The Traitor's Wife

by Susan Higginbotham

  Gaveston had continued to wear the jewels, however, and if the queen had more to say on the subject, she had not said it to her ladies, though since then she had not missed an opportunity to disparage the handsome Gascon. Now having satisfied herself with this latest dig, she settled back in her chair, and a thoughtful look came upon her face. “You may all leave me now except Lady Despenser. I wish to speak to her in private.”

  Had she offended her queen so soon? Eleanor wondered. Isabella had not shown any ill temper thus far, but Eleanor had sensed the need to remain on guard. And it was true that she was somewhat lax in matters of court etiquette. Neither her grandfather, who cared not how a man addressed him as long as he was fighting on his side, nor her uncle, who would as soon keep company with a mason as with his barons, had demanded the strict decorum that was probably de rigueur in the French court, and her rebellious mother had not been a shining example herself. The dowager queen Margaret, Isabella's aunt, had been kind enough to give her some hints, but Margaret was far less formidable than her young niece. She waited for her dressing-down, thinking it was kind of Isabella to give to her in private.

  “I know I met your husband, but I cannot recall his face. Is he handsome?”

  “He is thin and dark, with a beautiful smile. To me he is the handsomest man in the world—but others might say different.”

  “You are deeply in love with him, I see. How sweet!” She smiled as Eleanor, blushing, looked down. “Is your sister Margaret so enamored of her husband?”

  “She is very much in love with him, and he is very kind to her.”

  “Whenever I discuss Gaveston with Edward, it ends in a quarrel. Tell me about him, Lady Despenser.”

  Eleanor hid her blushes behind an embroidery hoop. “Edward's father brought Gaveston to his household, your grace, some years ago. They say that my uncle took a single look at him and regarded him as his brother from that day forward. Piers's father was a Gascon knight, a brave man who had served the king faithfully but who had lost most of his goods and lands. Piers was an able soldier and my grandfather wished to reward him, both for his own sake and for his father's. So he placed Gaveston in the prince's household with the sons of the great barons of the land. They were furious that the prince preferred Gaveston, with so little to call his own, over them, with all their prospects of riches and titles. And so it has been ever since.”

  “And what did the king—the late king—think of all this?”

  “Little enough at first, your grace. He was always preoccupied with his wars and his differences with the barons—my own father among them. When my uncle and Piers were in his company, they were usually in Scotland, and Piers always pleased my grandfather as a soldier. But then something displeased him, and my grandfather banished my uncle from court.”

  “Banished! By his own father? Why, what did Edward do?”

  “I have heard that he and Gaveston were poaching deer in the Bishop of Coventry's park, your grace. It was a trivial thing to them, but when the bishop found out he confronted them, and they spoke mockingly to the bishop. The bishop was furious, and he complained to the king. So my grandfather cut off my uncle's funds, and removed his household. He was forced to ask help from my mother and his other sisters. My mother was glad to help; she even offered to have the prince live with her. But my uncle thought it would be better to follow the court at a distance until my grandfather relented, which he did after a few months.”

  “And then I know Gaveston was banished not so long after. After the king asked for Ponthieu. Which I understand is to be mine now, if the king ever gets around to assigning me it.”

  Isabella fell silent for a while, then looked straight at Eleanor. “You may find this question impertinent, but I shall ask it anyway. Do you lie with your husband?”

  Eleanor, though shocked, saw no way to avoid the queen's question. “Certainly, your grace.” The opportunity to share her good news was irresistible. “Indeed, I am with child.”

  “That's not here or there at the moment. When did you start lying with him?”

  “On our wedding night, your grace.”

  “My husband has yet to lie with me—in the full sense of the word.”

  “Each man is different,” Eleanor ventured. “I was as close to fourteen as to thirteen when I married, and my husband was young himself. The king is a man of four-and-twenty, twice your age. It may be that he is—squeamish— about lying with a wife so young.”

  “Is Gaveston so squeamish about his wife? He is Edward's age, even a bit older I think, and Margaret is between your age and mine.”

