The Traitor's Wife

by Susan Higginbotham

  Hugh gently nudged the sleeping figure. “Sweetheart?”

  Eleanor opened her eyes and stared at him in some confusion. “Hugh? The king—” Her eyes opened wide with horror. “Hugh, you must not think—”

  Hugh laughed. “My dear, with any other man or any other woman I would be livid—but with you and the king I have no doubt that the two of you did nothing more than ride in this boat together. Perhaps at Elizabeth's wedding, he'll have you thatch a roof with him.” Too late, he looked around, but the king was fortunately nowhere in sight. He helped her alight. “The brides and grooms have been safely bedded, my dear. Shall we lie down ourselves?”

  For an answer, she kissed him.

  They would be making love very shortly, Edward knew, either somewhere on the grounds or in their chamber. And it was the greatest source of misery to the king that morning as he made his solitary way to Windsor Castle that he could not decide which pained him most: the thought of her making love to him, or the thought of him making love to her.

  November 1317 to December 1318

  THE LORD AND LADY OF GLAMORGAN WERE ON THEIR WAY TO THEIR NEW home. Despite a series of catastrophes besetting the kingdom—relations between the king and the Earl of Lancaster had broken down completely, and Lancaster had seized lands belonging to the Earl of Surrey and Roger Damory—the Clare lands had at last been partitioned. Eleanor and Hugh had received lands in Glamorgan, Somerset, Surrey, and Ireland, with other lands in Berkshire, Buckingham, Gloucestershire, Oxford, and Worcestershire to come to them upon the death of the Countess of Gloucester. Retainers had been dispatched to Somerset, Surrey, and Ireland to take possession, but Glamorgan was the jewel of the Clare estates, and no sooner had the order been signed by the harried king than the Despensers were packing for the trip to Wales.

  Her three youngest children, Isabel, Edward, and even little Joan, heaped with furs, were riding in two chariots with their nurses, and Gladys was riding in considerable state in a chariot by herself, being a very ample lady and of an age where she needed to stretch her legs. Hugh's sister Bella, of whom Hugh had always been fond, had been invited along, accompanied by her ladies, though unlike Gladys they were mounted on horseback. Her little girl, Margaret, joined Eleanor's youngest children in the chariots. The Hastings boys, Thomas and Hugh, rode alongside Eleanor's own Hugh. All three boys were well beyond riding in the baby carts, as they dubbed them, and when not comparing the merits of their horses, they were casting derisory looks at Isabel and Edward, who were old enough to feel the insult.

  Hugh the elder had come, needless to say. Of the travelers on the last leg of the trip to Caerphilly Castle, he alone looked perturbed, for Hugh the younger had been confiding in him during the journey to Wales. “The king has given me not only the Clare estates, but Dryslwyn and Cantrefmawr for life,” Hugh had said cheerfully. “I think it was a mark of affection for my lovely Eleanor, and perhaps a bone for making us wait so long for the partition. But there's one drawback. The lordships of Wentloog and Machen are to be fully separate from Glamorgan; they're to go to that puppy Audley. But they've always been part of Glamorgan! The tenants won't stand for that.”

  “The tenants, Hugh?”

  “They will want to retain the liberties and privileges that the rest of the men of Glamorgan have. I shall have to discuss the matter with them.”

  “Hugh!”

  But his son had trotted over to the three boys, leaving Hugh the elder with nothing but his sense of unease for company. Fortunately, his daughter and daughter-in-law were riding up behind him, and as neither of these ladies had ever given Hugh cause for concern, he was soon laughing as Eleanor and Bella tried to teach each other the smattering of Welsh they each knew. Hugh shook his head at Bella's attempt. “So far, child, if you were a man, you would have only succeeded in getting yourself challenged to mortal combat. You've just called Eleanor there a horse thief and a scoundrel.”

  “But I meant to tell her what a beautiful robe she was wearing. And Thomas taught me that, he said he had it straight from my stepson John—” Bella whirled. “Thomas de Hastings! You saucy creature! If I could get this horse near you, I would—”

  Hugh the younger, guessing what his nephews had been up to, called, “Best stick to French, sister dear.”

