Soon after little Eleanor's birth and christening, the king departed for Northampton, it having been planned that Lancaster would meet the king there. He left orders that over three hundred pounds be allotted for Isabella's churching.
Despite the difficulty in achieving a settlement with Lancaster, the king had not been happier since the days of Gaveston. On his travels, except when the royal party headquartered itself at a monastery or when the queen or his niece was in too close proximity, he shared his bed with Hugh, who no longer needed to fortify himself with wine before coming to the king. He had become, in fact, an energetic and imaginative lover, sometimes tender, sometimes rough depending on the king's mood, which he was adept at discerning. (That was Hugh for you, the king thought lovingly, a quick study.) He was almost as wonderful as Gaveston. Yet there was an intriguing difference between the men. While Gaveston's eyes had glazed over on the few occasions the king had discussed the affairs of the realm with him, save those that concerned himself, Hugh's were bright and eager; more often than not, the king thought, Hugh was better informed than he.
“Have you heard Lancaster's latest excuse for failing to come here?” asked Hugh one evening as he opened the bed curtains. “Now he is swearing that Damory and Montacute are plotting to kill him.”
“I know, dear one. I am going to send you, Bartholomew Badlesmere, and the Earl of Pembroke to meet with him, along with the Bishops of Norwich and Ely. Some agreement must be reached with that tiresome man, so we can deal with the Scots.”
The envoys did in fact return with an agreement. Save to attend Parliament and answer military summonses, the king's intimate friends were to be removed from court, and gifts contrary to the Ordinances were to be revoked. There was to be a standing council, some of whose members would stay with the king each year, some of whom would stay with the king each quarter. Though Hugh himself stood to lose from this agreement, he did not worry overmuch about it, for Hugh doubted that the king would ever agree to it, much less the king's other particular friends and the many barons who would lose valuable lands, and he was quite correct. A second group of envoys, this time minus Hugh and with the Earl of Arundel and Roger Mortimer of Wigmore, was sent to Lancaster. By August, at Leake, the king and Lancaster had exchanged a kiss of peace, and a couple of days later, on August 9, what became known as the Treaty of Leake had been drawn up.
“Lancaster gave a great deal up,” Hugh told Eleanor, who had remained in England with the queen over the summer. “Oh, he got his standing council, all right, but he's not on it—only a banneret of his! There's quite a few bishops on it, and the Earls of Pembroke, Richmond, Hereford, and Arundel. No Warenne, as you can well imagine. Hugh Courtenay, John de Segrave, and that Roger Mortimer you dislike so much. The membership of the council is to rotate, though. All the rest is quite vague. Nothing about royal gifts or the removal of us so-called evil counselors. We'll just have to see what happens when Parliament meets at York in October. But I do have an additional piece of news for you, my love, that won't be found in the Treaty of Leake.”
“What is that, Hugh?”
“The king has appointed a new chamberlain.”
“Oh? Who is it?”
“Me, my love. Come. Kiss the royal chamberlain.”
After marrying Joan, Countess of Gloucester and daughter of the first Edward, Ralph de Monthermer had been made Earl of Gloucester, once the old king saw fit to let him out of prison. He had lost the title, of course, upon Joan's death, and he had accepted this graciously, knowing that the title by all right and justice now belonged to her young son, Gilbert. It was his lovely, spirited Joan he had mourned, not his lost earldom. In any case, though he was no longer a particularly important man in the realm, he was a busy one, for the second Edward had found much for him to do. He was the keeper of the forest south of Trent, he had a number of manors that had been granted to him by the king, and he had several lady friends who were pleased to have him stay the night.
And he had his chess games with Lady Hastings. Ralph enjoyed playing chess as much as he enjoyed riding and wenching, and these were things that he enjoyed very much indeed. In the chess aspect, he had found, some years ago, a kindred spirit in Lady Hastings, who had trounced him mercilessly the first time he'd idly suggested a game. When Ralph had recovered from the shock of losing to this doe-like creature, Bella had explained that her father, no mean player himself, had taught her the game and that they still played together whenever they visited each other. Since then Ralph, whenever he found himself near one of Bella's manors when she was in residence, stopped in, and Bella's servants knew well to bring out the chessboard and men when he arrived.
