The king and Gaveston had been riding hard. They were followed by a few men, including Hugh the elder, but no baggage train and no sumpter horses. The women ran out to meet them as they pulled in front of the abbey. “Edward! What is happening?” asked Isabella.
“Lancaster was within an hour or so of Newcastle, so our spies told us. We have brought almost nothing with us—only ourselves.”
“So the Ordainers are not bluffing, Uncle? They do truly intend to be at war with you?”
“It certainly seems so,” said the king. He appeared a little dazed.
Gaveston said dryly. “We left so much at Newcastle it should keep them busy for a few hours or so, though, fighting over the booty.”
“So what shall happen now?” asked Isabella.
“Gaveston and I will take ship for Scarborough.”
“And I?”
“The queen should not take ship,” said Hugh the elder. He bowed apologetically. “Your grace was ill on that crossing from France to Dover, with the seas quite calm. A severe bout of seasickness now might injure your babe.”
“But she should not stay here,” said Gaveston dispassionately.
“Lancaster would surely not harm the queen!” said Eleanor.
“No, Nelly, but he might hold her—and yourself—as a hostage of sorts, and he will soon be on our heels. The queen should go—back to York, I think.”
Isabella stared at her husband, who thus far had remained silent. “You let these persons speak of me as though I were a pawn in a chess game, Edward! An object! And it is all due to you!” She glared at Gaveston. “Why should we all submit to being chased about the north of England for your sake? Why don't you leave us?”
“I have suggested it to the king, your grace,” said Gaveston quietly.
“And it is out of the question,” said Edward. “My brother will not be sacrificed to Lancaster.” Edward could look magnificent when he chose, and he chose to now. “Isabella, you will go to York by land tomorrow morning. Take only necessities, as we have. And now we must go to bed. Gaveston and I go at first light.”
Five months pregnant, Eleanor struggled to find a comfortable position on the pallet she slept on in what had become the queen's chamber, vacated for her by the abbot himself. Failing, she decided to spend her sleepless hours in prayer. Never had she dreamed that the Ordainers—her own brother among them—would turn so wholly against Edward. She had expected sulks, petitions, not the hundreds of men now being amassed against her uncle.
She pulled on a robe and went to a chapel she knew would not be used by the monks for their next round of prayers. But a figure already sat praying there, turning his head when Eleanor pushed the heavy door open. “Nelly?”
“Piers? I did not expect to find you here.”
“No doubt you expected me to be communing with my familiar. A cat, or a toad, perhaps.”
“No, Piers, I never believed that rumor.”
“I am glad, Nelly. For some reason I wish you to think well of me. I shall leave this place if you want to pray alone.”
“It was you I was going to pray for, Piers.”
“Nelly. How did that Hugh deserve you? If that is all you were going to do, then perhaps you would not mind walking outside with me. I daresay your prayers for me will keep.”
She nodded and let him guide her over the uneven floors of the priory into a little garden outside it, where a bench stood. There was but a touch of a chill in the night air, and he draped his cloak over her shoulders. “Thank you.”
“How are Meg and Joan?”
“Very well. Joan is thriving, a big healthy girl.”
“I wonder if I shall see her again. Or Margaret.”
His voice was matter-of-fact. Eleanor turned to look at him in horror. “In case, of course, I must go back into exile.”
“Of course.”
He was silent for a time. “You heard the queen earlier this evening. Before I came into the chapel, I had every intention of acting on her advice, you know. Of finding myself a boat and disappearing. It might be the best thing for all.”
“But it would break my uncle's heart.”
“Yes. Mine too. That is why I went to the chapel instead.”
The moon was full, and it reflected in the fish pond in front of them, allowing each to see the other's face. “How well did you know that rascal grandfather of yours, Nelly? The king, of course.”
“Not that well. He was kind to me when he saw me, and gave me pretty things, but his mind was on other matters.”
