The Traitor's Wife

by Susan Higginbotham

  “Thank you. I have only my freedom for now, but I hope to soon regain some land. In the meantime, I and my family must live. I wish to borrow money from you, sir.”

  “I do lend sums from time to time, my lady, but only with security. It is a necessity, the more so in these uncertain times.”

  Did he think she was asking for alms? That she was offering something else to him? With a haughty expression that would have pleased her queenly ancestors and namesakes, Eleanor gestured to Bella's manservant and opened the chest that he sat on a counter for her. “Be assured, sir, that I can do business with you properly. As you can see, I have brought more than adequate security.”

  Benedict stared in the chest. “Where did you get these, my lady? Surely they are not your husband's property, forfeit to the crown?”

  “You forget that I am the granddaughter of a king and the daughter of an earl, sir. My father left me many precious things upon his death, and so did my mother, and I have bought and been given fine things over the years myself. I was allowed to keep these personal items in the Tower with me.”

  “I beg your pardon,” said the pepperer, thoroughly abashed.

  Presently, they agreed upon a loan. Only when Eleanor signed the note to Benedict as “Eleanor le Despenser, late the wife of Hugh le Despenser” did her hand tremble.

  April 1328 to June 1328

  THE KING'S COURT, GRACED AGAIN BY MORTIMER AND ISABELLA, WAS making its way to Northampton for Parliament when, one April night, Mortimer came to Isabella's room. He undressed and climbed in bed beside her, but his words, as they so often were these days, were ones of business. “I think we should give that Despenser creature her lands back.”

  “Why on earth should we?”

  “The king and his council wish it, for one.”

  “Bother the council!”

  “Lady Despenser is not hated as her husband was, Isabella. She is a granddaughter of the first Edward, who unlike his son was held in high regard—”

  “You needn't remind me of that.”

  “She is a granddaughter of the first Edward, and there was respect for her brother as well. Many think it unfair that her sisters should have their lands and she have nothing because of the marriage her grandfather made for her.”

  “Fine, we give the creature back her lands. So what of her husband?”

  Mortimer looked at the queen as if she were slightly daft. “Despenser? Could he possibly be more dead?”

  “Her next husband, you fool! Do you think the heiress to Glamorgan will remain unmarried? She's only in her thirties. Aside from the land, she's amiable enough, and she's not unattractive, if you like orange cats. Some men do.”

  “She might take a vow of chastity. I have always heard that she was fond of that wretch Despenser.”

  “She wasn't fond of him; she adored him. I can't tell you how many times I have sat and listened to a litany of the virtues of Hugh le Despenser! But that doesn't mean that if a man was kind to her and her wretched brats, she wouldn't marry him. Hers is an affectionate nature, and I don't think she is averse to being bedded either.” She scowled. “I could smell him on her sometimes when she came to my chamber, fresh from his bed. The slut!”

  “Be that as it may, the king wants her to get her lands back, and as we are going to have to cram this Scottish truce down his throat, we ought to give way on this minor matter. After all, she has to get the crown's permission to marry, and after her spell in the Tower, I can't imagine her not getting a license.” He laughed. “And what's to stop me from finding a suitable husband for her? She might even do for one of my sons, for a first wife anyway. The wench has probably got some babes left in her, and a young man might appreciate some experience in bed, not to mention Glamorgan. I'll have to think about that.”

  “Very well. I shall tell Edward to give the order.”

  Mortimer settled back against the pillows more comfortably. “By the by, what shall we do about the bun in the oven Despenser left behind him?” Thomas Wake had kept quiet about the birth of Elizabeth le Despenser, but Mortimer had a spy or two among the guards, who had been more forthcoming. “Shall we help Hugh's salvation further along by bestowing another of his girls on the Church?”

  Isabella started to chew a fingernail, a bad habit she had developed since Edward's death. Mortimer slapped her hand, and she withdrew it from her mouth. Though she had spent many pleasant evenings picturing Lady Despenser's face when her girls were hauled away, the pictures were not so pleasant these days. One of the provisions of the proposed truce with Scotland was that her own daughter Joan, not quite seven, was to marry Robert Bruce's little son. It was a provision the queen could live with, especially as the Scots had promised the English twenty thousand pounds, but she did not look forward to telling the child that she was to go across the border to dwell with the man whom most Englishmen regarded as a mortal enemy. Nor did she look forward to parting from the girl. “Let the woman keep the brat,” she said irritably.

