‘Are you trying to tell me what I can and can’t do, Margaret?’
‘Not at all, your grace.’
‘Mortimer and I are agreed we cannot have the council making foolish decisions. They need direction and I shall give it.’
This was highly irregular and the bishops wouldn’t like it. Women didn’t belong on the council; their place was by the hearth or on their knees. Women were trouble and this woman, they were well aware, was more trouble than most.
Isabella hurried through unfamiliar ante-rooms, sweeping past startled servants and treasury clerks who weren’t expecting the queen. She was determined to reach the council chamber before the doors slammed shut and Lord Henry’s men barred the way. Luckily there was no unseemly argument on the threshold and Isabella sat down before anyone could raise an objection.
But matters did not run smoothly. Other than the clerks taking notes of the proceedings, there were twelve members of the council in attendance. My husband and his brother had their heads together smiling over some private joke while the earl of Surrey was whispering to Bishop Orleton. Facing the door in the position of maximum importance Isabella sat very upright in a high-backed chair, drumming her fingers on the table. She was dressed magnificently in crimson and gold. Old Archbishop Reynolds was stuttering and stammering, shuffling his feet beneath his robes while she fixed him with one of her iciest looks.
‘Would you care to repeat that my lord archbishop. I cannot believe I heard you properly.’ She was furious but her voice was deceptively calm.
‘Er, in the matter of your lord, Sir Edward, lately king of this realm.’
He stopped.
‘Yes.’ Isabella stiffened. ‘Please continue. What of my husband?’
‘Er, my brother bishops and I, feel that as your sentiments are clearly at one with ours, that your lord should receive the most abundant spiritual comfort and the tender devotion of his companion …’
His voice tailed away. We waited. The queen raised an eyebrow.
‘And?’
‘The gifts of a loving wife, the letters from one who is still in the utmost harmony with her lord, the genuine remorse felt by the …’
The old man was rambling but his intentions were blindingly obvious. He thought the queen should return to the conjugal embrace of her husband.
‘Er, we understand your reluctance to place your royal person in any temporal danger, my lady, and would never suggest such a thing, but perhaps the greater sin would be not to …’
‘Are you suggesting my lord archbishop that I should defy my son’s wishes?’
‘No, no.’ The archbishop twisted his hands unhappily. ‘Not at all. His grace’s wishes are … so, so … well, obviously. And then there is this other matter, my lady.’
‘What other matter?’
‘The privy seal of his grace, the king, my lady.’
I smiled to myself. I knew about the king’s privy seal.
‘It is felt that on occasions it may have been misused. Not intentionally, we would never say that, but perhaps er …’
‘Misused?’
The poor man was becoming more and more entangled in his words. They ran themselves round his tongue and came out of his mouth in an unintelligible jumble. He was clearly acutely embarrassed by what he was trying to say.
‘And some of my brother bishops feel your grace is perhaps a trifle too involved in matters concerning er …’
‘Are you accusing me of something?’
‘No, no, your grace. It is just a worry that such a thing might happen. It was felt that in our letter to His Holiness we should …’
Isabella put her hands on the arms of her chair and stood up. Everyone struggled to their feet.
‘I have had enough. I will not sit here and be slandered by my own archbishop. Do what you like. Write to whom you please. Say what you want. But remember to whom you owe your position and don’t imagine His Holiness is immune to persuasion.’
She swept out of the room and naturally I had to follow. I could hear a burst of talking in the room behind us as we disappeared down the length of the room back to the queen’s apartments.
Of course it was all true. Despite the king having his own rooms and his own people, Isabella kept him on a leading rein. She visited two or three times a day and imposed her will at every turn. Nothing happened in his royal rooms that she did not supervise or approve, and every document which passed across the king’s table also found its way into her hands. She used his privy seal as if it were her own and she dictated policy as if her son was just that - her son and not the king.
No wonder the bishops had had enough. Isabella was walking on dangerous ground but with my cousin’s support she feared nobody, not even His Holiness. And I asked myself again - where could it lead?
As for me, I knew my destination. The jolting up and down on our journey through the marshes had not improved the unsteadiness in my belly and I could no longer hide the truth from myself. There was going to be another child.
8
York 1327
It was early May when we rode into York and Isabella was in combative mood.
‘I have urged my son to send an affectionate request to Hainault. We shall ask Sir John to return with his men to give us assistance in our hour of need.’
My cousin choked. ‘You what?’
‘You heard me, Mortimer. Fighting is a waste of our money but if we are to campaign it will be a pleasure to have Sir John at our side. We shall welcome him with a magnificent banquet and my son shall have a new suit of armour.’
‘He has half a dozen already,’ muttered my cousin.
‘They are for tournaments, Mortimer, as you well know. For battle he will need something stronger, more burnished, something altogether grander. And the latest in bascinets. If he is to fight, my son must be well protected.’
At the end of May, Sir John of Hainault rode into York with five hundred of his men. He was in good spirits and eager to do battle once again for the beautiful Lady Isabella. He was a gust of warm wind sweeping up from the south as his army clattered through the streets of the city to the accompaniment of enthusiastic cheers from the crowds.
