“Mortimer’s.”
As they pass a window he stops and shows her. They fly Edward’s Plantaganet banners even while they lay siege to his castle. The fields beyond the suburbs are an armed camp.
“My barons are threatening to burn London from Charing Cross to Westminster. Lancaster leads them. It is just like old times.”
Later that day she gives birth to a daughter. She is easier won than the others, gentle Joan. Isabella had thought little Edward would kill her; she had heard a lion roar in the king’s menagerie when he was born. When Joan comes, there is just the warbling of doves in the apple trees below the tower.
Chapter 27
“My Lord Pembroke.”
Pembroke has a new wife, is just recently returned from France. He had hopes to spend the summer starting a new son and heir but instead here he is again, trying to mend fences between his king and his lords.
He bows, all grace and inexhaustible patience. No wonder Edward forgave him for Gaveston. “Your Grace, I was overjoyed to hear the news that you were safely delivered of a daughter.”
“Thank you, my lord Pembroke. And I believe I should congratulate you also, on your new wife. You have chosen well.” Indeed, her grandfather had been Henry the Third. “We are glad to see you safely returned.”
“I wish we had come back to England at a more fortunate time.”
“You have spoken to the Marchers? Perhaps you might ask them to remove themselves from London.”
“Well, Your Grace, that is why I am here.”
“They wish my husband to forego his new chamberlain. What does he say to that?”
“He does not seem well disposed to it.”
“Would you, if you were king?”
“There is one who might bring him to see the sense in it.”
“And who is that?”
Pembroke smiles. There is a wealth of meaning in his every expression and she now understands what he is here for. She hands young Joan to Lady Vescy and begs them all leave her in peace with Lord Pembroke.
“I cannot ask it of him,” she says when they are alone.
“You must.”
“He is King of England. No one ever asked my father to exile any of his advisers.”
“Your father never allowed any one man to so dominate his affairs.”
Isabella stares at Pembroke; a shrug here, a puff of the cheek there. Everything he does is an appeal for accommodation among reasonable men in a kingdom where such a man does not exist. And so he has come to her.
“He will hate me for it.”
“On the contrary, it will help him save face. If you plead on behalf of England he can acquiesce and not lose his honour.”
“This is rebellion.”
“They claim they march under the king’s banner. They say it is Despenser they wish removed, not the King.”
Isabella considers: if she does this, it will make her pre-eminent. Should he listen to her at such a time it will prove to her, and to him, that she is indispensable. Isn’t that what she wants?
Isn’t this what he needs?
“It is the only way out of this for us all,” he says.
She nods. He is right. She will try.
* * * * *
“No,” Edward says. “I have made a vow. I shall never give in.”
She sees the pleading in his eyes. He wants a way out of this, but he also wants to win. He has never won before and he is so tired of losing; losing to the Bruce, losing to the barons, losing to his dead father.
She sees that Mortimer was wrong about the Despenser; it is not the same as it was with Gaveston. This time it is the principle of the thing.
He stamps from his throne and waves a document at her, at his entire court, evidently it comes from Lancaster. “He says my chamberlain bars my magnates from my presence, that he alienates me from my people. To which people do you think he refers? This from a man who sets himself up at his castle like a foreign prince in my place!”
Edward is so angry he is frothing. He throws the document in the rushes where a secretary rushes to retrieve it. We cannot have the dogs sniffing at the correspondence.
“Mortimer says he wants my chamberlain and his father and all their servants gone from my palace or he will relinquish his homage and set up another in my place. That is treason!”
He is wild-eyed. The Despenser - and for all this talk about Young Hugh, he is in truth several years older than Edward - moves to console him, places a hand on his arm and begs forbearance but the King brushes him away.
“You wish me to negotiate with traitors?”
There is a silence in the Great Hall. Even Pembroke is cowed by Edward’s temper. But he manages: “Your Grace, I beg you. He perishes on the rocks he that loves another more than himself.”
It is at this moment that Isabella rushes forward and falls to her knees in front of him, before Pembroke, before the king’s bishops, before the king’s court. “My Lord, they threaten to depose you and put Lancaster on the throne. I beg you, make this sacrifice for the sake of the people.”
Edward sees her on her knees and is astonished. “The people?”
“It is the people of England who need this peace. Do not do it because of their army, do not do it for fear of their arrogance and their infidelity. Do it to spare us from tyrants. Do it for England.”
Edward sees his salvation. He takes her gently by the arm and raises her to her feet. “You do not have to do this,” he whispers.
“But you do.”
She sees the Despenser glaring at her over her husband’s shoulder.
“He does not love you like I do.”
He knows who she means. “What do you suggest?” he says.
“Play for time. If you will fight you must fight on your own terms. That time is not here, and it is not now.”
He leads his queen to the dais and sits her again on her throne. He bends his knee and kisses her hand. Pembroke raises an eyebrow, impressed. Even the bishops smile. Everyone seems relieved but the young Despenser and he no longer matters to her now.