  From a table a little distance off, William la Zouche and Thomas Wake watched as the royal family and the earls of the land settled themselves at the king's high table after having spent the morning in Parliament. The man who took the place next to the queen, however, was neither royalty nor an earl, but Roger Mortimer, who seemed supremely unaware that he was lacking in either respect. “Getting more above himself every day,” muttered Thomas Wake. “Next thing you know, he'll be making himself an earl. Why, he's seated closer to the king than my father-in-law, and he the greatest earl in the land!”

  A week before, on May 4, 1328, King Edward had ratified the Treaty of Edinburgh. He had done so with no good grace and no free will. His sullen mood had been caught by his council, most especially the Earl of Lancaster and the earl's son-in-law, Thomas Wake. Not unnoticed either by the council was the fact that its role was increasingly an empty one; on all matters of importance, it was the queen and Mortimer who dictated policy, with scant regard for the opinions of the peers of the realm or for those of the king himself. It was, Wake muttered now, Hugh le Despenser all over again without the sodomy.

  Zouche shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Two days before, he had been appointed constable of the Tower of London and justice of the forest south of Trent, both positions recently held by Wake himself, and he knew well that this was a reward for his part in negotiating what was now being called the shameful peace. He himself thought of the peace as nothing shameful at all. It was a necessity, and though men on both sides, including perhaps himself, would lose land by it, it was surely better than more battles, more land laid waste, more men dead.

  At the same time, he disliked the way the peace had been foisted on the young king, for even before the king had ratified the treaty, Mortimer and the queen had seen to it that the peace was proclaimed in London as a fait accompli. And he disliked the sight of Roger Mortimer preening in his fine clothes at the high table—since Parliament began he had not been seen twice in the same robes—as much as did Thomas Wake.

  “I'm eating elsewhere,” announced Wake. “This Mortimer creature spoils my appetite. But who is this? Why, Zouche, it's your little widow, your rich little widow now. Out of mourning, too, and looking quite attractive. You'd better move fast, Zouche.”

  John Maltravers was leading Eleanor le Despenser toward the high table. She was indeed out of mourning, wearing a dark green gown that despite its modesty and relative simplicity displayed her curvaceous figure nicely. Her hair, pinned up about her ears, was so lightly covered by its netting that its red color was visible to all. Her face was expressionless as she neared the queen, but William could guess at the emotions she was feeling as she approached the woman who had left her a widow.

  Eleanor, at Northampton to give the king the homage and fealty required so that she could occupy her newly regained lands, had hoped that she might see the king in private, and she had certainly not wished to see his mother. But as she had no choice in either, she took a breath and let Maltravers lead her to t
he high table.

  As she sank to her knees before the queen for what seemed an interminable period of waiting, she quickly took in the sight of her uncle's supplanters. Mortimer she had seen but two or three times before he was shut in the Tower, but she had no difficulty in identifying him, for he was dressed more splendidly than any of the earls sitting at the high table with him. Isabella had grown only more beautiful since her departure for France years before. She had not put herself in any danger of being outshone by Philippa by dressing as became a dowager queen. Beside her mother-in-law in her elaborately embroidered and bejeweled robes and sparkling jewels, crownless Philippa looked no more than a prosperous merchant's wife.

  Just as Eleanor had been kneeling so long so as to border on ridiculousness, Isabella bade her to rise. Then the queen said charmingly, “You are looking well, my lady.”

  “Thank you, your grace,” said Eleanor warily. Under the shelter of her gown, she knocked her knees together to restore some feeling to them.

  “A bit thinner than you used to be, perhaps. But of course, you are no longer breeding Despenser's brats on a regular basis.” She frowned. “You are not in mourning, Lady Despenser. I trust you have not forgotten your husband.”

