The Traitor's Wife

by Susan Higginbotham

  “Melton is the only one of them worthy to be called a man of God. But go on, please.”

  “The Earls of Lancaster, Norfolk, Kent, and Surrey. Thomas Wake. Henry Percy. Oliver Ingham. John de Ros.”

  “Hugh should have killed him when he had the chance,” said Eleanor sourly. “So Mortimer does not have a seat on this council? Then I doubt it will be much of one. Thank you for our meal.”

  As the guard left, Eleanor pushed away the food he had brought along with this latest news. Gladys shook her head. Eleanor had eaten little after the death of her husband, less than that after her daughters' removal, and almost nothing after her uncle had given up his crown. “My lady, you cannot go on like this. You must eat.”

  “I am not hungry.”

  “I know, my lady. But you must force yourself. You cannot starve your unborn child, after all.”

  “Child? I am not with child.”

  “You have not had a monthly course since you have been here, my lady. Your waist is thickening, even as you eat nothing. You must be with child.”

  “But—”

  “You and Hugh were together here before he left. He came to your bed, didn't he?”

  Yes, thought Eleanor, he had most certainly come to her bed. She frowned. Lately she had felt tired and nauseated, but she had attributed the symptoms to the effects of grief. Might Hugh had left her a last gift?

  For the first time since Bishop Stapeldon had died, she felt hope rise within her. Then it faltered. “But Gladys, what if I bear a girl? Will the queen take her as she did the others?”

  “How can we know what will happen? But you must have faith, my lady. Surely God would not be so cruel as to bring you this child only to snatch it away.”

  Eleanor pulled her plate back to her and began nibbling at her food.

  That night, she lay in her bed and touched her belly, then the fur on Hugh's cloak. “Thank you, my love,” she whispered.

  February 1327 to April 1327

  PARLIAMENT WAS STILL SITTING IN MID-FEBRUARY WHEN ZOUCHE WAS ordered to see the king. The lanky fourteen-year-old sat in his chamber, accompanied not by any of the members of his council, but by Mortimer and Isabella. Zouche had scarcely had time to kneel and be ordered to rise before Mortimer started speaking. “Are you ready to undertake another trip to Wales, Zouche?”

  “Why?”

  “Hugh le Despenser's whelp, that's why. He still holds out in Caerphilly Castle, along with its constable, John Felton, and a hundred men or so. They claim that the former king made them swear on the Host that they would give the castle up to no one but the king, and that they'll hold it until their rightful king comes to claim it. Of course, the boy has an additional incentive to hold out, in light of what happened to Papa and Grandfather.”

  “Is he accused of any of their crimes?”

  Mortimer shrugged. “He's eighteen, old enough to have been involved in them. He's not without courage, I understand; he was a hostage for England after the last Scottish fiasco and never flinched when they took him across the border, so they say. Such a boy is dangerous, particularly now that he has a father and grandfather to avenge. The king wants you to take him and the castle into custody.” He grinned and held up a piece of parchment. “The king has issued a pardon to all those in the castle except Despenser, excluding him by name. We'll see how many friends he has after that. If the loyalty his father and grandfather inspired is any indication, the brat will soon be taken.”

  Isabella was studying her robes with a pained look. “It is a harsh necessity, Lord Zouche, but the family are the enemies of the realm.”

  William hesitated. Casually, he asked, “Might I ask what is the status of the late Hugh's widow?”

  “The redheaded little cat and her mangy kittens are locked up in the Tower for safekeeping,” Mortimer said.

  Isabella gave a sigh as pained as her look. “She is a granddaughter of the first Edward and must be treated with a certain respect, but it cannot be forgotten that she aided and abetted her husband in his schemes against me. Why, he made my husband appoint the wench as my housekeeper, solely to humiliate me! And the devious woman entered into his scheme wholeheartedly. She must be punished for her misdeeds.”