  Eleanor laughed, thinking as she did that it was strange she knew so little of a land where she, after all, had been born, in the great castle of Caerphilly where they now were headed. It was another bond with her uncle, who had been born in Caernarfon. Perhaps, she thought, the Despensers would get on well with their tenants. But in her heart she knew that such a hope was tenuous. The Llywelyn Bren revolt was still fresh in men's minds, and the very building of Caerphilly Castle by her father a half century before had been a source of anger to the Welsh. However fine the red-and-gold Despenser banners and horse trappings and chariot hangings might look to Eleanor and her companions, to the Welsh they were the marks of yet another English intruder.

  Power in Wales, however, lay not with the Welsh people but with the Marcher lords, one of which Hugh had just become. Eleanor's stepfather, Ralph de Monthermer, who had been styled Earl of Gloucester after his marriage to Joan until her death and who had assisted Joan in managing her lands, had told Eleanor, “Your husband had best conduct himself circumspectly in Wales. The Marcher lords are used to fighting for their rights, and they'll not take kindly to any intrusions upon them.”

  “Why would you think he would not conduct himself circumspectly, Lord Monthermer?”

  Ralph had shrugged and resumed the game of chess he had been playing with Lady Hastings.

  As the Despenser party, red and gold banners flying, neared the castle, the three boys drew their reins abruptly and stopped, awestricken. “Papa! Is this ours?”

  Hugh ruffled his eldest son's hair. “Ours indeed, and yours when I meet my maker. Quite a sight, isn't it?”

  It was indeed. Gilbert de Clare, Eleanor's father, had built his castle to serve notice on the Welsh and any other comers that he was not to be trifled with, and few approaching Caerphilly Castle would be so inclined. Gilbert had cut ditches so as to put the central part of the castle on an island, which was surrounded by lakes, also man-made. To get to this inner island, one had to go through a daunting series of walls, dams, gatehouses, islands, drawbridges, moats, and lakes, and the inner island had its own gatehouses to keep out intruders.

  Hugh and his Hastings cousins were bouncing in their saddles as they observed all these features. “We can sleep here tonight!”

  “And here tomorrow night!”

  “No, there!”

  Hugh took Eleanor's hand as her horse trotted up beside his. “We're home, sweetheart.”

  Every member of the party, even Hugh the elder, was secretly longing to explore the castle, but the adults at least were denied this luxury, for their more important tenants had lined up to greet them, and they of course had to be fed in the great hall, along with the staff Hugh had brought, the staff the king had left, and the staff that had hurried up ahead of the rest of the Despenser party to smooth the transition. Sitting in her place of honor, Eleanor could only watch with envy as her eldest son and the Hastings boys took off for parts unknown, followed, to their great dismay, by Isabel, whose nurse then had to follow as well to make sure nothing untoward happened to her charge. Edward and Joan had already been taken to the rooms that had been assigned to them. At long last, however, the meal ended, and Eleanor and Hugh, trailed by Hugh the elder and Bella, were able to begin their tour. It was as much a tour for Eleanor as it was for the others, for she had been but a babe when her parents had occupied the castle, and she and her sisters had stayed in England when Joan and Ralph de Monthermer made their visits to it.

  “Your chamber, my lord and lady.”

  Bella and Hugh the elder had tactfully retreated to the rooms assigned to them by the time the exhausted chamberlain unlocked the door. Hugh smiled as the man started to push it open. “Thank you,” he said. “You
are excused.”

  He lifted Eleanor in his arms and carried her over the threshold. All was ready, Eleanor saw—their bed with all its trappings, a fire glowing in a fireplace, wine and two gold cups sitting on a table, even her birds hanging in their cages. But it was only the bed that mattered to the couple.

  “What was that absurd vow the king made back when we were knighted?” Hugh mused as they lay tangled together some time later. “That he would never sleep in the same place two nights in a row until Scotland was conquered? Eleanor, I vow that I will never rest until I have had you in every castle and manor we own.”

  “Even the Irish ones, Hugh?”

  “A vow's a vow, my lady.”

  The administrative center of Glamorgan was not Caerphilly Castle, but Cardiff Castle, not far off, and it was there that Hugh, his father, and Eleanor traveled a couple of days later, the children and Bella staying behind at Caerphilly.

