That evening my cousin brought the bishop of Hereford to pay his respects to the queen. Adam Orleton was a sharp-faced, grey-haired man with intelligent eyes. He was introduced as a long-time friend and supporter of my cousin.
‘What a pleasure, your grace,’ he said, settling himself comfortably in a chair. ’There are few sights more splendid than that of yourself. I am pleased God has delivered you to us in safety.’
Isabella inclined her head and smiled. She very much enjoyed praise.
‘I have spoken with Lord Mortimer,’ continued the bishop, ‘and he suggests there is an opportunity for us. Tomorrow I preach in the church of St Mary the Virgin and would like to agree with you some of the finer points of my sermon.’
Isabella looked amused. ‘And what text will you use, my lord bishop, to make these finer points?’
‘I thought from the first book, the book of Genesis. ‘I shall put enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy seed and hers.’
‘And she will bruise thy head,’ quoted Isabella.
‘You know your scriptures well, your grace,’ said the bishop.
‘Bien sûr. What is a queen for but to be learned in such matters?’
My cousin shifted himself impatiently.
‘Well enough for your scholars, Orleton, but it won’t do for the townsfolk.’
‘Patience, Lord Mortimer.’ The bishop dared to reprove my cousin which was not a thing many people did.
‘We don’t have time for patience.’
‘You deal in the blood of battle, my friend. I deal with men’s souls and the workings of their minds. My thrusts are fatal to the reputation of a man as yours are fatal to his human flesh. You need not worry. Between us we shall deal our enemy a mortal wound.’
‘How will you do that?’ enquired Isabella. She was enjoying the bishop.
‘I shall tell the congregation that Sir Hugh Despenser is the snake in the Garden of Eden, the seed of the first tyrant, Satan. I shall tell them he will be crushed by the Lady Isabella and her son, the prince.’
‘It is not enough.’ Isabella’s words were sharp.
‘In what regard it is not enough, your grace?’
‘To colour Despenser as a cruel tyrant is insufficient. For simple men you must paint him guilty of sins beyond their worst imaginings; those sins the church has forbidden to man. It is only in that way that you will stir their blood.’
‘Of course,’ said my cousin drily. ‘Fornication, my lord bishop and in this particular instance, I think, sodomy.’
The bishop looked in surprise at his queen. ‘You are certain, your grace? You do realise …’
‘Of course I realise,’ she snapped. ‘I am not a fool.’
‘I hardly think fornication is something to disturb the majority of your congregation, Orleton,’ said my cousin. ‘Perhaps the goodwives of Oxford might cover their ears but not the men. A sin more noteworthy for its commission than in its absence. Sodomy, on the other hand, will give great cause for concern.’
He touched Isabella’s hand. ‘If the bishop speaks about Despenser in this way, my lady, you know what men will say of your husband?’
She smiled at him but there was no warmth in her eyes. ‘The bishop may preach of bad advice given to my husband by both father and son. He may speak of their greed and their cruelty. But in this other matter, I will not have my husband named as the partner in sin of that vile creature who has destroyed my marriage.’
She turned to Edmund. ‘You and I shall write to the people, a proclamation in which the blame for these matters is laid at the feet of Sir Hugh Despenser and his father. There are those who still feel loyalty to the king and I would not see him maligned. I wish people to know I am a dutiful wife. In this way, with the bishop’s sermons and our proclamation, we shall bring all of England with us. Do you not agree?’
At Wallingford, which had once been Isabella’s town, the castle opened its gates when they saw us approach. Here we found my cousin’s son-in-law, Thomas Berkeley, the husband of my childhood friend, Meg Mortimer. He had been languishing in the castle prison for four years and was more than somewhat pleased to see us.
That same day Bishop Orleton preached an inflammatory sermon which threw Edmund into despair.
‘He should not have said it. He had no right. My brother is an honourable man. Misguided, foolish, weak - yes. But he is not a tyrant and he is not a sodomite. God knows what that creature Despenser may be. He may deal in foul practices but my brother would not.’