  Eleanor knew that he was not squeamish, having been given a full description of the couple's wedding night—fuller than Eleanor in truth had cared for—by the enthusiastic bride. Forthcoming as Margaret might be with her elder sister, however, Eleanor doubted that she would be so much so with the queen, so she said simply, “I know not, your grace.”

  “You do, but you don't tell. He must sleep with her.” She scowled. “I might be young, but I am as womanly as either of you two Clare girls. Am I not?” Isabella stood up and studied herself in a glass with considerable satisfaction. “My hips and bosom are not as developed as yours, I admit, but what does it matter? I am already taller than either of you.”

  “I very much doubt that the king is dissatisfied with you or your person, your grace. It is your age, and nothing more. What does not bother Gaveston with Margaret may bother the king with you. In a few months the king will incline to you.” Eleanor laughed. “And recline with you.”

  “This is not a joking matter, Lady Despenser!”

  “I beg your pardon.” Eleanor let the queen simmer for a moment before asking, “Your grace, does he give you a reason?”

  “He says that if I were to get with child so early it might injure my health.”

  “There's sense to that, your grace.”

  “I don't see it being an objection in your case.”

  “But it was considered. Before I married Hugh, my mother sent for a midwife and had me strip stark naked in front of her. She looked me up and down like some sort of great heifer at the fair—it was mortifying. If she had not thought it would be safe for me to carry children, I would have had to live apart from Hugh after we were married, or at least in different quarters, until I turned fifteen or even sixteen. And my brother insisted that the same be done when Margaret married Gaveston.” How cruel it would have been had she not passed the midwife's test! Eleanor thought. She could not have borne the idea of not sleeping with Hugh.

  “I wonder that my father did not do the same for me.”

  “He must have trusted that the king would be careful.”

  “He certainly is that!” Isabella snorted, albeit in a manner befitting royalty. She said with some bitterness, “I've seen him with you, you know. You are his little pet. Sometimes I think I will become just another—at best.”

  “That will never be the case, your grace. You will make yourself indispensable to him, you'll see. And when you are ready for him in that other way, he will be ready for you.”

  “And this Gaveston? Do you truly believe he and the king are nothing more than brothers to each other?”

  “I don't know, your grace, and it would be presumptuous of me to guess, I think. I can only tell you this: The king loves Gaveston more than anyone in the world. And Gaveston for all of his ways loves the king too, I think.”

  “And I should accept this?”

  “Now you are asking me to be presumptuous again, your grace. I can only say that I think you would be happier if you did.”

  “You're not stupid, Lady Despenser. Perhaps I will try then.”

  To be told by the queen that one was not stupid was a high honor indeed. Eleanor smiled and, seeing that the queen was lost in her own thoughts, worked quietly until Isabella came out of her reverie. “Now, tell me about this Tower of London we must go to before the coronation.”

  “It is a royal palace, your grace, a fine one, but it is a
lso a storehouse for the king's jewels and records, and a prison—a state prison for traitors and the like.”

  “And what do you do to traitors in your kingdom?”

  Eleanor shuddered. “It is horrible, your grace. They are hung, but cut down while still alive, and then they are cut open and their insides are burnt before their eyes—unless they have been so fortunate as to lose consciousness or die beforehand. Then they cut their heads off and cut or tear their bodies into quarters. Their heads are put on display, and sometimes their quarters, too.”

  “How grotesque!”

  “It is so cruel, your grace. My grandfather used several men that way, and I wish he had not. If a man is to die, why can't he simply be beheaded? He's dead either way. But men seem to think it is necessary to make a great show of it. I think men can be fools sometimes.” Eleanor felt the need to move to a happier topic. “But the Tower's royal apartments are beautiful; I have visited my grandfather and uncle there many a time. There is even a menagerie there, with lions and tigers. They are fascinating to watch; you must have the king take you there. And has he told you about the camel?”

  “A camel! I was not certain such beasts actually existed.”