* * * * *
Edward summons Mortimer and Lancaster and Hereford and the rest to Westminster Hall. He sits stony faced on the throne and tells them that the Despensers will be sent away within the month. Lancaster grins and claps Hereford on the back. He does not even have the grace to appear magnanimous. Only Mortimer betrays no expression, he catches Isabella’s eye just once and she looks away.
The earls all fall then on their knees and he pardons them for what they have done. His voice shakes. He sounds as if he is going to choke on a bone.
That night he comes to her bed but he does not blow out the candle and he does not try to caress her. He lies quite still in the darkness and when she reaches for him he squeezes her hand and holds it to his chest.
“You must help me,” he says.
“Anything. What is it you wish?”
“This cannot stand.”
“You did what you must. There will be another day.”
“You have said this to me before but I am tired of waiting for the right moment. This time I must make the right moment.”
“You have a plan?”
“Just say you will do it.”
“My loyalty to you is absolute.”
“Good,” he says and rolls on his side and sleeps. She lies awake, staring into the darkness.
Chapter 28
There is a mist on the river and the way is lit by torches. The clip of their horse’s hooves are muted by the fog. Though it is summer it is cold tonight, the landing chosen because so few eyes can see them.
The ship is pulled up at a long jetty and she and Edward are escorted aboard. She wrinkles her nose at the reek of mud. There is a planking laid across to the deck and her ladies help her across it. She is wrapped in a long hooded cloak. She sees rough-looking men without uniforms stare back at her.
The Despenser does not look as he did when he was the king’s chamberlain. He has a thin beard now and
rough clothes and shouts orders as if he has been a privateer all his life. The king’s chamberlain now makes his way in the world now by running this pirate ship out of Bordeaux. He has recently plundered a Genoese vessel and helped himself to five thousand pounds in treasure. Whatever else they say about him, he knows how to make a living.
They go below to a cabin, dim lit with oil lamps and candles. He gets out the wine. She refuses, but the king doesn’t.
He outlines his plan and the king is enthusiastic. They look to her. She agrees for she has given her word to the king that she will do it. She wants to see him win and if she must use this silken ruffian to do it, then so be it.
* * * * *
Isabella and Edward return to the Tower just before dawn. The fog has cleared, apparently at the king’s command, and as they enter the Watergate, the white tower shines in the moonlight. She hugs the cloak tighter around her shoulders.
“He is no threat to you, Isabella.”
“I have your word?”
“You are my queen. No one can ever replace you.”
His hand reaches for hers. She is reassured and all doubts are cast aside.
Chapter 29
Leeds Castle, Canterbury, Kent
The wake made by a pair of white swans ripples the black lake around the castle. Helmeted men watch them from the crenulated towers. Isabella leans from her litter, her breath clouding on the damp evening air.. Her sergeant races to attend her.
“You sent word ahead, requesting lodging?”
“Yes, your grace.”
“Then why are the gates not open to us?”
“Lord Baddlesmere is not inside, Your Grace.” She knows this, he is with Mortimer and Lancaster, had joined the conspiracy against the King, though he hardly had choice in the matter, his daughter is married to Mortimer’s son. His absence was the reason Edward sent her here, though the rest of the world thinks she is on a pilgrimage to Canterbury.
“Lady Baddlesmere has told the escort that her husband left her firm orders to permit entrance to no one.”
“The Queen of England is hardly no one.”
This intransigence is just what Edward has hoped for; how could Lady Baddlesmere be sure that Isabella was not here to take possession of the castle in the King’s name? Despenser was an astute man, when all was said and done, as well as a passably adept pirate.
“Go back to the gate, tell her the queen requires lodging for the night.”
Her sergeant hesitates. “If she refuses?”
“Tell her.”
He leads two dozen of the royal escort across the isthmus and up to the castle gates. He shouts her request to the guard on the tower of the gatehouse. She cannot hear the reply but it must be a refusal for her sergeant shouts the request a second time.
A moment later, he pitches back in his saddle, an arrow through his throat. He tumbles to the ground and his horse rears up. More arrows arc through the mist and two more men go down. Trapped on this narrow neck of land the rest cannot avoid a second volley and in moments a dozen of her men lay dead or groaning in front of the gates of Leeds Castle.
The survivors gallop back. The blood drains from her cheeks. One thing to plan a provocation, another to see good men die because of it.
She lets the curtain drop. Several of her ladies are squealing in fright.
I have done my duty to my husband.
She imagines her father smiling and nodding, this is how he would have done it. He would be proud.
Two days later Pembroke’s banner appears outside the priory where she has retired with her surviving escort. The earl’s men clatter over the stone bridge mounted on destriers, war horses.
She comes out to the cloister to meet him. He sweeps his mail coif from his head and tosses it to his man. He kneels.
She counts fifty men at his back. “Is that all you have to take Leeds Castle?”
“Your Grace there are thirty thousand men over that hill. Lend your ears closely and you will hear them.”