But this game was far less interesting than usual. Bella's mind did not seem to be on it, and when he had captured the last of her men, she sighed. “It seems you and I will not be playing much together soon, Lord Monthermer.”
“Not becoming a poor loser, are you, Lady Hastings? I don't beat you all that often, but it has happened enough that you should not be surprised.”
He had spoken teasingly, but Bella's eyes welled up with tears. “No, Lord Monthermer. I always enjoy our games, whatever the result. But my brother writes that he wishes me to remarry, and I suppose I must.”
“Remarry? Who?”
“One of his retainers, Peter de Ovedale. He has been loyal to Hugh, my brother writes, and he wishes to show him a mark of his favor by marrying him to me.”
“And do you not like him?”
“I do not know him. Oh, Hugh has always been fond of me, and I know he would not choose a disagreeable man. And since I did not take a vow of chastity like my older sister Aline did after her husband died, I suppose I should have expected this. After all, I have been a widow for nigh on five years now.”
Ralph frowned. He was of an age with Bella's father—fifty-five—and had first met Bella when she was quite a child, at about the time she had married into the Clare family via her first husband. It had never occurred to him to eye her the way he might eye a woman who was a stranger to him, and now that he did so, he was struck with several revelations. The first was that Bella was pretty and slender, with what surely must be small, firm, high breasts, and Ralph was a great admirer of small, firm, high breasts. The second was that although Bella's hair was bound and modestly covered, it would likely reach to her hips when loosened, and Ralph was suddenly overcome with an urge to see that hair loosened, preferably with the aforesaid breasts peeking out from beneath it. The third was that he had been very foolish to confine his acquaintanceship with Lady Hastings to games of chess. Keeping his voice level, he said, “That's true, you never did take a vow of chastity. I suppose, then, you were never averse to remarriage?”
Bella shrugged. “At first, but after a few years, it got rather lonely. Perhaps marriage to Peter de Ovedale will not be so bad after all.”
“Tell me, Lady Hastings, what qualities would you choose in a husband, if you were to pick one yourself?”
He thought the question might border on impertinence, but Lady Hastings answered readily enough. “Well, he would have to be good-natured, first and foremost. I cannot bear an ill-tempered man.”
“Indeed, no.”
“Handsome, but not so handsome that other women would always be throwing themselves at him. Intelligent, but not so much that he made me feel like a dolt. Brave, but not foolhardy. And above all, he must like to laugh.”
“Those sound like fine qualities. And do you know what, Lady Hastings? I happen to possess all of them.”
Bella's eyes widened.
“But, of course, I am about twice your age. But you will find that I am young enough in other ways.”
“Other ways?”
“Like this, Lady Hastings.”
He kissed her, and it was a very long time before they drew apart, breathless. A servant came in, saw them together, and slipped out, entirely unnoticed. He kissed her again, and this time he pulled at her headdress with one hand, then at the fastenings of her
hair. It was even longer than he had thought, and very soon it was entangling him and Lady Hastings as they lay naked in her bed.
The next morning, Ralph was all set to make love to Lady Hastings again when she pushed him away. “Not yet, Lord Monthermer. I am much troubled in my mind.”
“Lord Monthermer? I thought we were well past the 'my lord' and 'my lady' stage myself.” He caressed a breast, as high and firm as he had hoped. “Dearest, I promised last night that we would wed today, and I keep my promises. It will be a great pleasure to keep this one—in a couple of hours, please.”
“You do not understand, Lord—Ralph. Hugh did write and ask me if I would marry Peter de Ovedale. But I would never have agreed to marry him—or anyone—without first trying to get you to marry me.”
“Bella. You are telling me that when I came into your chamber last evening, you had every hope that I would ask you to be my wife, and that you have manipulated me shamelessly?”