  “There is a camel at Langley, his favorite retreat. It's ill-tempered, though, and hates to have anyone ride on his humps. I tried when I was little. He shook me off and ruined my robes—spitting at me—but I finally got on and held on for dear life. My nurse scolded me for so long she lost her voice. She told me that such a hoyden would never find a husband.”

  The queen laughed, and for the moment appeared no more than twelve years old. “As I have found a husband, I would like to try someday. Perhaps you can show me how to ride him.”

  “It would be amusing, your grace.”

  “I am glad you are here, Lady Despenser. My ladies from France are so proper and matronly, and my English ladies so dull—except for you. I am glad there is someone I can talk to freely.”

  “I am pleased that you are pleased with me, your grace.” And indeed she was. To be in favor with the queen, and carrying Hugh's child—there was nothing more that she could ask for.

  Edward and Isabella were crowned King and Queen of England on February 25. Edward, blond and tall like his ancestors, was magnificent in his royal robes, and Isabella's gown would have been talked of for years had not Gaveston turned up in a robe of purple that made the royal couple's garments look to be almost everyday apparel in comparison. He only wanted a crown, and he did the next best thing by bearing the king's for him.

  Gaveston had organized many an entertainment for the young prince's household, and it was thought even by those who disliked him most that the coronation and the ensuing banquet would go smoothly. They did not. Either Gaveston in his glee at having yet another chance to irk the barons had overlooked key details, or servants took pleasure in making him look a fool, for the rooms were overcrowded and the food poorly prepared and late. The young queen's uncles departed for France in a huff, and the queen herself, who had been neglected in favor of Gaveston at the banquet, was snappish with her ladies, even Eleanor, for two days afterward. Even Hugh's father, who had taken part in the ceremony and who was one of the few men in England who supported Gaveston, was embarrassed for his king's behavior. Only Margaret, who wrote to her old friends at Amesbury that her husband had been the handsomest man in England that night, had no complaints.

  A couple of weeks later, at Westminster, the queen, who was fond of music and had learned that her new English attendant had a lovely voice, bade one of her chamber ladies to find Edward and see if he would lend her his crwth player to accompany Eleanor as she sang. One of the damsels would have happily gone, but Eleanor, slightly nauseated with her pregnancy and eager to walk in the fresh air in search of the king, offered to go herself.

  Edward was with his gardener when Eleanor found him. After he gave the man very precise instructions about some rose bushes—for Edward had very definite ideas about what the royal gardens should look like and would not have found life at all amiss if he had been born a gardener instead of a king— he turned to his young niece with his usual sweet smile. “What can I do for you, Nelly?”

  Eleanor gave her Isabella's message, and the king readily agreed. “So the queen is fond of the crwth? I did not know that.”

  “She is fond of many of the things you are, your grace.”

  “When will you learn not to your-grace me? Such as?”

  “She loves to hunt, she has told me. She is an excellent horsewoman; I've watched her ride.”

  “I'll take her tomorrow when Gaveston and I go, then.”

  Eleanor wondered if Gaveston could be left at home, but said nothing. The king continued, “Now tell me about the queen. Does she task you and the other ladies too much? I know that she has a trying temper. Even Queen Margaret has admitted as much.”

  “She is usually quite good-humored with me, your—Uncle.” After a moment or two of silence, she added, “She truly is beautiful. I was bedazzled when I saw her step off the ship.”

  Edward nodded. “Everyone tells me how beautiful she is. I can see it. But beauty is like a tapestry. What hangs well in one room may simply not in another.” He threw a stone in an ornamental pond. “Sometimes I wonder if she was not hung in the wrong room.”

  “Uncle, I really should not be hearing this.”

  “You're right.” Edward threw another stone. “Certain choices are made for us, and we must adapt ourselves to them, must we not? You are right to keep me from indulging in self-pity.”

  “Someday you will have a child, and that will give you a common interest and purpose.”

  “You are a wise as well as a beautiful young woman.” He smiled. “Speaking of which, Gaveston was not discreet, as usual, and told me what he probably should not have told me yet. You are with child.”