  Hugh was much busier at Cardiff than he had been at Glamorgan, meeting with someone almost constantly, and Eleanor herself, as the lady of the household, was almost as beleaguered by petitioners wanting her to exert her influence over Hugh on their behalf. So occupied were they both that there were days when neither saw each other except in the great hall for meals and at bedtime, and sometimes Hugh barely had time to eat before ushering in yet another group of men. It was to her father-in-law, then, whom Eleanor spoke when she noticed Hugh speaking to some men she had seen him with several times already. “Who are those men, sir? Hugh seems uncommonly interested in them.”

  Her father-in-law shifted in his chair uneasily. “They are from Wentloog.”

  “Wentloog,” Eleanor echoed, wondering what on earth the name looked like on paper. “But sir, didn't my sister Margaret's husband get Wentloog?”

  “Yes, but my son has his own ideas about the matter.” Hugh sighed. “You'd best get him to explain to you.”

  She did not have to ask, however, for it was just several hours later when Hugh, beaming and carrying a parchment, strode into their chamber. “My dear! Guess who shall be giving us their fealty?”

  “The men of Wentloog, Hugh?”

  “Yes, the men of Wentloog, and Machen as well. But my love, how did you guess?”

  “Your father told me. Hugh, this is not right. That land is Margaret's—and Hugh d'Audley's.”

  “But the men of Wentloog do not wish to be separate from Glamorgan, my love. Wentloog has always been administered with Glamorgan—or at least since your father's time, which is as good an 'always' as need be.” Hugh looked for a smile and got none.

  “How did you get them to agree, Hugh?”

  “They are to have the same privileges as the men of Glamorgan. I shall show this indenture to the king"—he held up the parchment—"and if the king does not approve, a new indenture shall be drawn up.”

  “What if Margaret and Audley do not approve?”

  Hugh shrugged. “Can I help it if the Welshmen would prefer my lordship to theirs? I think not!”

  He sauntered out of the room, ending the conversation.

  The king did not receive the news about Wentloog as docilely as Hugh had expected. He promptly ordered the men of Wentloog to pay homage to Hugh d'Audley.

  Meanwhile, the Despensers returned to Caerphilly Castle for Christmas. They were still there as January wore on, and were undressing for bed one evening when a messenger arrived, with a note for Hugh. Hugh read it and tossed it into the fire. “Seems I must go to Cardiff tomorrow, my dear.”

  “The weather has been so sunny the last few days. Perhaps I shall go there with you.” She liked Cardiff Castle, with its view of the river.

  “Not tomorrow, my love.” He said this so quickly and urgently that Eleanor started.

  “Why not, Hugh?”

  “I didn't like Joan's looks tonight, Eleanor. She looks as if she might be catching another cold. If she does, she'll want you.”

  Eleanor was a most solicitous mother, but she had noticed nothing amiss with Joan or the other children, nor had Hugh seen fit to mention his concerns before. As it was plain, however, that Hugh did not want her going with him, she said, “Very well, I will stay here.”

  Hugh's relief was almost palpable. “Next time, my love, you shall go.”

  “Yes.”

  Nothing more was said, and they rolled on their respective sides to go to sleep. But Hugh was up and gone very early the next morning, as if he did not want another chance for Eleanor to question him.

  The atmosphere in the castle was very odd that day, too. There were much fewer petitioners than usual, and conversations stopped when Eleanor came within earshot. Eleanor had little leisure to contemplate this in the morning, as her chamberlain, her almoner, and her children's tutors, governesses, and nurses all had business to transact with her, but after a very quiet meal in the great hall, she excused herself to her chamber and dismissed everyone but her damsel Gladys. Having come from Gilbert de Clare's Welsh estates, Gladys spoke excellent Welsh, and her English was good as well. She was an inveterate receiver of gossip, although she was much more guarded in what passed her own lips. “Gladys, what is happening here?”

  Gladys shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “You remember the rebel Llywelyn Bren?”

  “The man who caused so much uproar here two years ago? Yes, I remember. He is in the Tower, is he not? The Earl of Hereford and that dreadful Mortimer urged the king to spare his life.”

