Hugh and Bess

by Susan Higginbotham

  Praise for Hugh and Bess

  “Hugh le Despencer and Bess de Montacute

  are an engaging pair whose lives are

  transformed by tumultuous times, partners in a

  union founded on ambition and family expectations.

  Susan Higginbotham smoothly and convincingly

  depicts an era of dynastic marriages, pageantry and

  warfare, effectively anchoring her reader in England's

  past. A winning combination of historical fact, the

  author's imaginative vision, and skillful writing.”

  —Margaret Evans Porter

  “A novel following in the footsteps of Jean Plaidy

  and Norah Lofts.”

  —Dear Author

  “A delightful novel full of chivalry, romance,

  and real-life terrors.”

  —Historical Novels Review Online

  “A vivid portrait of life in 14th century England, and a love

  story that blooms unexpectedly from an arranged marriage.”

  —Curled Up With a Good Book

  Praise for The Traitor's Wife

  “A noblewoman pays the price for her

  loyalty to an unpopular king and her unfaithful

  husband…conveys emotions and relationships

  quite poignantly…entertaining historical fiction.”

  —Kirkus Discoveries

  “The dialogue is excellent, the characters are

  well formed and vibrant… Higginbotham's talents

  lie not only in her capacity for detailed genealogical

  research of the period, but also in her skill in

  bringing these historical figures to life with passion,

  a wonderful sense of humor, honor, and love.”

  —Historical Novels Review Online

  “Higginbotham has stirred to life a girl who is

  naïve and passionate, impulsive and loyal…an

  endearing, involving story, made so by the

  unconventional characters of Eleanor and Edward.”

  —Reviewer's Choice

  “Higginbotham makes history come alive…The Traitor's

  Wife is a tale of intrigue, betrayal, loyalty and passion.”

  —BookPleasures

  “All the ingredients for a great tale: [love], treason,

  war and murder. Couple this with Higginbotham's

  clear passion and knack for accuracy, and this book

  is a can’t miss…this novel was a joy to read.”

  —Read and Review

  “Beautifully researched and incredibly

  captivating, The Traitor's Wife is a book you won’t

  want to put down. Susan Higginbotham's vivid portrayal

  of life during Edward II's tumultuous reign makes for

  fascinating reading. Highly recommended!”

  —Michelle Moran, bestselling author of The Heretic Queen

  “Once I began The Traitor's Wife, I couldn’t stop. When

  the electricity went out one night, I actually found

  myself reading by flashlight!”

  —Sharon Kay Penman, bestselling author of Devil's Brood

  “The Traitor's Wife brings to vibrant life a woman

  of determination and courage, who became entangled

  in the colorful, often lethal intrigues of Edward II's court.

  A captivating, well-paced read, full of the dramatic

  passions of an era that has often been written about but

  never from this particular point of view. Readers will

  flock to the wit and verve of Eleanor de Clare.”

  —C. W. Gortner, author of The Last Queen

  “With each new layer, this tremendously researched

  novel just keeps getting better. A worthy mate

  to Marlowe's play Edward II, Higginbotham shows

  the subtle side of pain.”

  —David Blixt, author of The Master of Verona

  “Susan Higginbotham has delved into a dark

  period of English history and given us a more sympathetic

  look at a king of dubious reputation—Edward II.”

  —Anne Easter Smith, author of A Rose for the Crown

  “In scope, historical accuracy, and authoritative

  voice, this novel reads like really good biography. In

  dramatic force it reads like exceptional fiction. The

  maelstrom of death and destruction set in motion by the

  avarice, betrayal, and revenge prevalent in the

  English court of Edward II is a cautionary tale of

  human frailty skillfully delivered.”

  —Brenda Rickman Vantrease, author of The Illuminator

  and The Mercy Seller

  “In The Traitor's Wife, Susan Higginbotham brings

  the rich tapestry of Edward II's reign alive

  in brilliant tones of humor and intimacy in a

  sweeping tale of medieval passion. Scholarly,

  witty, thoroughly enjoyable!”

  —Jeri Westerson, author of Veil of Lies: A Medieval Noir

  “An exhaustively-researched journey into the realm of

  Edward II, with all its deviousness, sordidness and passion.”