‘This is war, my love,’ I said gently as one might to a child. ‘The bishop only says what must be said.’
‘He is my brother, Margaret. They are painting him as a degenerate monster. I shall withdraw. I shall refuse to put my name to any of this.’
‘But Isabella’s proclamation says nothing about your brother. It is perfectly respectful. It lays all blame on the Despensers and says only that they have disinherited the king and his son by taking to themselves powers to which they had no right.’
‘You heard what Orleton said - “The head of a kingdom should be taken off.” What is that if not a command to kill the king? “Sick and diseased”. That’s what he called my brother.’
I did wonder if Edmund knew his brother as well as he imagined. We had never discussed the closeness of Sir Hugh Despenser to the king, but I knew secrets I would rather not tell my husband: words whispered in quiet corners by men who didn’t know they could be overheard, and private letters carelessly left in unlocked coffers that I’d read whilst spying for Isabella.
Despite the news that London was in uproar and the queen’s son, John, in the Tower with the Lady Eleanor Despenser, my cousin refused to allow us to be diverted from our main purpose. Sir Hugh and his father were said to be in the company of the king, heading for the Despenser strongholds of South Wales and that was the course we would take.
At Gloucester Isabella received a gift sent by the citizens of London: the blackened head of the bishop of Exeter nestling in a straw basket.
She stared impassively at the lifeless eyes and said carefully, ’I must thank the mayor for this act. It is an excellent piece of justice. He deserved to die. He was ever against me.’
I peered at the offering, noticing how the edges of the bishop’s neck had been severed, not cleanly by a sword or an axe, but by a rough blade. I backed away in horror wondering if Lady Eleanor was still alive or if she, too, had fallen into the hands of the mob.
From Gloucester we travelled through marshy wooded country to Berkeley where the castle was restored to Thomas Berkeley, and thence to the town of Bristol, where our men had Sir Hugh Despenser’s father, the elderly Lord Despenser, trapped inside the castle. It took eight days of siege and futile bargaining but eventually our men had the gates open and the old man in chains.
That same afternoon I stood watching as Isabella with her son led our men into the chamber for their first council meeting: Edmund and his brother Norfolk, Lord Henry with my brother Tom, Lord Beaumont, Bishop Orleton and those of his fellow bishops who were loyal to the queen, my husband’s friend, the archbishop of Dublin and three other men whose names I didn’t know.
‘Is this proper, my lord?’ I asked my cousin who stood at my side. ‘Is the queen permitted to hold a council meeting?’
My cousin turned his head to me. ‘She is. We had news this morning: the king and Despenser have left our shores. They took ship from Chepstow and were last seen heading out to sea. Now we must pray for a strong south-westerly, then we’ll have them.’
‘So we’ve won?’
‘Not quite yet but we have the advantage.’
‘Lord Edward! Keeper of the realm!’ I exclaimed, clapping my hands together.
My cousin laughed. ‘It is such a waste you being a woman. You may have been a little bwbach but you’ve twice the mind of your husband.’
&n
bsp; ‘Lord Edmund is a good husband to me.’
‘Oh I’ll admit he’s a fine man but he’s not like you, cousin. If I wanted someone at my side to advise me it would be you I’d choose. And yes, we shall have Lord Edward as keeper of the realm. Then we can get down to business.’
There was something very odd in all this. ‘My lord, why are you not with the others? Surely you have the right?’
‘I do, but I choose otherwise.’
My cousin was a clever man. From the beginning he had allowed Isabella to take the lead. This was her invasion, her revenge and this must be her council meeting. Lord Mortimer was merely obeying orders.
‘Does the queen not do your bidding?’
He smiled. ‘Let us say she takes my advice. She needs me. She has no idea how to manage these men. Without me they’d crush her to pieces.’
‘But she won’t always need you.’
He idly stroked his beard. ‘I think she will, cousin; I think she’ll need me for a very long time.’
On the day we left Bristol they took old man Despenser’s body down from the forked gibbet and fed it to the dogs. He had suffered a death well-suited to his crimes and nobody had shed a single tear: drawn for treason, hanged for robbery and beheaded for misdeeds against the church. A fitting end for a traitor.