  “And the king agreed. But he was taken from the Tower some days ago, my lady, and arrived in Cardiff yesterday. On Lord Despenser's orders. He was to be executed today. I suppose it has happened by now.”

  Eleanor's stomach churned. “On Hugh's orders?”

  “Yes, on his orders.” Gladys crossed herself. “He was to die a traitor's death, my lady.”

  Hugh arrived back from Cardiff the next morning. He made his way immediately to his chamber, where Eleanor sat in a window seat. She had seen him and his men approaching, but had made no effort to hurry and greet him as she usually did, nor did she turn to greet him now. “My love?”

  No answer. Hugh sighed. “I see you have heard.”

  “Yes. I have heard.” Her lips were barely moving.

  Hugh put his hands on her shoulders, and she wriggled away. “Do not touch me.”

  “Eleanor—”

  “Do not touch me, did you hear me? I cannot bear it!”

  He looked at her, and the expression of hurt puzzlement in his eyes almost made her relent. But before she could, he sighed and dropped his hands. “Very well. I'll have a bed made elsewhere tonight. As our Hugh has pointed out many times, there's more than ample room for all of us here.”

  Eleanor resumed her gaze out the window. Hugh turned to go. “It was what your grandfather the first Edward would have done, Eleanor. You know that.”

  For the next two days they lived the most formal of married lives, eating together in the great hall, talking over what business needed to be talked over, even saying good night to their children together. For the latter they made some show of affability, for the children adored Hugh and had greeted him after his one-night absence as if he had been gone on crusade. Hugh to his credit was a loving father who saw no loss of dignity in letting Edward and Joan ride him like a horse, in pretending that Isabel was nowhere to be found until she at last emerged from underneath her bedclothes, and in promising Hugh that they would go for a ride tomorrow, all by themselves. It was a promise Eleanor knew would be kept. But when the children were at last put to bed, she and Hugh went into different bedchambers, for the first time in their twelve years of marriage.

  On the third night, however, she was despondently letting Gladys braid her hair for bed when Hugh appeared in the room. He waited until Gladys had excused herself. Then he said, “Llywelyn Bren surprised the people here while they were holding manor court and slew five of them. No warning, no time for them to fight him like men. Do you remember that?”

  “Yes.”

  “No one in Caerphil
ly but the Countess of Gloucester and one of her ladies. For weeks they were penned up there, under siege, with only a small garrison to defend them. Do you remember that?”

  She nodded.

  “Others were killed too, many of them innocent Welsh who just happened to get in the way. Buildings and livestock were destroyed, crops ruined. The town of Cardiff still shows the effects, as do some of our castles. Do you remember that?”

  “Yes. Hugh—I don't say Llywelyn Bren was a saint by any means. Perhaps he earned himself the death he suffered. But he was promised imprisonment.”

  “At the instigation of Mortimer and Hereford, neither of whose lands—or tenants—were harmed. Do you really think they would have showed him any mercy had it been Ludlow or Brecon that was attacked?”

  “But he was in prison, Hugh. What harm could he do there?”

  “A prisoner can escape.”

  “From the Tower?”

  He shrugged. “It's been done. And if it was done while I was away, and you and the children here if he made his way back—that's not something I was prepared to face.”

  “Yet it was a noble thing he did, surrendering so that his men would not suffer.”

  “Or so they would not turn on him. But maybe he did have a higher motive, albeit rather late in the game. And I'll spare you the trouble of telling me that among his confiscated goods was a copy of the Romance of the Rose. Would it make you hate me less if I had a copy made for myself?”

  “Hugh! You know I could never hate you.” Her eyes were streaming tears. “But it seemed so unworthy of you, and such a terrible death.”

  “It was vile; I'll grant you that, though if it's any consolation, he died bravely. I was impressed.”

  “You watched?”

  “I had to, my love. One shouldn't give an order like that and then shirk from seeing it carried out, as Warwick did.”

  She shuddered, and Hugh touched her hand. “But this was not a Gaveston, a man who did little more than make the wrong people angry and enjoy the royal largesse. Llywelyn Bren was an enemy of the king, whatever his motives.”