  —Erika Mailman

  Copyright © 2007, 2009 by Susan Higginbotham

  Cover and internal design © 2009 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Kimberly Glyder

  Cover image © Cristofano Allori/The Bridgeman Art Library

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Landmark, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  Fax: (630) 961-2168

  www.sourcebooks.com

  Originally published in 2007 by Onslow Press

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Higginbotham, Susan.

  Hugh and Bess / by Susan Higginbotham.

  p. cm.

  Includes bibliographical references and index.

  1. Montagu, Elizabeth, Lady, ca. 1327-1359—Fiction. 2. Le Despenser, Hugh, Baron, 1308-1349—Fiction. 3. Great Britain—History—Edward III, 1327-1377—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3608.I364H84 2009

  813’.6—dc22

  2009014952

  Printed and bound in the United States of America.

  VP 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter I: January 1341 to April 1341

  Chapter II: October 1326 to March 1327

  Chapter III: June 1341: Hanley Castle

  Chapter IV: June 1341: Tewkesbury

  Chapter V: August 1341 to July 1342

  Chapter VI: July 1342 to March 1343

  Chapter VII: January 1344

  Chapter VIII: November 1346 to August 1347

  Chapter IX: June 1348 to February 1349

  Chapter X: April 1349 to January 1350

  Author's Note

  The Traitor's Wife

  Acknowledgments

  Reading Group Guide

  About the Author

  To my readers

 
Prologue

  * * *

  THE EARL OF SALISBURY, WILLIAM DE MONTACUTE, HAD been telling the same story since his eldest child was four years old. Over the years, it grew longer as the world acquired more Montacutes, and it might have assumed an embellishment or two or three, but it was told so often, and was so important in the Montacute annals, that it never needed a name. It was simply The Story.

  Once, the story went, there had been a weak king, the second Edward. Not a bad man, not a cruel man, but one who would have been better off being almost anything than the king. (Yes, God made kings, but some might have been better off not being so. The Almighty's ways were inscrutable.) He had a knack for choosing friends whom everyone else in the kingdom hated, and none had hated his last friends, the elder Hugh le Despenser and his son the younger Hugh le Despenser, as much as did the king's own queen, the lovely Isabella. So much had she hated them that in 1326, having traveled from France, she had returned with an army, killed her husband's friends, forced the king from his throne in favor of his young son the third Edward, and shut the king away where he could never rule again.

  Although the third Edward was still a mere boy, he might have ruled well with the help of his wiser elders until he grew to full manhood. But the beauteous Queen Isabella had not come to England alone. She had come with a cruel man, a greedy man, named Roger Mortimer, who would have liked to have been king himself if given half a chance. From the day he and the queen stepped ashore, it was Roger Mortimer who had ruled England, taking as many lands and titles as he could grab, and treating the young king himself with no more respect than he might have shown one of his own pages. And less than a year after the second Edward had given up his crown, Roger Mortimer had had the old king killed. (William de Montacute would never tell the children how. The Montacute boys had found out, though, and chuckled about it nervously behind their hands. The Montacute girls were content to leave the matter be.)

  And then Roger Mortimer—who had made himself the Earl of March—did another thing just about as wicked as that last. He led the king's kindly, naïve half-brother, the Earl of Kent, to believe that the second Edward was still alive. When the Earl of Kent fell into the trap, Mortimer had had his head cut off. (Here, all the Montacute children's eyes turned toward their companion, Joan of Kent, who had been little more than a baby when her father was killed and who found the story as interesting as did the Montacute children. If Joan of Kent was any indication, the unfortunate earl had been a very handsome man.)

  But the demise of the Earl of Kent made all the children sit up straighter, for the best part of the story was to come— Papa's. Though Papa was a good decade older than the third Edward, who was only a lad of seventeen, he was fond of the young king and was distressed to see the wicked Mortimer and his poor, deluded mother push him aside. (William would never say anything bad about Queen Isabella; it would have hurt the king's feelings.)

  “The king had a son the June after the poor Earl of Kent died,” Papa would say, with another nod toward pretty Joan. “A sturdy, fine lad he was. It wouldn’t have done for the king to be skulking around and having orders barked at him, not with his son looking toward him as an example. And Mortimer was growing worse every day. He’d walk side by side with the king, even. Let his servants eat with the king's. Remain seated when the king entered the room. And once he’d killed the Earl of Kent—the king's own uncle, you remember—no one knew who was going to be next. The king's other uncle? The Earl of Lancaster? The king himself? We knew we had to eat the dog, or the dog would eat us.”