  “He can keep nothing to himself. I was waiting until I was further along to tell others.”

  “He knew it would please me, that's all. Don't be angry with him.” He bent and kissed her on the cheek. “Congratulations.”

  She smiled her thanks.

  “They want to send him away, you know.”

  “Gaveston?” But she should have known better than to ask; no other “him” could be in her uncle's mind. “Why?”

  “To spite me, I think.” He scowled. “There seems to be a new reason every day. His title is too high; Cornwall should have been given to one of my half brothers. When he is closer to me than any brother. I consult him before I consult the barons; why not? He has my interest at heart; they do not. I give him jewels and land. They are mine to give, are they not? He insults the barons. My God, the pompous fools need a little insulting!” He smiled suddenly. “Have you heard the nicknames he has invented for the earls?”

  “Warwick is the Black Dog of Arden, I believe.”

  “That's his best, I think. He's always reminded me of a dog guarding his territory against an intruder, barking and snapping with as much show as possible. Burst-Belly—Lincoln—was a bit obvious. Joseph the Jew—Pembroke—was another inspired one, I thought, with that dark visage of his.”

  “Lancaster is the Fiddler.”

  “Yes, he's always looking for someone to dance to his tune!” He frowned as he remembered the nickname his friend had coined for Eleanor's brother, the Cuckold's Bird. Edward had been rather hurt to hear it, directed as it was to Gilbert's mother, his favorite sister, who certainly had made a clandestine second marriage but who hardly deserved the epithet. Gaveston, seeing this, had quickly explained that cuckoldry was the only likely fate of a man married to a woman as young and lovely as Joan. Still, Eleanor was even less likely to appreciate the remark than Edward had, so he fell silent.

  “Does he have one for my father-in-law?”

  “Dear Hugh? No. Hugh's done nothing but be loyal to me. He's the only one who hasn't slighted Gaveston in any way. He understands what he means to me.” He smiled. “I'll never forget those little gifts he sent to me
when I was estranged from my father, raisins and wine. Small things, but they cheered me.”

  “I am certain things will right themselves.”

  “We can only hope.” Edward gazed ahead moodily, then pointed a finger. “What do you think of having a fish pond put in there? I want the queen to like it here at Westminster.”

  “I think it would be lovely.” Eleanor paused and said gently, “But why not ask the queen herself?”

  June 1308 to July 1308

  THE BARONS HAD WON. GAVESTON WAS TO BE EXILED. THE BARONS HAD been relentless about his removal since the coronation, and Edward, to avoid a civil war he was not entirely sure he could win, and knowing that his French father-in-law might not be at all unwilling to intervene against him, finally agreed to his removal. As had happened when his father exiled the Gascon, there was time to prepare, and the friends went to Langley, Edward's favorite manor. Isabella went also, accompanied by Eleanor and her other ladies.

  If the queen was satisfied with Gaveston's removal, she kept it to herself. The king, working toward his friend's recall even before he left England, had finally granted her Ponthieu, and even as he sought to enjoy his last few days with Piers, he was careful not to neglect his wife. Eleanor wondered if he had finally consummated his marriage, but Isabella said no more on the subject. She was looking more womanly with each passing day, however, and the days when Edward could validly complain that his wife was but a child were quickly becoming numbered.

  The day was fine, and Isabella, having been given a hunting pack by her husband, had gone with some of her ladies and knights to try the hounds out, the king having stayed behind to attend to some documents before quickly giving up his duties for the day and heading outside with Gaveston. Eleanor, too far gone in pregnancy to wish to sit a horse, even if Hugh would have let her, stayed behind too, but soon found sitting by a tapestry rack insupportable with the birds chirping cheerfully outside and a light breeze rustling the curtains at the window. She heaved herself to her feet and went outside, where she walked by the river gathering wildflowers as her son—all the older ladies had declared she was having a son, and Eleanor saw no reason to gainsay them— kicked her vigorously as if himself eager to be outdoors.