Hugh and Bess

by Susan Higginbotham

  Hugh rode off to his first battle in the summer of 1333 with mixed feelings. He had a certain liking for the Scots. Briefly during the second Edward's reign, he and a couple of other youths had been hostages in Scotland. He had been treated well by his hosts, and his short stay there had passed pleasantly. Besides, like his mother, he held to the principle that no one who had sent Mortimer home in humiliation, as England's old enemies had in 1327, could be completely without merit. Too, it was humiliating to be riding in the retinue of his cousin Edward de Bohun as a mere man-at-arms when the Bohuns and all of Hugh's other male relations had been knights, or even knight bannerets, for years. Yet when battle was joined at a place called Halidon Hill, Hugh's ambivalence and shame deserted him, and he fought fiercely, sharing in an English victory that no one had seen in a generation.

  Knowing that he had fought well, Hugh was nonetheless somewhat wary when Bohun rounded up him and a couple of others to see the king. Even after he arrived in the king's presence and realized that he had been brought there not to be reprimanded but to be knighted, he was a bit uneasy when Edward's sword thumped upon his shoulder, lest the king decide to strike off a Despenser head out of sheer habit. But nothing went amiss, and his royal cousin stared at him thoughtfully after Hugh obeyed his command to rise. “I have been told that you are a good fighter, Sir Hugh,” he said. “You shall be useful to me, I think.”

  Hugh looked around the field, where England's enemies lay dead in heaps. “Provided the Scots can keep on obliging,” he said dryly.

  “Oh, they will,” said the king. “You can’t keep them down. Count on it.” He clapped Hugh on the back a bit awkwardly; he had witnessed the deaths of both Hugh's father and grandfather, and Hugh often wondered what he had thought about the experience. It was a question he would never ask, though. “Good work,” the king concluded.

  The king had been right that day; the Scots continued to keep the English busy. Hugh spent much of the next few years fighting in Scotland. Gradually he came to be trusted by his fellow men; he saved their skins a time or two and had his saved in return. His brother Edward married and had a son; his brother Gilbert became a squire in the king's household. The king granted Hugh a bit more land.

  Eleanor, his mother, encouraged by this improvement in the family's fortunes, had begun urging Hugh to marry, subtly at first, less so as the years went by. Was it Hugh's comparative lack of land that was holding him back? Surely he could find an heiress to remedy this, and perhaps the king would allow Eleanor to grant some of her land to him now that Hugh had proven his loyalty. Was it that no one wanted their daughter to marry him? That could not be so; he was handsome and brave and destined to be Lord of Glamorgan! Was it that he did not want to be married? But that was his duty! Why, his younger brother had married before him! This last thread of her argument was unanswerable as far as Eleanor was concerned, and she never missed a chance to bring it up, especially after Edward's wife bore her first son. When was Hugh planning on begetting his own legitimate heir?

  Hugh fended off this questioning (it would have been called nagging had Eleanor been of less exalted bloodline) as deftly as he could. After his aborted attempt to marry Emma, he had not proposed to anyone else, suitable or otherwise. He sensed, as his more isolated mother perhaps did not, that there was still a certain wariness toward him. Moreover, he had inherited his share of the family pride; though passion had made him propose to Emma, in a cooler moment, when he was ruled by his head and not by his groin, he realized that he should marry a woman of his own rank. A rich merchant's daughter would not do; neither would an ordinary knight's. She would have to be a great lord's daughter, as Emma had said. In the meantime—and it was probably his main reason for staying single—he was more than content with Emma. Sometimes he visited her at her own home; sometimes she traveled to one of his own manors. Hugh often wondered whether word of their affair had reached his mother's ears, for though he and Emma did not flaunt their relationship, they had occasionally been spotted on their horseback rides together. It was a subject, however, on which his lady mother remained silent.

  The king, meanwhile, was beginning to turn his attention away from the Scots and toward France. Recognizing the importance of a vigorous young nobility who supported his war efforts, at the Parliament in the spring of 1337 he created seven men earls, most of them the men who had been with him that night in 1330 when Roger Mortimer was surprised and taken prisoner. Hugh, of course, heard this from a distance, for no Despenser had sat in Parliament since 1326. He held no grudge against William de Montacute, the new Earl of Salisbury, or his kinsman William de Bohun, the new Earl of Northampton, or most of the other new earls. Had they not helped the king overthrow Mortimer, Hugh knew, he himself might still be in prison or dead by now. No, what rankled Hugh was the naming of Hugh d’Audley, his uncle by marriage, to the earldom of Gloucester, an earldom held by Hugh's own grandfather Gilbert de Clare. It was Hugh le Despenser who was the late Gilbert de Clare's eldest grandson, and he could not help but feel slighted and resentful that Audley, married to a Clare but not of Clare blood, should have the earldom. Six years had passed since Hugh le Despenser's release from prison, and the luster of those early tokens of royal favor, his manors and his knighthood, had long since faded. He was a knight with two hundred marks of income a year, so were many other men. Was it so wrong to covet what his kinsmen had: high standing, wealth, a place in Parliament? Was he no better than his father, who had coveted so much? Worried, he took the question to his confessor, who reminded him sternly to heed his father's ill fate and to keep his mind focused on the next world instead of allowing the vanities of earthly titles and wealth to lead him astray.

