In Hugh's chamber, he waved his daughter-in-law to a chair and turned to face his son. “Hugh, what kind of fool behavior is this? You come here without a word of warning, steal your wife away—”
“Steal my wife away? She is my wife, Father.”
“She is attendant upon the queen. You cannot snatch her away at a moment's notice, for your pl—” He looked at his flushing daughter-in-law with her grass-stained clothing and finished awkwardly, “At your whim. You must have her ask the queen for leave.”
Eleanor, tired of being spoken of as an inanimate object in the room, said calmly, “We meant no harm, sir. But it will not happen again, and I am sure the queen does not mind.”
“You are wrong, my dear, for she does mind, very much. She comes from a court that stands very much on ceremony, and she took this as a sign of disrespect.”
“She told you this, Father?”
“No, Hugh, not in so many words. But it was obvious when she asked me where Eleanor was that she was displeased.”
“My wife's first duty is to me. The silly French piece has other ladies and damsels to serve her whims.”
“The silly French piece is the Queen of England! Are you trying to lose both of our heads?” Hugh paced around the room, trying to calm himself, and succeeded. His voice was at its normal level when he resumed. “I speak too strongly, for this is hardly a matter of treason, only a minor impropriety. Let us say no more about it. How long do you stay here, Hugh?”
“For a few days, but I have rooms at the inn where I can go my own way. I might even have my wife there if her grace allows.”
“Hugh, I have served the king and his father faithfully since I was of your age, and it has paid me well. It would you too, if you would only bend to convention a little. Let me find you a place at court where you can show your talents. You have them, by Jove, and the king will soon find them out. In time.”
“While I serve time like you.”
“Have you forgotten what our family owes the king and his father? When I was but a child my father was killed in Montfort's rebellion. Yet when I reached manhood the first Edward welcomed me at his court, when I might have been relegated to obscurity. He was gracious to me and I do not forget that. If you call that time-serving, you may.” Hugh was pacing again. “Your brother would be happy for such opportunities. I've a mind to bring him here instead.”
“That weakling!”
Hugh's blow knocked his son off his feet. Eleanor gasped but remained where she was standing, too frightened to come to his side. Hugh, however, appeared to have forgotten her existence. He stared down at his son and said calmly, “The Lord has blessed me with healthy daughters and one healthy son. Your brother is not a weakling; he is dying. Slowly but inexorably. Up until today I had not admitted it to myself.”
“Father, I know. I am sorry.”
If Hugh heard his son he paid him no attention. “I suppose I should be grateful for my lot; all but he are healthy. But by God there are days when I look at him and wish it were you with all of your arrogance and impertinence in his place.”
He strode out of the room, shutting the door behind him as softly as if he and his son had been having the most amicable of conversations. Only then did Eleanor run to Hugh's side. “My love, he did not mean it. He is grieved about your brother and you probed the wound, that is all.”
“Leave me, Eleanor.”
“You must go to him, Hugh. You have hurt him dreadfully. Your brother—I knew he was sickly but I never thought he was dying—go to him, Hugh, please!”
“Leave me, you silly girl!”
Eleanor, not knowing how she did so, left. As though sleepwalking, she made her way to the queen's chambers, curtseyed, picked up her embroidery where she had left it, and sat quietly stitching with the other ladies. Isabella sat stitching herself, smiling sardonically for a while. Then she spoke. “You are feeling better?”
“Yes, your grace.”
“Then endeavor to look less wretched.”
“Yes, your grace.”
For an hour or so Eleanor worked, listening to the conversation around her and trying to hold back her tears. Then they began to trickle down her face. Isabella de Vescy, one of the older ladies, said kindly, without her usual brusqueness, “Child, what ails you?” The queen only sighed. “Leave me, Lady Despenser, and don't come back until your face is less sour. It is like having a funeral mute attending me.”
“Yes, your grace.”
She ran outside the manor house into the park and walked by the spot where she and Hugh had made love that morning. She kept going, and soon the king's orderly park had turned into simple woods, completely unfamiliar to her.