  Evidently it had not occurred to the queen that she herself was not in mourning. Eleanor said coolly, “I wore black for well over a year for my husband, your grace, but I dislike the color, and so did Hugh. It is no sign of disrespect to wear my other robes now, especially this one. It was his favorite.”

  “How charming.”

  Mortimer joined the fun. “Have you seen your late husband, Lady Despenser? On London Bridge?”

  “I have seen him.”

  “He adds a certain je ne sais quoi to it, does he not? I suppose you have not had an opportunity to view his quarters.”

  Eleanor could only shake her head.

  Mortimer was frowning. “York, Bristol, Dover… Help me, your grace.”

  “Carlisle,” prompted the queen.

  “Ah, yes. Carlisle. Thank you, your grace.” He smiled. “Now that you are free and wealthy, I suppose you will have the opportunity to make a leisurely tour of them. He certainly gives the lie to the cliché that a man cannot be everywhere at once.”

  “Stop!”

  All eyes turned toward Philippa, who blushed deeply. Her voice was firm, though, as she said, “Lord Mortimer, your remarks are cruel and uncalled for. I will not tolerate them in my presence.”

  Mortimer smiled indulgently at the king's young bride. “With all respect, my lady, you are unaware of whom I am addressing. This is the relict of your lord's great enemy, the man who played havoc with the kingdom and dishonored your gracious Queen Isabella.”

  “That may be, your lordship, but I will not have his widow abused for your sport.”

  Eleanor did not know whether the queen and Mortimer would have ventured into further sallies notwithstanding Philippa's intervention, for just then a trumpet announced the arrival of the king, trailed by a contingent of knights. At the high table, he paused beside the again-kneeling Eleanor. “You have come to swear your homage and fealty to me?”

  “Yes, your grace.”

  “You may do so now.”

  Eleanor placed her hands between the king's and spoke the required words. The formalities done with, he ordered her to rise, and she thanked him for restoring her lands. He shrugged and asked, “As the Lady of Glamorgan, that is where you are bound, I suppose?”

  “Yes. I shall settle first at Cardiff.”

  “I think you shall find all in order there.” Eleanor sensed that the king might have talked more to her were it not for the queen's eyes fixed on them. “Do take our meal with us before you leave. Good luck to you.”

  She curtsied and let Maltravers lead her to an empty seat, which turned out to be the one Thomas Wake had vacated in such disgust. Zouche, silently thanking the Lord for his luck, assisted her to it. “You are looking well, Lady Despenser.”

  “And so are you, Lord Zouche. I understand that you were in Scotland for us?” He nodded. “That was a great responsibility, sir. You should be proud of what you and the others achieved.”

  “Dancing to the Scots' tune was more like it, I fear, but we did the best we could.”

  “What was it like, seeing the Bruce?”

  “He was an impressive figure, even lying sick and sorely disfigured from his skin condition in his bed at Holyrood Abbey where we concluded the treaty. One could see how he could inspire men in battle. And all of his great leaders were there too.”

  “Even the Douglas?”

  “Even he. Odd, for such a warrior, he's rather docile in company. He didn't snatch a single baby and eat him when we were there.”

  Eleanor laughed. William added, “I did find going there to be interesting, having fought against these people for so long and viewed them as the devil incarnate. I'm glad to have a chance to talk with you now about it, my lady, because the English are so dead set against the treaty, I've felt as if I should keep quiet about it, as if being there were something to be ashamed of.”

  “Ashamed of! I wish my uncle had concluded such a treaty, and then my brother would have never died, perhaps. But my uncle thought, as did my grandfather, that it was his duty to conquer the Scots, and goodness knows such a treaty would have made him even more hated by the lords than he was.”

  She sighed. Zouche said, “Do you stay here at court long, my lady?”

  “No. My children—and my grandson, Lord Zouche, a fine boy—are at an inn where we stayed the night. If they have not torn the inn up, we will begin traveling to Wales this afternoon. Us and your namesake, Lord Zouche. I am afraid you sadly misjudged that dog's size.” She raised her hand to the level where her breasts swelled invitingly under her gown, not knowing the effect this had on the unfortunate Zouche. “He has grown this high.”