We were headed for Hereford but the count of Hainault’s brother, Sir John, did not ride with us. He had been sent to London by Isabella, charged with holding the Tower in the name of the queen and with protecting her younger son. Soon he’d have the questionable pleasure of meeting Lady Eleanor Despenser.
In Hereford Isabella kept the feast of All Saints with great solemnity and then took her son to live with her in the Episcopal Palace as guests of Bishop Orleton. While the queen was praying, Lord Henry, who, since the council meeting now called himself “Lancaster”, made preparations. He gathered his men and, with my brother at his side, disappeared across the Severn in pursuit of Sir Hugh Despenser. Their quarry was rumoured to have suffered adverse winds and been forced to make land at Cardiff. This news caused Edmund to laugh immoderately and call for more wine.
We waited but the next arrival was, not the king, but a very weary abbot of Neath on a donkey. He was accompanied by two Welshmen and came with an important message: the king wished to talk terms. My cousin was adamant. He would listen to no-one, not Edmund, not the queen and certainly not the abbot.
‘No!’ he shouted. ‘No terms, no haggling, no concessions. Complete and total surrender. Nothing less. And I want both of them, not just Despenser.’
‘Surely he can allow the king come in on his own?’ I whispered to Edmund. ‘That way there can be a settlement between him and Isabella and we would have Sir Hugh Despeneser in chains before the day was out.’
Edmund looked miserable. ‘Despenser will have thought of that. He won’t let my brother go. He wouldn’t let him go to France to perform the homage and he won’t let him slip out of his hands now. He’ll not risk Isabella doing a deal behind his back. He’ll keep Ned by his side, with a knife if necessary.’
A few days later we were informed by my cousin that Edmund Fitzalan, the earl of Arundel and one of the king’s most stalwart supporters, had been taken. He was to be executed forthwith. There was to be no trial, just summary execution.
‘Surely that is wrong?’ I said to Edmund.
He shrugged. ‘Your cousin does what he likes. Haven’t you noticed?’
Edmund Fitzalan was the earl of Surrey’s brother-in-law and with his death only one earl remained loyal to the king and that was Lady Jeanne’s husband. I thought of her barely-concealed joy at her tentative reconciliation with the earl and her hopes for a new and prosperous life in England, and wondered if she regretted her decision.
Then came the news we’d all been waiting for: Sir Hugh Despenser had been captured and was, at this very moment, being brought in chains to the queen.
‘And your brother?’ I asked Edmund.
‘He is being escorted to the castle at Monmouth where Cousin Henry is waiting for him.’
‘What will happen to them?’
‘For Despenser: trial, humiliation, execution. For my brother?’ He laughed grimly. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I suppose once Despenser has been dealt with, the king and queen will have to decide how they are to restore their marriage and be husband and wife again. It won’t be easy.’
‘I’m not sure I would want you as a wife if you had taken up arms against me.’
I frowned. ‘No, I suppose not.’
We were both silent, trying in our own minds to reconcile the irreconcilable and imagine the unimaginable. Suddenly everything had become, not simpler, but more complicated
Dark clouds pressed lower when the day of retribution dawned for Sir Hugh Despenser. Isabella called her ladies together to ensure she was well-supported. When I arrived she was pacing the floor, clutching her hands to her breast and laughing gleefully.
‘If you will excuse me, your grace,’ I said politely, resting my hand on my belly. ‘I do not wish to attend.’
Isabella stopped her pacing and raised her eyebrows. The laughter vanished in an instant.
‘You do not wish?’ She jabbed her finger in my face and hissed. ‘Do you think I like seeing a man torn apart by the executioner? Do you think it gives me pleasure?’
Yes I did. Isabella might pretend to be above the enjoyment of watching a man suffer but I knew she’d been relishing the thought of what she’d do to Sir Hugh Despenser for more than twelve months. Now the hour was upon her, she could scarcely contain her excitement.