A silly girl. It was all she was to him. A plaything, perhaps, on occasion. How could she have been so stupid as to think he cared for her?
Farther and farther she went into the woods, paying no attention where she was going and losing all sense of time and distance. A deer leapt past her and she gasped, as scared of it as it was of her, and then pushed her way on resolutely. But what was her resolution? Only to get as far away from Langley and Hugh as possible.
Suddenly she heard male voices, speaking in English, and froze in terror. What danger had she put herself into? Brigands traveled through the forests, robbing those whom they encountered. Usually they were after horses, money, or jewelry, but Eleanor had no horse or money and wore only her wedding ring and the jewel Hugh had put on her that afternoon. What would they do to her if they were disappointed? She flattened herself against a tree, praying silently, desperately, to the Virgin, and all but fainted with relief when the men went by her, passing not three feet away but not turning their heads in her direction. She looked at them as hard as she dared; they were certainly no one she recognized from Langley.
She had to get out of the forest. But how? It was growing dark, and she had no idea where she had come from.
Walking in the opposite direction from the men, and praying that there were none to follow them, she caught sight of a stream. It would certainly lead her to the river. Sobbing with relief, she hurried to the stream, not seeing in the growing darkness the root that caught her foot and sent her headlong down the bank and into the water. Soaked to the skin, her hands scraped on the pebbles she had grabbed in a vain effort to stop her fall, she emerged coughing and sputtering from the water, only to find that her throbbing ankle would not bear her weight. She crawled out of the stream and pulled herself upon a large rock, utterly defeated.
Then she heard dogs barking, then running toward her. She tried to move again but could not. Was this what a deer felt like? Good God, if she made it out of the forest alive she would never hunt one again. They were all on her now, but they were doing nothing more than sniffing her, eight cold noses against her at once, tickling her. Then they began barking triumphantly, and the huntsman arrived. “Eleanor! Thank God you are safe!”
“Uncle!”
Edward bade the dogs to sit. He sat too and put his arm around her, raising his eyebrows at her soaked gown. “My dear, you have given us a fright. What on earth made you wander here by yourself? You must have heard of the sort of men who can pass through the forest.”
“I am sorry, Uncle.” In her relief at being safe she snuggled against him, taking in his familiar woodsy smell.
“But what brought you here?”
“Everyone is angry at me, Uncle, and I am so miserable.”
“Angry at you, my dear? There is not a soul at Langley who is not worried half to death about you. My men, and the queen's men, and your father-in-law and your husband are all out searching for you this instant.”
“Hugh is looking for me?”
“Did you not think he would be?”
She shook her head. “He thinks me a silly girl.”
“And you are.” Hugh, followed by his father, stepped through the brush, panting but smiling. “Silly to think I would not be looking for you.” He reached for her, but she shrank against her uncle. Hugh look
ed helplessly toward his father.
“Eleanor, it was Hugh who discovered you gone,” said the elder Hugh. “When he saw you were not in the hall tonight and could find no one who knew where you were, he begged the king to send out his dogs in search of you.”
Edward smiled. “Not that he had to beg, for I could not have borne it had something happened to you.”
He stood and moved discreetly away, along with Eleanor's father-in-law, leaving only the dogs sitting near them, thumping their tails complacently. Hugh took the king's place and said quietly, “I was distressed at the scene with my father, my love—which was entirely my fault, and I made it up with him upon your advice—and lost my temper with you. I should not have spoken hastily to you. Will you forgive me?”
“You think me a silly fool.”
“I think I have been blessed with you, and that I was the fool to speak as I did. If anything had happened to you in this forest I would have been in agony. Please, Eleanor?”
She was silent. Suddenly she became aware of the absurdity of the entire situation—the waiting pack, all gazing patiently at her, and the even more patiently waiting king, carving a likely looking stick at a distance with his back turned toward Hugh and Eleanor as if there was nothing else in the world to command his attention than the quarrel between his niece and her husband. In spite of herself, she began to laugh. She took Hugh's hand. “Does that mean I am forgiven?”