  “Perhaps I can visit him sometime, Lady Despenser.”

  “I would like that, Lord Zouche.”

  He offered to refill her wine goblet and she shook her head. “No, Lord Zouche, not after the display I made of myself the last time I was at court. I was bone tired from traveling, and the king refused all my petitions, and Maltravers was so hateful, and I was so miserable, I drank much more than I should have. Sir John de Grey had to help me to my room.”

  “Sir John?” said Zouche, stopping himself in time before adding, “That puppy?”

  “Yes. He was very kind.”

  William frowned. He hoped that Sir John had been chivalrous, but he could hardly ask. Had he not been, he supposed, Gladys would have beaten him to a pulp.

  Eleanor looked at the high table. Mortimer was holding forth about something, the queen watching worshipfully, the king scowling, and Philippa heroically stifling a yawn. Whatever Mortimer was speaking of, it was not intended for more than the ears closest to him, for everyone else at the high table was engaged in conversations between themselves. “I believe I can safely leave now, sir, without giving offense?”

  “I think so. Allow me to accompany you to your inn.”

  She nodded and they went out to await their horses. But it was the puppy, six feet tall with startlingly blue eyes, who came into view first. “Lady Despenser! I am pleased to see you again.”

  “Quite sober this time, Sir John.”

  And quite fetching, thought John de Grey. “Some of my estates are quite close to yours, Lady Despenser. Should you need a loan of anything while you are getting yours established again, my resources are at your disposal.”

  Zouche, who had been planning to make a very similar offer, was reduced to saying, “And mine too, my lady.”

  “I shall remember both of your kind offers.”

  “I suppose you will be setting off for your lands now?”

  “Yes. As I was telling Lord Zouche, my children are at the inn here, and they will be quite ready to go, I am sure. And the innkeeper will be ready to see them go, I suspect. Gilbert is as willful as they say his father was at his age,
and John and Lizzie and Edmund must explore everything they see.”

  Zouche scowled as he saw John de Grey happily absorb the information that Eleanor had young children and therefore could be reasonably expected to have more. Grey said cheerfully, “Perhaps I may accompany you to your inn, my lady? I should like your damsel to see that I am not the villain she took me for when I last saw her.”

  “Of course you may.”

  The double escort proceeded to the inn, John de Grey making light conversation that made Eleanor laugh, William making no conversation at all. The day being fine, Eleanor's youngest children and their dog were playing outside the inn, watched by their elder brother and sister and by Lady Hastings, Amie de Gaveston, and Gladys. Zouche's gloom lifted for a moment as he saw Lady Hastings, as yet unaware of the knights' approach, throw a ball to Gilbert with no mean aim. Gilbert caught it and then saw William. “Lord Zouche!”

  He bounded toward his mother and William, followed by the rather confused-looking dog, who had indeed grown much larger than William had predicted. “Did you hear, Lord Zouche? Mama has all of her land back from the king, and we can live on it anywhere we please now!”

  “I did hear, Gilbert, and I am very glad of it.”

  “And I have my own pony now. And look at Lord Zouche, Lord Zouche! Hasn't he grown? He can fetch now, at least when he feels like it.”

  It was now William's turn to feel smug as John de Grey looked puzzled. He took advantage of this by hastily dismounting from his horse and then assisting Eleanor off hers. If his hand lingered too long near Eleanor's waist, it was surely the horse's fault.

  Eleanor thanked him and introduced the two men to those they did not know. Edward looked at both Zouche and Grey with the utmost of suspicion, but the others greeted them politely. Zouche admired Edmund and Lizzie and reminded Eleanor that the latter had been only a bulge in Eleanor's belly the last time they met, a reference that discomfited Grey even more than the dog had. He was not easily defeated, however, for while William was having his beard pulled by Lizzie, Grey asked Gilbert, who needed no persuasion, to show him his new pony. Soon he was giving Gilbert, whose riding skills were indeed somewhat rusty, various hints, earning him a grateful accolade from his pupil's mother. “I am so glad you told him to use a lighter hand on the reins, Sir John. I have been telling him the same, but he will not listen nearly as well to me, though I have been riding since I was walking, almost.”