“I could hardly ask you to marry me, could I?” She sighed. “For well-nigh on two years I have been hoping to wed you. You are so agreeable, so handsome, so kind. Every time you came to play chess, I thought it might end in an offer of marriage. I am no beauty, like your first wife, but I am not ugly either, and we do get on well.”
“Ugly! I think not!”
“So when I got my brother's letter, I knew that if I ever had a hope of marrying you, it was now. And you reacted exactly as I hoped you would, Ralph. It was much like our games of chess, but—rather more pleasant. But I am feeling a little guilty now.”
Ralph laughed. “So you beat me after all, you little minx.” He kissed her, and they settled back among the pillows together. “I have always been a good loser, Bella. You know that.”
“Have you had a letter from Bella, Eleanor?”
Eleanor shook her head. “No, Hugh, didn't you?”
“For this I thought she might have written you too. It appears that our little Bella has gotten married, without the king's license and without a word of warning.”
“Bella?”
“Aye, here's her letter. She graciously informs me that she is honored to have been in my thoughts, and she is certain that Peter de Ovedale is a fine man, but not for her, as she has only just made a marriage to a man she has long esteemed and admired, who will do the family credit.” Hugh paused. “Naturally, one wonders who the man is, but Bella being Bella, she apologizes for several more lines before we finally learn his identity. Well, who do you think he is, my dear?”
“I have no idea, Hugh. Bella seemed inclined to remain unmarried.”
“Your stepfather.”
Eleanor gasped, and then she started giggling. Hugh said a little testily, “Really, my dear, it is rather embarrassing, you know. I all but promised her to Peter. But who could have guessed about this long esteeming and admiring?”
“I know it is embarrassing for you, Hugh, but think how lonely she has been for these past few years. She is not like Aline, able to devote herself only to God. She needs a companion, and Ralph will be one for her. Now that I look back on it, they have always seemed quite friendly.” She laughed again. “My stepfather's wife. Does that make her my stepmother now?”
“Well, it cannot be undone. Of course, the king's standing council will want to seize their lands, as a salutary lesson for this rash marriage, but I daresay my father will make sure his darling wants for nothing. But poor Ovedale! I wonder if I can persuade Aline to abandon her vow of chastity.”
Soon afterward, in late October of 1318, Ralph dutifully obeyed the king's summons to the Parliament to be held at York. There, his marriage having slowly become known around the court, he was subject to the jokes a man married to a much younger wife could expect. Ralph bore them all good-naturedly, for he was as happy as he had been when Joan was alive.
Though the jesters had to be careful to hold their tongues when Bella's brother came into earshot, there was no need to look for Bella's father. Hugh the elder had not been included in the peace made with Lancaster; he had gone on pilgrimage to Santiago and was unaware of his new son-in-law. Warenne likewise avoided the Parliament of York.
The lords, however, soon stopped twitting Ralph about his bride and got to work. Hugh was confirmed as the king's chamberlain. Bartholomew Badlesmere became the king's steward, replacing Montacute, who was promoted to Seneschal of Gascony; Lancaster, who spent an entire month at Parliament, rather a novelty for him, forced Montacute, Damory, and Audley to pay him large sums in order to settle their differences with Lancaster. Despite this addition to his coffers, he was unhappy. He had not wanted Badlesmere to be steward, having recently conceived the notion that as hereditary steward of England, he had the right to appoint the steward of the king's household, and Edward seemed entirely too pleased with his new chamberlain for Lancaster's liking.
Hugh the younger was considerably more satisfied with the parliamentary proceedings. As chamberlain, he, along with Badlesmere, the Earl of Hereford, Roger Mortimer, and sundry other barons, bishops, and royal officials, had been appointed to reform the king's household. Hugh, whose head was already swimming with ideas of how the office of chamberlain might be refined and improved, set to this new task with alacrity—and, to his credit, no mean ability.
His Welsh business was proceeding nicely also. Edward, with the approval of Parliament, regranted him the lands of Dryslwyn and Cantrefmawr, which Hugh had not yet been able to enter; with Parliament's backing, his possession seemed more assured. Better yet, Edward had decreed that he would enjoy as full privileges over Glamorgan as Gilbert the Red had ever enjoyed, Gilbert himself having forfeited some of these during his disputes with the first Edward.