“I remember the first day he brought me to live in Ned's household. You won't believe it, but I was frightened—I didn't know if he would care for me being there. My father was a brave, loyal knight, not the nonentity some say he was, but he was in debt and he needed all the wages he got from the old king to live upon. It was a far cry from what the other young men in the household were like, with their fine manors and castles, and I knew it. Anyway, old Edward could tell I was uneasy, so he said, 'Boy, don't worry, if the young puppy doesn't like you in his household, there'll always be a place for you in mine.' We were on good terms then, you see. Pity it didn't continue. I admired the old man; still do. Edward could stand to emulate him in points.”
“And did my uncle like you?”
“Instantly, and I him. It was as if we had known each other long ago and were meeting again. I know that sounds foolish.”
“No.” She picked up a stone and threw it into the water. Piers tried one too. It made a satisfying splash, but not as satisfying as the one Eleanor's had made. “Piers, forgive me for being impertinent, but is there nothing you could do to conciliate the barons? Surely it need not have come to this.”
He shrugged. “What have I done, Nelly? Edward has been overgenerous to me, and I should not have accepted so much, perhaps, but I have taken no man's lands or goods. I've married above myself, but have not others? I've jested overmuch, I suppose, but how much pomposity can a man stand and stay sane? Perhaps I've made some people less influential at court than they thought their right, but has any good man really gone unheard? Loyal and faithful men like your father-in-law and Joseph the Jew—I mean, the Earl of Pembroke—have been given their due. The Fiddler and the Black Dog of Arden lie to themselves if they think they would have influence over Edward if it were not for me.”
He looked away from her. “Nelly, I am speaking to you now as your brother. You are a grown woman, and you must know the other complaint against me—the one that is only whispered—that I give my body to the king.”
Eleanor gulped, “Yes.”
“It has not been true for some time now. It was up until the barons exiled me after the king's marriage, but since then Edward and I have been chaste with each other. Sweet Nelly, it has not been easy.”
“I suppose not.”
“We took a vow for our children's sake. More for mine than his, for whatever rumors swirled the king's children would be the king's children, who would never go a-begging for a match, but we knew it would be different for mine. We wanted them to be able to marry as befitted their station. And I am fond of your sister too, and did not want her to be miserable among the great ladies of the land.”
“You have acted rightly, Piers. I am sorry it has brought you no profit.”
He laughed, “Oh, we were wild enough beforehand! I could tell you stories—” He shook his head. “Not for your sweet little ears. But I have had one lapse, though not in the direction you might think. Joan is not my oldest daughter. She is the youngest, though the only legitimate one.”
“You have a bastard?”
“Amie is her name. She is at Shaftesbury Abbey, to be raised by the nuns there until she comes of age. Margaret and the king know naught of her.”
“Do you wish them to know?”
Piers shrugged. “Not now; it would only cause them grief and anger. For all I am speaking rationally to you now, I was angry at Edward after we exchanged our vow—it was his idea, you see—and I took a woman lov
er to spite him. It probably wouldn't have. Your uncle is a man of staggering loyalty, Nelly. All I did was betray poor Margaret and Edward.”
“And the woman?”
“I was not her first paramour and will not be her last. Amie is best off in the convent, poor child, until some suitable match can be arranged for her. I wish her to stay innocent.”
He stood up and stretched. “How grim we have become! What do the women say about your child? Girl or boy?”
“They are undecided, but I hope for a girl.” She stood up too. “I am going to try to sleep now.”
“Yes, we must all be up early to evade the Fiddler.”
“Piers, you speak of them as though they were characters in a mummers' play, but they are hard men, I fear. Pray be careful of yourself.”
“You are sweet to worry about me, but all will be well.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. “Give this to Margaret for me, with feeling. And commend me to your pirate husband.”
“Pirate?”
“Only a manner of speaking, Nelly.”
The king and Gaveston left sooner than they had planned, after a spy arrived to tell them that Lancaster was a short distance away. The queen's household was still slumbering when the friends and a handful of men set sail for Scarborough.