“No, it means I want you to help me out of here.”
“And then you will forgive me?”
“I will consider it.”
By the time she arrived back at Langley, her ankle was swollen and aching and she was shivering in her soaked clothes. But Hugh ordered a hot bath and a good deal of wine to warm her and ease the pain, and after the bath he wrapped her in a blanket and put her by the fire, stroking her hair as she chattered on in his lap, happily tipsy. “Hugh, I was so frightened in the forest. But you came and found me.”
“Yes, my love.”
“You and the king. But not the queen.” His wife looked momentarily sad.
The queen had in fact taken Eleanor's disappearance with an equanimity that had infuriated Hugh—"She couldn't have gone far, I'm sure"—but Hugh could not bear to see his young wife downcast. “She was concerned as we, but she could hardly go wandering around the forest like the rest of us, my love.”
“That is true.” She drained her cup and held it out shakily. “Might I have some more wine, Hugh?”
“No, my love. You will be sick.”
“Oh, all right.” She began kissing him instead, languorously. Then she giggled. “This is so strange. I'm floating away, Hugh.”
“I'll anchor you.” He lowered her to the rug by the fire, letting the blanket fall off her, and had her, moving very slowly so as not to hurt her ankle inadvertently. Never had he had so much pleasure in lovemaking, and as for her—"Hush, love. You'll scare the horses.”
She laughed and pressed fiercely up against him, and then his cry put hers to shame. He gasped, “Forgive me?”
She hugged him close to her. “Yes.”
After lying quietly in his arms for a time, she propped herself with some difficulty on her elbow and looked him full in the face. He had never seen her green eyes look so serious, or so green for that matter. “Hugh, please tell me. What do you do when you travel? I don't want to pry, but I miss you so much when you are gone. But I suppose I am prying.”
“I will be better in the future, I promise.”
“But won't you tell me?”
Her voice was becoming dreamy, and he knew that in minutes she would be asleep. He looked at her—sixteen years old, the sweetest, most innocent creature he knew. What would it be like to dream the dreams of the guiltless every night? There were times when he wondered if the kindest thing he could do for her was to leave her, to free her for a man who had no dark thoughts in his mind. He sighed. “If you must know, my love, I know men with ships— pirate ships. I join them, and I share in some of the spoils. You are wearing one around your neck.”
As he had expected, she giggled. “I may have had a little too much wine, Hugh le Despenser, but I am no fool. But if you won't tell me"—she yawned—"I won't…press…further.”
She was fast asleep. He carried her to bed, blew out the candles, and slipped in bed beside her, holding her as she slept.
At least, he thought, it could not be said that he had not told her.
“Margaret! How well you look!”
It had taken longer than Edward had anticipated, but Gaveston was back in England, the Pope having issued a bull of absolution that Edward would soon wave in front of Parliament when it met later in that July of 1309. The king had traveled to Chester with a small entourage to greet his friend and his niece. Now they were at Langley, with the queen, and Eleanor, who had left Isabella for a visit to her baby, was back there too. Even Hugh had left his affairs at the manor in Sutton the king had granted them to greet his brother-in-law.
The sisters embraced while their brother Gilbert, then Hugh, did the same with Gaveston. Beside him, the king beamed. “It is so pleasant to have all of my family nearby again.”
“But less of Nelly,” said Gaveston. He nodded at Eleanor's belly. “How is your boy?”
“He is here, as a matter of fact. The queen was kind enough to ask me to bring him while the weather was so fine he could travel.”
“I thought I was with child last month,” said Margaret. “But then my monthly course started, just like that.”
“Meg!”
“Well, Nelly, don't look so shocked. We are family, are we not?” She turned to the king, who was smiling indulgently. “Now Uncle, tell us. Are these stupid earls and barons of yours appeased for good? Because I do not care to be taking another trip abroad.”
“Meg was seasick,” said Piers.
“Seasick isn't the word. I was at the point of death. I am just now recovered. Don't roll your eyes at me, Hugh le Despenser!”