  Well, this was easy for his confessor, not a young man, to say. But at age twenty-nine, Hugh had another thirty or even more years in this world, if he were lucky. It was a long time to keep one's mind focused on the next.

  His mother, newly widowed from Lord Zouche and seething with resentment herself at the slight to her son in favor of her sister's husband, was too partial to be a good confidant. Hugh, therefore, took his troubles to Emma, as ever. “Perhaps he would have given you the earldom of Gloucester if your mother had been gone and you the Lord of Glamorgan, Hugh,” she said gently as they walked together one afternoon. “Audley was a wealthy man already. You told me that the king had to grant land to some of the other earls to support their new dignity.”

  “Perhaps he would have,” said Hugh. “I wouldn’t have it at that price, Emmy; I love my mother. She's been through so much and I want her to be happy. But I’ve slogged around Scotland for four years now at the beck and call of the king, and it's brought England little and me nothing but a knighthood and an intimate knowledge of those damn oatmeal cakes of theirs.” He absently touched his finger to a battle scar on his thigh. “Maybe I should go abroad as a mercenary; there's bound to be discord somewhere.”

  “Hugh! I was frightened that you’d never come back after your pilgrimage.”

  “I might not have if it weren’t for you,” Hugh admitted. He sighed. “I’m no more than a mercenary now anyway. I’m not fighting for England; I’m not fighting the Scots; I’m fighting for myself.” He flushed, about to speak a thought he had not previously ventured to put into words. “I think sometimes that my life was spared for a purpose, Emma. The purpose of bringing honor back to my family name. It was an honored one in my great-grandfather's time. You’ve heard of that Hugh? The one who died fighting for Simon de Montfort.”

  “I’ve heard of him.”

  “He's been written about by some of the chroniclers,” said Hugh. He had had copies made for himself, though he had never been much of a reader, and lugged them with him from manor to manor so that he could read them in the privacy of his chamber when he was so inclined. In truth, though, he no longer had to read the passages in question, for he’d memorized them years before. “Montfort told him to flee and save himself while there was still time, and he refused. He said, ‘My lord, my lord,
let it be. Today we shall all drink from one cup, just as we have in the past.’” Hugh recited the last words self-consciously. “That is how I would like to be remembered. Not as the no-account son of a sodomite and an extortionist.”

  “Hugh! I remember your father. He was more than that. He was—”

  “A pirate as well.”

  “He did no worse than many lords would have in his position. And you of no account! Hugh, you have let this business with Audley affect you too much. The king does not regard you in that light, I am certain.”

  Emma and Hugh were having this conversation near his southernmost manor, Thorley on the Isle of Wight, not far from Yarmouth. Normally Hugh rather enjoyed the feeling that he was at the very edge of the kingdom, especially when Emma visited him and they could stroll hand in hand by the sea as they had been doing, but in his present mood he wondered if the king might have had reasons of policy for giving him such a remote manor. He was getting ready to propose retiring to his chamber for a consolatory session of lovemaking when he saw one of his men hurrying toward him. “Sir Hugh? A message for you from the king.”

  Hugh read the letter he was given. “Speak of the devil— not to use the term disrespectfully. The king has summoned me to him to discuss a matter of business.”

  Traveling by water from his lodgings to Westminster a few days later, Hugh flinched as he saw London Bridge, which until the end of 1330 had been adorned by his father's head. From those who had been in London at the time he knew the exact spike where it had been displayed, though it like the rest of his father had long since been moved to Tewkesbury Abbey. Even without such an association, he could take little pleasure in a journey to London. It had been the Londoners who had rioted against his father and the second Edward, killing several people, and it had been the Londoners who almost more than anyone in England had gleefully welcomed the invasion of Isabella and Mortimer, though they’d lost their enthusiasm for the ruling pair soon enough. Still, it having been several years since he had last been in the city, Hugh found himself looking around with interest as the boat in which he sat made its way down the Thames. He began to wish he had brought Emma along to see the sights.

  Inside Westminster, he followed a servant to the inner chamber where he was to meet the king. He hardly needed the guidance. As a page to the second Edward and the eldest son of his favorite, Hugh had had the run of the place in his day, and old memories began to return as he retraced a journey he’d so often taken as a youth. Probably there were passageways he knew about that the man leading him did not; Hugh saw him miss at least one very handy shortcut Hugh had often utilized.

  Edward was waiting for him, rather to Hugh's disappointment, for he had recognized the window seat in the chamber as one in which he’d carved his own name years before and had hoped for some time alone so that he could see if it was still there. “Your grace.”

  “Sir Hugh. I was saddened to hear of your stepfather's death.”

  “Thank you. He was a good man. I shall miss him, and my mother is very grieved about it.”

  “Yes, they seemed happy together.” The king cleared his throat. “My brother spoke well of you.”