He was right. She hears drums on the wind and the tramp of feet, though faint. But thirty thousand?
“You exaggerate, my Lord Pembroke, that is not like you.”
“It is the truth. The whole country is outraged at the way you have been mistreated. They have risen to your cause as they have never have risen to Edward’s. All of London is with me, and Norfolk, Kent, Surrey, Arundel. And how many are there inside the castle? They will sh ... they will be terrified when they see us.”
“What of Lancaster and my lord Mortimer?”
“I have parlayed with them and they know their cause is lost. They are running back to Shrewsbury. But there is no place for them to hide now. Shall we to Leeds?”
Chapter 30
Tonbridge Castle
Edward’s face shines as if he has experienced divine revelation. He has endured their humiliation for ten years. Now he has his moment and he is going to draw from it in full measure.
““Isabella!” He takes her in his arms when he sees her. She is the key now, while his earls would not go to war for their king over the many insults thrown at him, it takes just one against the queen and the whole country is on his side.
“It worked,” she whispers.
“Thanks to you,” he beams at her. “See how they fear their king now!”
He cannot stop moving. He sits, he stands, he goes to the window and then sits again. He has been so long bowed by defeats that it is as if he has been unchained.
“What of Mortimer and Lancaster?”
“Running like rabbits back to their rat nests in the Welsh sloplands. This time they shall not escape. Now I have an army to pursue them.”
This is more like a king. Now she may truly be a queen again.
Soon he is out of the tent, organising the siege of Leeds castle and congratulating Pembroke and Surrey though they have done nothing yet.
* * * * *
The swans have gone and there is ice on the lake. Lady Baddlesmere's soldiers watch their vast army take up position around the walls. She can imagine what they must be feeling.
On a crisp December morning soon afterwards, Lady Baddlesmere surrenders the castle to the king. It is Edward’s first victory. He finally knows what it is like to win.
The constable of the castle and a dozen of his men are led out in chains and Edward supervises their execution. When the last is finished jerking on his rope Lady Baddlesmere and her children are brought out in chains and hustled into a carriage.
Isabella is there and sees it all. For a moment their eyes meet. Lady Baddlesmere looks frightened and confused. She has done her duty by her husband and her reward is to be imprisoned in the Tower at the king’s pleasure.
In later years Isabella will look back on this moment and curse it. This is when the king changed. From this very moment everyone in England will pay for what happened to the only one he had ever loved.
“You did this for me,” he says to her.
“I did as you asked me. I am always your dutiful queen.” She cannot banish the image of Lady Baddlesmere dragged from her castle in chains. It terrifies her.
“I am bringing Perro back from exile.”
“Lord Despenser, you mean?”
“Yes, Hugh, that’s what I said. He will soon be back here at my command. They will never dictate my friends to me again.” He grins but his eyes are cold. “There shall be more kisses of peace. They have put my face to the dirt enough times, now they shall all taste the earth.”
* * * * *
Pembroke looks frail; the hard roads of England have taken a toll on him and he looks more ready for a place by the fire and a blanket than riding after Edward’s enemies. He bows stiffly. He is tired of it all.
“How are my husband’s fortunes?”
“He has taken Mortimer,” he says.
“He surrendered?”
“There was nowhere left to run. I tried to make terms for him as best I could. I told him that if he came freely to the king he would be p
ardoned and his life would be spared.”
“Why should you offer such a thing?”
“He never rose against Edward, only against Despenser.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“I gave my word.”
As he had given it to Gaveston. This old man never learns a thing from his own history, she cannot imagine how he has survived so long in the hurl burly of English politics. “Where is Mortimer now?”
“Edward has had them both put in chains and thrown in prison. Mortimer and his father are to be tried for treason. The king has confiscated his lands and arrested his wife and children, his daughters are all sent to nunneries. It is a harsh fate.”
“Taking an army against your king is a harsh decision.”
“He felt he had no choice.”
Isabella steps closer. “You sound as if you have sympathy for him.”
“I understand his reasons even if I do not agree with them, Your Grace.”
“What of my uncle Lancaster?”
“Fled north. He now calls himself King Arthur and says that he champions the common man of England against a king gone mad. Some say he is hoping the Bruce will provide protection.”
“Then he is the one who is mad.”
“The king asks that you send to your brother in France to seek assistance in his travails against Lancaster.”
“That is not possible. My brother Phillip is dead. Charles is the new heir but not yet crowned.”
“Dead?” Pembroke looks shocked. She knows what he is thinking; since the Templar Grand Master shouted his curse at his execution her father and two of her brothers had died. It is a black and savage magic, this.
“I shall send messages to the sheriff at Westmoreland and have him assemble his army, ensure Lancaster cannot reach Scotland. Lancaster must not escape my husband’s displeasure.”
Pembroke is about to speak, thinks better of it.
“What is it, my Lord?”
Isabella: Braveheart of France Page 11