  “Lady Despenser is my first cousin,” said the new king. So much he had fallen into the background that the adults in the room started when he spoke. Isabella herself appeared to be about to scold her son for his interruption when she recalled just in time that he was the sovereign of England. “She was always respectful to me, and John is fond of her. I'll not have her shut up for life.”

  “Why, of course not, my lord,” said Isabella with a brittle smile. “But this is none of Lord Zouche's concern, is it? He will find this all quite tedious.”

  “And there are other matters you must attend to this day,” added Mortimer.

  “I shall prepare to go to Wales straightaway,” said Zouche, profiting from the hint.

  “Visitor, my lady.”

  Eleanor started at the small figure in the doorway, half the size of the burly guard standing behind him. “John?”

  “I just wanted to see if you were doing all right,” said John of Eltham formally. The door closed and with the guard gone, John rushed into the room and hurled himself into her arms. “Lady Despenser, are you all right?”

  “Of course I am, John. But what a pleasure! What are you doing here? Is the court here?”

  “No, still at Westminster. I came here by barge.”

  “With permission?”

  He grinned. “No. I can't stay long or there'll be questions. But I did want to see you.”

  “You are my first visitor—our first visitor.”

  “I was afraid you would be in chains,” he admitted, looking around for any fetters that might be in sight.

  Eleanor laughed. “We have not come to that, John, rest your mind easy. See?” She waved her hand around the room. “We have proper beds, and a table to eat off of, and food and ale and—”

  “No sweetmeats,” muttered Gilbert darkly.

  John looked around. Edward, Gilbert, and Eleanor's John had come to stand by their mother, but there was no sign of the Despenser girls. “Lady Despenser, where are the girls? Aren't they in the Tower?”

  “No, John, they are staying in convents. They are—nuns now.”

  “Nuns?”

  Edward, who had become fiercely protective of Eleanor in the last few weeks, put himself in front of her. “Drop it, John. You'll upset my mother.”

  “Edward! Don't be rude. He means no harm.” Eleanor managed a smile. “The queen thought it best that they be veiled.”

  “Oh.” John winced. At ten, he was not yet that good at reading faces, but he was good enough to see that Lady Despenser was very, very sad about her girls. He coughed and decided to change the subject. “I wanted to bring you something, Lady Despenser, but I wasn't sure what. I couldn't bring too much or it would be missed. But I did think you might like these.”

  He held out a basket full of marzipan animals. Gilbert all but knocked the others down to grab a particularly fat cow, and even Edward's face crinkled into a half smile as he bit into a pig. “Thank you, John. This is so sweet of you!”

  “Sweet to bring sweets?” John smiled. He and Lady Despenser had enjoyed playing with words.

  Gilbert in between bites informed John, “Mama is to have another baby.”

  John's eyes widened. “Really, Lady Despenser?”

  Eleanor helped her youngest son with his rooster. “Yes, John, in June I think, please God.”

  “I wish you didn't have to have it here. I do ask Mama and my brother often to let you out, you know.”

  “I know you do, John, and I thank you.”

  John dropped his eyes and said formally, “I am sorry about Lord Despenser, Lady Despenser. I know you all must miss him.”

  “We do, John, thank you, but he is in a better place now, and someday we shall be reunited there, please God.”

  This was not the pr
ognosis of Lord Despenser's fate that John had heard from his mother, but he kept a diplomatic silence, which Eleanor broke by saying, “Tell me, John. Do you hear from your father?”

  It was John's turn to look sad. “I haven't seen him. They say he is—not quite right in his mind, that he needs to be away from other people for a while.”

  Good Lord, could not Isabella even have the decency to let Edward see his children? “I am sure he will be better soon. When he is, and you get to see him, I want you to give him my love. If you can do so in private, of course.”

  He grinned, a conspirator again. “I will try.”

  After answering a few inquiries from Eleanor about his pets and his knightly progress, John sighed with regret and rose. “I had best go. I told my brother's bargemen that I wanted to see the menagerie and that then I would go. I don't know when I'll be back, Lady Despenser. I think the court will be going north soon. The Scots.”