She was adamant. ‘As the wife of one who passed judgement on the traitor you will sit with me. And I would remind you, Margaret - this is your duty. Although as the daughter of a mere baron from who-knows-where, I wonder if you know the meaning of the word.’
‘I am fully aware of my duty, your grace, but I do not want my husband’s unborn child affected by such a spectacle.’
‘A spectacle?’
‘The smell and the noise,’ I said lamely.
‘Today your husband’s unborn child will learn what justice means. I came with God’s blessing to rid England of a traitor and that is exactly what I shall do. Remember that and pinch your nose.’
Then, noticing how whey-faced and weary I looked, she relented. ‘Very well you can sit with my women and hide your face if you wish.’
Sir Hugh Despenser’s crimes were read out to him at his trial but, like Earl Thomas nearly five years earlier, he had not been allowed to speak. Not that he was in any condition to do so. People said he had refused food and drink on the journey from Llantrisant and was intent on cheating the queen of her plans by starving himself to death. Knowing Isabella’s thirst for vengeance, in his position I would have done the same.
The crowd in the market square was vast and the noise overwhelming: clarions blaring, trumpets braying, shouts of “traitor”, roars of approval every time Despenser’s body was jolted on his final journey. If the crowd had had their way they would have torn him limb from limb with their bare hands before he even reached the gibbet, such was the hatred whipped up by his enemies.
They stripped him naked and wrote verses on his skin. If either the king or Lady Eleanor had ever looked upon Sir Hugh’s body with enjoyment, neither of them would do so now: white wrinkled skin, caved-in ribs, shrivelled member, stick-thin arms and legs, and buttocks scarcely worth a whipping they were so scrawny. His eyes were sunk into their sockets but he was still alive and that was all that mattered to Isabella. Live men suffer and she certainly meant Sir Hugh Despenser to suffer.
The verdict given out at the trial had sentenced him to be hanged as a thief, drawn and quartered as a traitor, beheaded for violating his sentence of exile and, because he was always disloyal and had procured discord between the king and his queen, he was to be disembowelled.
This was going to be a long and bloody affair.
From where I sat I could see Isabella’s eyes burn with excitement. She ran her tongue across the tips of her teeth and twisted her fingers together as Sir Hugh was hustled up the steps onto the gallows’ platform. He was shivering. So was she but I thought Isabella’s shivers were caused, not by cold or fear, but by a sensuous anticipation of what was to come.
‘We have waited a long time for this, Mortimer, have we not?’ she murmured to my cousin.
I gripped the rail on the front of the ladies’ platform and tried to squash the nausea rising in my throat. I told myself I was a countess and had no business behaving like a mewling girl.
First a rope was looped around Sir Hugh’s neck and, to a mighty roar from the crowd, he was hoisted into the air. His legs kicked and his body jerked while his face turned from white to red to dark purple and his eyes began to bulge. But the hangman was skilled at his craft, watching the twisting and turning with a practised eye. He knew just how long to leave his customer up there: long enough to make him suffer but not so long as to kill him. Sir Hugh was still alive, just half-choked.
Next the crumpled body was tied to the top of a vast ladder, fifty-foot high if it was an inch, and one of the men called for a fire to be lit. The executioner in his leather apron, climbed up the ladder until he was level with his victim, his little piggy eyes glinting with pleasure at the thought of what he was going to do. The man seemed to be enjoying this almost as much as Isabella. But many men enjoy their work; it is not unusual.
The clerk, who held the written instructions passed down by the trial judges, began to read the sentence. He shouted loudly so that everyone could hear.
‘You are a heretic and a sodomite, Hugh Despenser, and this is your punishment for involving our lord the king in your unnatural practices.’
The crowd groaned and swayed.
To a great cheer, the executioner removed a knife from his belt and brandished it in the air. At that moment I knew exactly what Isabella had ordered. I had heard of such mutilations upon a man’s person but had never thought to see it done. I wanted to look away but there was a fascination in seeing this particular man deprived of his manhood. Looking at him now, a twisted wretch, I could see how evil and depraved he really was, and I trembled at the thought of how close I might have come to falling victim to his cruelties.
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