  Hugh inclined his head gratefully. His recent service in Scotland had been with the king's brother, John, Earl of Cornwall. Hugh had genuinely liked the twenty-year-old earl, and it had helped that John had pleasant memories of Hugh's mother, who’d been in charge of his household for a time. Yet Hugh had also frankly hoped that his service with the earl might lead to some preferment, perhaps at last the chance to command his own men, and John had foiled those hopes by dying of a fever a few months before. As sincerely as Hugh had mourned his young kinsman, he could not help but think John might have been considerate enough to hold out a little longer. “I was grieved to hear of his death.”

  “Come, Sir Hugh, we’re kinsmen. Let's speak less formally. I know you’ve heard about the earldom of Gloucester. You can’t be pleased about it.”

  “It is not for me to say to whom you give titles, your grace,” said Hugh distantly. Edward made an impatient gesture, and Hugh added, “No, I am not. I know full well you could not give me an earldom even if you wanted to; it would be too awkward after all that's happened. Perhaps it’d do me more harm than good in the long run by arousing old grudges against my family. And I don’t pretend to have distinguished myself enough to have earned one anyway. But the earldom of Gloucester does have meaning for my mother, and my own son might have aspired to it. But that's all gone now that it's in Audley's line.”

  “Son? You’re not even married.” The king squinted at Hugh. “Why haven’t you married?”

  Hugh decided not to tell the king that he sounded eerily like Hugh's own mother. “I suppose I have never been tempted.”

  “No one has ever proposed a match for you?”

  “No one but my mother, and hers have been only theoretical.”

  “You’ve never proposed one yourself?”

  “Not in some years.”

  “The lady was unwilling?”

  “The lady was wise.”

  “I see.” For a moment, Hugh thought the king was going to inquire further; Eleanor certainly would have wished him to do so. Instead, he shrugged and ran a hand through his hair, a reminder to Hugh how young he still was. “Well, what's done is done as far as Gloucester and Audley are concerned, but it's not our intention to leave other deserving men out in the cold. The manors you have now are held only until your mother's lands come to you, aren’t they?”

  The king knew the answer to that as well as Hugh did, but Hugh answered anyway, “Yes.”

  “As a mark of our favor toward you, we shall grant them to you in fee simple. And we shall grant you others as well. You’ll have Chittlehampton and Langtree in Devon, Rotherfield in Sussex, and the reversions of others. And some woods, knight's fees, and advowsons as well. Our men will give you the details. All in all, it’ll probably double your income.”

  Hugh bowed and thanked the king. What was Edward up to? Hugh was not naïve enough to suppose that the king was acting out of any great solicitude for his Despenser kinsman's feelings. With this French business the king could use all of the support he could muster; he could ill afford to have militarily able men, even outsiders like Hugh, sulking idly on their estates. So the king was throwing him a bone.

  But a tasty one it was, for his income could certainly use amplification. Hugh could not stop himself from smiling. Then he recalled what he had been brooding upon on the trip to London. “Your grace, there is something else I would ask for.”

  The king frowned.

  “Not more land, your grace. Not a title. Just this: I would like to lead men in battle. I’m capable of it, I know. You yourself said that your brother praised me, and he wasn’t one to give it when it was undeserved. I can win men's respect; even now there are men from Glamorgan and from my own manors who would fight with me. I’ve already pledged to serve under my kinsman Warwick in this Scottish business, and I shan’t renege on that promise, but later—” Hugh looked down at his shoes. “It would be the greatest gift you could make to our family, your grace, to let us regain your trust by that means.”

  Edward said, “Very well. We’ll let you prove yourself.”

  “You won’t regret it.” Hugh relaxed. “Your grace, do you mind if I look at the window seat?”

  Edward stared at him, probably wondering if his relation's mind had been addled by this sudden improvement in his fortunes. “No.”

  Hugh walked to the window seat and stared down at it. There, carved awkwardly in the wood—his handwriting had never been a marvel—he saw his name. “Still there,” he said to himself softly. He smiled again.

  Hugh had last seen his mother deeply mourning the loss of her second husband, but otherwise in apparent good health, so he was shocked at the change he saw in her when he returned to Hanley Castle. Eleanor's face was gray and pinched with pain, her brilliant red hair had become almost colorless at the roots, and she hobbled w
hen she could move around at all. She had some female ailment, the physicians told Hugh, that had crept up on her slowly and about which nothing could be done.

  On the last day of June 1337 she died, surrounded by her children. As she drew her last breath, having spent most of the previous night and the morning drifting in and out of consciousness, her children sought comfort from each other: little Lizzie clutching her oldest sister Isabel's hand; the girls who had been made nuns praying together; Gilbert pretending not to need the hand his brother Edward shyly placed on his shoulder. William and John, the youngest two boys, turned to Hugh. He put an arm around each of them and stayed silent while William cried and while John endeavored not to. After a while had passed, he said, “You are very tired, both of you, and so am I. I want you to have something to eat and then to rest. I need to ride to clear my head. Then I’ll come back and you shall share my chamber tonight. Just like you used to do. Would you like that?”