  Eleanor had heard something of this. The very day her cousin Edward was crowned—Eleanor had the greatest difficulty calling the boy the king—the Scots had attacked Norham Castle. Though the raid had failed, there were rumors that future incursions were planned by Robert Bruce. Good, she thought viciously, let Isabella and Mortimer themselves fight the Scots. With luck, they would be sent back south with their tails between their legs…

  She stifled these unpatriotic thoughts and hugged John. “I want you to know that your visit today meant everything to me. Thank you.”

  The queen's cries were echoing through her chamber at Westminster. Lying atop her, Mortimer, whose powers of concentration were such that he could think detachedly even as Isabella's fingernails were tearing into his back during her climax, compared her to his wife with satisfaction. Even after a dozen children, Lady Mortimer was as quiet during lovemaking as she was during mass, and about as lively. It did not occur to her husband that she might have been receptive to his teaching had he taken the same trouble with her as he did with the queen. For Mortimer had certainly taken a great deal of trouble with Isabella.

  He reached his own climax and, lying by the queen's side, waited a decent interval before coming to the business at hand. Isabella was most amenable to his ideas after a vigorous bedding, he had discovered; in this, he suspected, she was similar to her husband. “We need to discuss what I spoke of earlier, darling.”

  “Oh?”

  “Your husband.”

  “What about the fool?”

  “There's a plot afoot to free him, led by your husband's old confessor, Thomas Dunheved.”

  “Oh, a Dominican monk! What a mighty force!” The queen giggled.

  “He has a brother, Isabella, named Stephen, and a host of other men, all little more than outlaws. It's not wise to discount them, darling. We need to get Edward in more secure quarters, with more reliable custodians. I've a place in mind: Berkeley Castle, my son-in-law Thomas de Berkeley's home. It's out of the way, and Thomas will keep the late king as secure as I wish. John Maltravers will help him. He's Berkeley's brother-in-law and an old associate of mine.”

  “I know, darling. I met him in France.” Isabella moved her hand to a place of great interest to Mortimer; she seldom liked to make love only once. “Do what you like with him; I find this business tiresome.”

  “Wait, just one moment. You know that eventually something is going to have to be done about your husband, don't you? He can't stay a captive indefinitely; it's too dangerous for us. One fool after another coming out of the shadows, wanting to restore him to his throne. We are going to have to make some decisions, hard ones.”

  Isabella laughed and mounted him. “Not tonight.”

  Contrary to Mortimer's prediction, the garrison at Caerphilly Castle had not abandoned Hugh le Despenser when all but he were offered pardons. Although William la Zouche had applied all of his considerable military skill to the resulting siege, it was ultimately Robert Bruce he had to thank for the castle's surrender, for with the threatened invasion by the Scots, England could not waste four hundred of its foot soldiers in Wales. Another pardon had therefore been issued to all of those in the castle, this time including Hugh le Despenser by name. Near the end of March, he and its constable, John Felton, surrendered to William.

  The last of the Hugh le Despensers was an open-faced youth who looked somewhat younger than his eighteen years despite the beginnings of a beard on his chin. Zouche had forewarned him that he would be taken into temporary custody pending further orders of the king, and he made no protest as he was shackled. “So shall I give you the grand tour, Lord Zouche?”

  “For now, we'll go to the great hall, while my men look around.”

  “You'll find it quite a sight. It was one of my father's special projects.”

  Two squires came racing in. “Lord Zouche! Lord Zouche! You would not believe how much money we have found! Barrels and barrels stuffed full of it.”

  “There must be thousands of pounds in it,” said the other squire.

  “Try thirteen thousand belonging to the crown,” said Hugh calmly. “And you'll find another thousand belonging to my father.” He shrugged. “They had hopes, Lord Zouche. They did have hopes.”

