pray, Perrot, do not remind me it.’
    ‘You will not stay long, just long enough to pay your respects to the King of France and marry his daughter. Then you will return to your Perrot. But while you are away there must be a Regent. You will have to appoint him before you go.’
    ‘You know who that will be, Perrot— my cousin Lancaster.’
    ‘Old Fiddler! Oh no, that must not be.’
    ‘It will be only for a short time. I know he is stupid but there will be plenty around him to keep him in order.’
    ‘Dear lord, you know that I have beaten three so-called champions in combat. I have shown myself to be superior them, have I not?’
    ‘Indeed you have, Perrot.’
    Gaveston seized the King’s arm. ‘Then give
me
this chance. Show your trust in me. Let me hold the power for you while you are away from these shores.
    Only that can give me a crumb of comfort.’
    ‘Perrot! They would never agree―’
    ‘Why, my lord? Who would dare to disagree with the