“My apologies.” Hugh shrugged.
Gilbert said briskly, “As for the earls, Richmond is well-enough disposed to you, Piers, as is Lincoln. Warenne is too much occupied with his latest mistress to care either way. Pembroke is wary. Arundel is still sulking because you defeated him at that tournament following your marriage. Lancaster and Warwick would see you hanged if they could. Not to be unpleasant about it.”
“Gilbert's summing up is all too accurate,” admitted the king. “But they'll come round. We'll not let them ruin our time here, will we?”
For a time it appeared that all would go well. Gaveston had been given all of his Cornwall lands back, and Margaret made it her business to enjoy them, hostessing great feasts to which she invited the duly admiring Eleanor and Gilbert. With Eleanor came Hugh, sometimes, and with Gilbert came his bride of about a year: Maud, the daughter of Richard de Burgh, Earl of Ulster. Their sister Elizabeth had married also, to Maud's brother John, and moved to Ireland to live with him in October 1309. “The poor girl,” said Margaret complacently. “It is green and pretty there, but how I missed England! I do hope Piers never has to return there.”
Hugh waited until Margaret had left the room. “I'd be looking to getting my sea legs again if I were her.”
“It has started again?”
“It has started.”
“Gaveston has made an effort to get along with some of the barons,” Hugh the elder said some days later to Eleanor. “But most despise him, and he does nothing to help the situation. If they want an audience with the king, he is there in the room. And those nicknames! Childish, but they seem to gall the earls as much as anything. And they stick in one's mind, too. Warwick is my brother-in-law, you know, and I cannot think of him at all now but as the Black Dog of Arden. I have to make a great effort to not address him as that.”
The king was irked. “Ever since my father died, they have chided me for ignoring the Scottish problem. And now that I am trying to discuss the Scottish problem with them, as surely they
expect, they refuse to come to Parliament if Gaveston is there. And he an earl as much as they!”
“They, Uncle?”
“Arundel, Pembroke, even Lincoln, and the Black D—that is, Warwick. And a new ally. Lancaster.”
The Earl of Lancaster was Edward's first cousin, like him a grandson of Henry III. Eleanor recalled the gossip she had heard in the queen's chamber. “Isabella de Vescy says that not even his own wife cares for him.”
“A sensible woman, his wife.”
The king, Gaveston, and their wives spent Christmas at Langley, but Eleanor and Hugh did not join them. Nearly a year and a half had passed since little Hugh was born, and Eleanor was worried. Had she become barren? Hugh was a fine boy, a chatty fellow who looked more like his father every day. He was perfectly healthy so far, but one never knew… She had consulted the midwife, who had sternly told her that she had to be on her back at all times when she lay with Hugh. Eleanor had obeyed, at least most of the time, but despite this she had had no success, though once or twice her monthly course had been late enough to give her hope for a week or so. It was time to try something else. “I would like to go on pilgrimage,” she told Hugh.
They were at Loughborough again, the king having taken only the smallest possible group of attendants with him to Langley and Eleanor having been given leave to spend Christmas with her husband and child. Hugh the elder was there, of course, along with Philip and the youngest of the Despenser children, Margaret. Dinner was over, and they were lazing in their chamber, having seen little Hugh to bed. “Where?” asked Hugh.
“Canterbury, I think.”
“So it shall be.”
She was delighted. Hardly ever had she and Hugh traveled together, save from one family manor to the other, followed by men and baggage.
So to Canterbury they went. Never before had she spent so much time alone with Hugh, whose comings and goings, though still frequent, were less noticeable now that Eleanor herself had resumed her own travels with the queen. Together, they traveled with only a squire, and moved much more quickly than Eleanor, used to the cumbersome progress of the court, was accustomed to. It was with real sadness that she reached the shrine at Canterbury and offered up her prayers and coins, for now there was nothing to do but to turn back home. She said as much to Hugh as they sat at supper at one of the hole-in-the-wall inns Hugh had a knack for finding and for which Eleanor had developed a certain affection.
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