  “And then you went to Nottingham Castle!” said Bess de Montacute.

  “Then we all went to Nottingham Castle,” agreed her father. He was taking his time now; his audience was sitting open-mouthed. “For a council meeting. I thought that was going to be my last day on earth. Mortimer had his spies, and I had a few of my spies, and the king had his spies, and all of us had been spying aplenty. First thing that morning, Mortimer summoned me and my mates in front of him. He knew we were getting tired of him. It was October of 1330, you see, and the king would be eighteen in a month. Mortimer asked us, one by one, what we were doing. All of us stayed silent—except for me. I told him that I would do nothing inconsistent with my duty to the king. Left him speechless for a moment or two, which was a feat where Roger Mortimer was concerned, I’ll give myself that.”

  The children waited expectantly as their mama cast an admiring look at her husband.

  “He wanted to have me arrested then and there, I knew, but couldn’t think of a good reason to justify it, so he let me and the others go. And go I did, into the town; I thought it best to stay clear of the castle for a time. There I happened across a man named William Eland—or he happened across me. He knew what had gone on that morning, and he guessed what was in our minds. He told us about something only he knew about the castle.”

  “A secret passage,” said young Will reverently.

  “Right, a secret passage, all covered with bramble, but one that led straight into the castle. I knew then that a gift had been handed to me straight from God; it was now or never. So I got to the king through Eland; he stayed at the castle, you see, and had no difficulty finding an excuse to speak to his grace. And late that night, we climbed through the tunnel into the castle.”

  “It must have been damp,” said Bess. “And full of spiders.”

  “Some as big as my hands put together, Bessie. Well, there they were in Mortimer's chamber: the queen and Mortimer and their cronies, meeting—deciding, we found out later, how to get rid of my friends and me. We came up the tunnel, made our way up a flight of stairs, and there we were by Mortimer's chamber. It would have pleased us to do without bloodshed, but Mortimer's man at the door attacked us with a sword, so we had to kill him. Shoved past him and ran into the room. Mortimer had an armed guard inside too; we had to kill him also. But we didn’t have to kill Mortimer; him we arrested. When the sun rose that morning, the king announced he would rule on his own. And so he has, ever since. And though he and I were good friends before that, we’re even better ones now. There's nothing I wouldn’t do for the king, or him for me.” William pointed to his belt proudly. “And that is why I am the Earl of Salisbury today, and your mama a countess.”

  “And why you children must marry suitably,” their mother had started to add over the years, gently yet firmly. But none of the children paid much attention to this postscript, at first.

  January 1341 to April 1341

  STRICTLY SPEAKING, BESS TOLD HERSELF, SHE WAS NOT eavesdropping on her parents, for she had been curled up in a window seat, half dozing, when they came in, and before she could say a single word, they had launched into a conversation that plainly was too important (and too interesting) to bear interruption. And she had been told many times not to interrupt; it was a bad habit of hers. So she would not do so now. Instead, she drew her feet up where they could not be seen and quietly rearranged the heavy drapes to screen herself more securely from view.

  “The king himself proposed the marriage,” her father had said when he first came into the room. “And there's nothing to be said against the man, Katharine. Everything for him, as a matter of fact. He's a good fighter. He's rich. He's the king's near kinsman and a great-grandson of the first Edward. So how could you possibly object? He’ll make an excellent husband for her.”

  So it was true; her parents were at last arranging a marriage for Joan of Kent, who though her mother was still alive had been raised with the Montacute children and with the king's children after the wicked Mortimer had been hung at Tyburn. It was high time the girl got married; all of the Montacute household had been saying so. Joan was almost thirteen, less than a year younger than Bess, but unlike Bess, who at thirteen and a half still had simply a chest, Joan had breasts, unmistakable ones, even under the modest robes she and the Montacute girls wore. More than once Bess had heard her mother tell her brother Will, when he was visiting from the king's court where he served as a page, that he sho
uld not stare at Joan's breasts. “I realize it is difficult not to, with them poking forward as they do,” Katharine had said tartly. “But you must try. My, that girl needs to be married, and soon!”