  Leaving Roger de Northburgh, the Bishop of Coventry and Lichfield, to deal with the treasure, as he had been sent to Caerphilly just for that purpose, William led his prisoner to the great hall. It was a sight, as Hugh had promised. Light from the four huge windows, decorated delicately but elaborately, filled the room and brightened the walls. Even from the other end of the hall, William could feel the heat from the fire that burned in the fireplace between the two pairs of windows. “My father had this hall redone just last year. Nice, isn't it?”

  “Beautiful.”

  “There were to be some murals on the walls, but there wasn't time for them.” Hugh's shackles rattled as he pointed to the corbels underneath the great hall's ceiling supports. “See the heads carved there? The king—the real king, that is—and my father. And there's the queen and my mother, though I don't think the mason did my mother justice. She's prettier. I could have done without the queen, but my father was a great one for symmetry.” He said in a lower voice, “This was to be my father's showpiece castle, this one and Hanley. I suppose you'll see Hanley sooner or later. He got the best masons, looked over their plans, spent a fortune on these places. My mother was born here, did you know that? She's never seen the work he did here, and I suppose now she never will. He was going to bring her and the younger children here to look and admire, once it was all done. He was so proud of it. And now it's come all to naught. It's the queen's now, and she's welcome to it, damn her soul.”

  He was standing by one of the windows, and for a minute William thought he was going to attempt to smash his fist through it. Instead, he sank down on the window seat and put his head in his hands. William beckoned to a guard to stand by Hugh and continued on his tour by himself, wandering from tower to tower, gatehouse to gatehouse, looking for a suitable place to lodge the lad and making sure his men were not doing any looting. Finishing his journey where he had started it, he saw that immediately off the great hall were private chambers, one of them brilliantly lit by a large, delicately traceried window and so comfortably furnished that it must have been the former king's. Hugh the younger must have taken the adjoining chamber, just as comfortable but on a more modest scale. No one had disturbed its furnishings, and it had been kept clean and tidy, almost as if in readiness to receive its dead master. William shivered.

  And now Despenser's splendid castle would be a prison for his young son. William made his way back to the great hall where Hugh still sat on the window seat. He had regained his composure and appeared to have been in an amicable conversation with the guard. “So where are you going to stow me, Zouche? Plenty of room here, as I was fond of pointing out when I was a child. One of the chambers next door would be rather comfortable, if I had my druthers, but I suppose that's too much to hope for.”

  “A mite,” said William. “There's a room in
one of the gatehouses that will serve the purpose nicely, though. There's a window and a fireplace, and you'll be able to get to the chapel nearby if you wish.”

  He had expected a facetious reply, but Hugh's face softened. “I would like to use the chapel, Lord Zouche. Thank you.”

  He rose from the window seat, somewhat hampered by his shackles, and stumbled. Zouche reached out to steady him and said, “We'll take these off once you're in your chamber. Why, what is it?”

  Hugh had started and was staring at his hand. “Where did you get that ring, Lord Zouche? It looks like—”

  “It is your father's, Hugh.”

  “Why the hell are you wearing it? It was my mother's gift to him, you whoreson! Did you take it off him while he was dead? It was the only way he'd ever give it up! You son of—”

  Two of William's men grabbed Hugh, but William shook his head. “Let him go. Hugh, it is not what you think. Your father gave me this ring to give to your mother. It was not taken from him. I swear.”

  “Then why do you have it? You were at that farce of a Parliament, were you not? The Tower's just down the river from Westminster, in case you've forgotten, and Mother hasn't exactly been moving between her estates these days.”

  “I should have given it to her long ago, you're right, Hugh. The truth is, I've not wanted to face her yet. As one of your father's captors—”

  “She's not what I would call an Amazon, Zouche; she won't tear your throat out. But I suppose I understand what you mean.” He shuddered. “When I got the news of my father's death it was bad enough, but then I started thinking of how she would receive it. I can't imagine what it must have been like for her, hearing. Not being able to go to her, that's been the worst part of being here.”

  “God will comfort her.”

  “And what will she do without him? He was devoted to her.”

  One of William's foot soldiers, overhearing, snorted. “Not as much as he was to the king, bloody sodomite!”