Once arisen, the queen and her household were not laggards. Packing only necessaries, they had mounted their horses and were all but leaving when Lancaster and his men rode up. The queen's knights tensed, but Lancaster motioned his men to put down their weapons. He slid off his horse and bowed. “Your grace. Where is the king?”
“He is not here.”
Eleanor watched as Lancaster mentally debated whether to accept the queen's word. Evidently, he decided in her favor. “The Gascon?”
“My brother-in-law is not here,” said Eleanor herself. She was half-afraid the queen might reveal his whereabouts.
The compunction Lancaster had about questioning the queen's veracity did not hold for her lady. “You tell the truth, Lady Despenser?”
“Of course. But why believe me when you may search the priory? Do check everywhere. I believe there is a hollow window seat in which a man might fit.”
Lancaster scowled. “You do know that your brother works with us, do you not, my lady?”
“To his shame. Yes, I do.”
The earl tried a different approach. “Do you know where he has gone?”
“Pregnant women are forgetful creatures, sir. I do not remember.” Eleanor yawned and settled into her chariot more comfortably. “And now I must rest, sir.”
Lancaster looked to the queen again, but Isabella's own sense of mischief was upon her. “I suffer from the same malady as Lady Despenser, sir.”
This not having been known to Lancaster or his followers, there were gasps from Lancaster's men. Lancaster, however, hid his surprise. “Damn this nonsense! I came here to offer the queen my support against that insolent Gascon, who bleeds the treasury dry and casts a spell over our king and flouts our Ordinances as if they were no more than hand cloths. It appears, however, that the queen does not wish to be delivered from him. So I shall—”
A horseman was galloping toward them. Eleanor squealed with delight when she recognized her husband; Lancaster scowled even deeper. Hugh slowed to a trot and took in the scene before him, the queen's household with its handful of knights facing Lancaster's troops. His lip curled. “Lancaster, I am no strategist, but I must say the odds appear in your favor, though that is a vicious-looking headdress my wife is wearing.”
“We seek the Gascon, Despenser, and do not seek to harm the queen or her household. Where is your father?”
“With the king, no doubt. Do you seek him?” Hugh's brown eyes were as innocent as a puppy's.
Lancaster released a string of expletives. Eleanor frowned. “For shame, sir!”
“Let us start on our way,” said Isabella. “The sun already grows high.”
“Do take care of our things, my lord,” said Eleanor. “Would you be so good?”
Toward York they rode at a leisurely pace, unhindered by Lancaster's men. Hugh, riding beside Eleanor's chariot, laughed as Eleanor recounted the morning's events for him. “What a spitfire you can be, my love! I did not know I was married to such a shrew.”
“Perhaps I was rude to him, Hugh, but he has caused my uncle and Margaret and Piers such grief. And I do believe that beneath all his talk of principles lies nothing more than his desire for power.”
“Probably, and as Lancaster has always borne my father enmity—I think for no reason than that my father has always been loyal to the king—I am glad you spoke to him as you did.”
“What brings you here?”
“Why, you, of course. This business worries me, Eleanor. I saw my uncle Warwick several days before I set off to find you, and he looked even more sour than is usual with him. When I asked him if he planned to go north with the other Ordainers, I thought he would take his whip to me.”
“And the others? Where are they?”
“Pembroke and Warenne are in pursuit of the king and Gaveston. Poor Warenne! He has changed sides so often, I doubt he knows from day to day whom he is trying to seize—Gaveston, Lancaster, or himself. Your brother stays behind in the south, and Hereford is in the east. Frankly, Eleanor, that is where I wish you were, far away from all this. That is why I rode here, to take you back to Loughborough.” He nodded in Isabella's direction. “With her grace's permission, of course.”
She shook her head. “I cannot leave my uncle—or the queen. He needs every friend he has, and the queen is nervous with her baby as it is. It would distress them both were I to leave.”
“Very well. Then I shall stay with you.”