And there was the matter of Wentloog.
Although Hugh had officially resigned his claim to Wentloog, which had been taken into the king's hands, Audley's attempts to persuade its men to give him their homage and fealty had proven fruitless, and in December, he and Margaret conceded defeat and signed Newport, Wentloog, and Machen over to Hugh and Eleanor. The Audleys were not impoverished by any means— Audley had been granted two thousand marks in lieu of his claim to the earldom of Cornwall, which he had been coveting since his marriage, and Eleanor and Hugh had agreed to grant some of their English lands to the Audleys in exchange for the Welsh estates. Yet Eleanor was uncomfortable as she watched Hugh d'Audley and Margaret sign the necessary documents. Margaret signed her name so fiercely that she nearly tore a hole in the parchment, and when she had signed the first set of indentures, she turned on Eleanor. “Are you satisfied now, sister? Your beloved husband has another piece of Wales.”
“My lady, Eleanor had nothing to do with this,” said Hugh calmly. “She is signing in accordance with my wishes, as befits a wife. If you have any complaints, make them to me.”
“Margaret, love, this has been settled,” said Audley. “We have discussed this.”
“Oh, we have discussed it, all right. But I need not like it.”
She resumed signing. The room was silent but for the scratching of pens on parchment, the shuffling of paper, and the suppressed yawns of the clerk who was directing the proceedings. Eleanor sat with downcast eyes. In a moment or two, it was over. Hugh le Despenser was Lord of Newport, Wentloog, and Machen, and Eleanor was for all intents and purposes minus one sister.
July 1319 to January 1321
HUGH DRAPED AN ARM AROUND ELEANOR'S SHOULDER AS THEY LAY IN BED. “Did you know that William de Braose has the reversion of Gower up for sale?”
Eleanor shook her head no.
The Despensers were at York, where the court had been since the spring. With the king and Lancaster no longer at loggerheads, the long-threatened Scottish campaign was at last under way, to Eleanor's secret terror. She snuggled closer to Hugh. “For sale? Why?”
“That wastrel Braose needs the money, that's why. He's squandered all he has, they say. He's been negotiating with Hereford and with your friend Roger Mortimer of Wigmore.”
“My friend! Ugh.�
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“Then you won't mind if I put a bid in?”
“I suppose not.” Although there were still hard feelings regarding Wentloog, Eleanor knew, surely no one could complain if Hugh simply bought the reversion of Gower.
“I shall mention the matter to Inge, then.” John Inge was the sheriff of Glamorgan. With Hugh having left Glamorgan to reside at court, seldom a day went by without him dictating a letter to or receiving a letter from Inge. For a few minutes Hugh settled back, obviously composing a letter in his head. Then, the letter mentally written, he gently touched Eleanor's belly. “How are we doing down here, my love?”
“Oh, it is still too early for any movement.”
“I wish you would go back to one of our manors, sweetheart. Rotherfield, maybe, or even into Wales. Or visit one of my sisters or your sister Elizabeth the Prioress.” Hugh paused almost guiltily, for he knew that Margaret and Eleanor were estranged, and knew that it was his doing mostly. But when Eleanor was Countess of Gloucester, as Hugh had every intent of making her, Margaret would no doubt come calling. “I don't like you staying this far north, with this business in Scotland.”
“I promised the queen I would keep her company while the king is away. But we are even, for I wish you would not go to Scotland.”
“Has to be done, my love. Bruce has had his way with us long enough. He took advantage of our infighting last year to seize Berwick, and he'll be unpacking his carts at Westminster if he's not stopped. So to Scotland we go.”
Once the men had departed, Isabella and her ladies remained at York, though not at the castle, which the queen found overly gloomy. It was, in any case, overrun with royal officials, for Edward had ordered the transfer of the Exchequer there. Instead, they stayed at a comfortable manor, near enough to York Castle for convenience but far enough away for there to be no demands upon the queen. Unfortunately, the manor was so tranquil that within a few weeks, Isabella had grown very bored.
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