Eleanor smiled. “That I like. But how dare you insult my headdress?”
“It kept Lancaster off, did it not?”
Soon they were settled into York as though, Isabella said a tad sourly, they had never left it. They were a comfortable lot there. Margaret was delighted to see her sister and the queen because, as she said, one could talk about babies with the monks for only so long. Eleanor in consideration of her pregnancy was given a chamber with her husband and no longer had to sleep in the queen's chamber at night. Hugh hunted by day and diced with the ladies at night; sometimes, though, he and Eleanor slipped off by day and went for aimless walks, enjoying what Eleanor thought was the loveliest May she had ever seen.
The king himself soon arrived in York, minus Gaveston, who had stayed in Scarborough. Edward had been confident that Gaveston would be safe there while Edward himself traveled south to muster more troops, but no sooner had the king entered York Castle than word arrived that Scarborough Castle was under siege.
Eleanor had never seen a man as distracted as her uncle during the next few days. Edward ate little and slept less. His efforts toward raising troops went for naught. Finally, a messenger brought word to the king that Gaveston had come to terms with Pembroke and Warenne. He would soon be at St. Mary's Abbey in York, where he had come but a few months before for the birth of his daughter, and there the agreement would be put before the king.
“I like this not,” said Edward unhappily, gazing at the message after having read it a dozen times or so. “Why couldn't he have held out longer?”
“There was little time to bring ample provisions in,” Hugh the elder reminded him.
“And while it might have been well stocked with weapons, they are useless with no one to wield them,” Hugh the younger said tartly. “How many men did Gaveston have there?”
“Few,” said Edward dazedly. “Very few.”
When Gaveston and his captors arrived at the abbey several days later, however, all were in good spirits, even the captive. Negotiations were to remain open until the first of August, during which time Gaveston's safety would be guaranteed by Pembroke, Warenne, and Henry Percy, a great baron who had been present at the siege. If a final concord could not be reached by August 1, Gaveston would return to Scarborough—"Of which I have
such fond memories,” he said sweetly—with a garrison.
Gaveston had agreed not to attempt to persuade Edward to change anything in the agreement, and kept his promise as Pembroke sonorously explained its terms. “I see no reason why we cannot reach an agreement by August,” he concluded. “We all want what is best for the realm, do we not?”
Edward was too relieved by the agreement's terms, which were more favorable to Gaveston than he had hoped, to chafe at Pembroke's patronizing tone. “Indeed we do.”
“Perhaps,” said Hugh the elder, “Parliament should be summoned. If it took place in July, there would be ample time to finish discussions before August.”
“An excellent idea,” agreed Pembroke.
Margaret had rushed to see her husband when he entered the castle and still sat clinging to him. “In the meantime, can't he stay here?”
“I do not think that best under the circumstances,” said Pembroke. He was a thin, dark man in his early forties, and the siege and the hasty journey to York appeared to have tired him more than his captive. “Here there might be—difficulties.”
“He means that I might break my part of the agreement,” said Gaveston dryly. “Pembroke, I am dead tired, as are you. Let me retire with my wife— put a guard by my door if you wish—and we may discuss this more tomorrow, shall we?”
Pembroke, who had been taken aback to see the countess so affectionate toward her husband, nodded slowly. “Very well.”
After a couple of days more of discussion, it was agreed that Gaveston would be taken to Wallingford, where he could live on his own lands while the Ordainers were near enough to keep an eye on him. Pembroke and Warenne pledged to forfeit all of their land and goods if they did not keep their end of the bargain. Parliament was to be summoned to meet in Lincoln on July 8.
Soon after this date was set, Pembroke and Gaveston departed York, Gaveston looking nothing like a prisoner in fine clothes and mounted on the best steed the king's stables could provide. Days passed, and several letters arrived from Piers, letters that made Edward smile. “Piers is planning his defense in front of Parliament,” he told the Despensers. “What a lawyer he would have made! The points he makes here are brilliant.”
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