This time it wasn’t only my cousin gritting his teeth. Edmund said the English archers already lodged in the city were even less pleased to see the Hainaulters. They didn’t care for outsiders at the best of times and with a campaign in the offing, the idea of sharing the spoils with a bunch of lazy good-for-nothing foreigners was not to their liking.
Name-calling and late-night scuffles became commonplace and several fights got seriously out of hand with men left for dead in the alleyways. It got to the stage where I was nervous of venturing out from our lodgings for fear of tripping over a corpse.
We were lodged, as usual, in the house of the Black Friars, and this time because of my new exalted position, I shared three rooms with my husband instead of being relegated to a back stairs’ closet with Lady Abernethy.
But life was no easier because I was a countess. I was in despair over my wardrobe, trying to devise a suitable outfit for Isabella’s grand feast. The celebration in honour of Sir John and his Hainaulter friends promised to be a splendid affair. Isabella liked to do things properly and her hospitality would be lavish. All her women were ordered to be extravagantly gowned.
It was a problem to know which of my sets of robes to choose. Isabella outshone everyone so perhaps it didn’t really matter what I wore but I didn’t want to look like one of those forlorn and forgotten widows, fit only for a bench at the far end of the hall. Edmund was an important man and I must do justice to my position as his wife. I held up my new yellow silk kirtle, wondering if it would go well with the green damask outer gown, when my maid coughed.
‘My lady.’
‘What is it?’ I could have done without her interruption at such an important mo
ment.
‘It is the countess of Norfolk, my lady.’
My sister-in-law did not usually visit me at this time of day so I was surprised to see her slip into the room in a state of great distress.
‘Please,’ she said, clutching me in a childlike fashion. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘What is the matter?’ I said, detaching myself from her grasp.
‘It’s the countess of Surrey.’
‘Lady Jeanne?’
‘She said …’ The girl gulped and gasped and was unable to continue.
I sat her down and called for a cup of wine. I really didn’t want to spend my afternoon discussing Lady Jeanne’s scandalous stories but I recognised something in this young woman which disturbingly reflected my own situation. We had both been raised up by our husbands and I knew there were many women who thought we were both unworthy of our positions - her, obviously, more than me. I considered it a kindness to sit for a while and listen to her prattle.
‘Now,’ I said, smiling companionably. ‘Tell me what Lady Jeanne has said.’
Her eyes widened. ‘She told me the earl is seeking an annulment.’
‘The earl, her husband?’
‘Yes. She says he is faithless and has a mistress whom he wishes to marry.’
‘It has happened before and it will probably happen again,’ I said, wondering why Lady Jeanne was unable to hold on to her husband. ‘I’m afraid the earl is well-known for his amorous affairs and he and Lady Jeanne don’t seem able to live together in harmony. But he won’t succeed. He’s been trying to be rid of her for at least ten years and I’ve heard His Holiness won’t countenance it. Lady Jeanne has powerful friends and they will speak up for her. She is the king’s cousin and His Holiness will not want to offend the English king.’
To my surprise, she started to weep.
‘No, you don’t understand. It is not Lady Jeanne, it’s me! What if my lord wishes to be rid of me?’
I leaned forward and took her hand. It was tiny, just a warm little paw.
‘He won’t do that.’
‘Lady Margaret, I’m not clever like you. People say I’m stupid but I do know why my husband married me. I’ve always known. I was not a suitable match in any way but he and my father were both determined and I did like him so very much. I would have gone with him without the marriage but my father wouldn’t let me. So I became the countess of Norfolk and now my husband is tired of me.’
Tears rolled down her cheeks and I noted with envy how pretty she looked when she cried. There were no blotched cheeks or puffy eyes; she merely looked delightfully tragic.
‘I’m sure he’s not tired of you,’ I said, crossing my fingers against the lie.
‘Oh he is. I know he is. The first year we were married he came to my bed constantly but now he is rarely with me. I’ve always known there were other women but my father says that is the way of noblemen and it is no business of mine. But what if he has found a well-born lady and wishes to be rid of me?’
I considered the likelihood of Edmund’s brother discarding this poor girl in favour of a more valuable marriage. Brother Norfolk was not a good judge of his affairs, so Edmund said, constantly making unwise agreements with other men which turned out not to be to his advantage.
‘I think Lord Edmund would have told me if his brother had found someone else, ‘I said, trying to be kind yet not wanting to be untruthful. ‘I don’t think you need worry.’
I was sure she was the most accommodating of wives. She was not spirited but had a placid charm. She would always do exactly what a husband asked of her, seeing it as her duty. I knew Edmund liked her.
She looked up at me, her eyes brimming with tears.
‘I am so afraid. I have no powerful kin and it would be easy for him to put me aside. I’ve been told that men do it all the time.’
‘I think that is an exaggeration. It is an expensive matter to seek an annulment even when there is cause.’
‘Lady Margaret, what would you do if you were me?’
I thought her position far from strong. She had given brother Norfolk three children but if he had grown tired of her I wasn’t sure what she had to offer. Her family had nothing and she herself had little else to recommend her. And there was only one son.
‘You don’t refuse him, do you?’
She looked shocked.
‘Of course not!’
She was like a piece of old clothing, once desirable, now cast aside in favour of something new. Perhaps Edmund’s brother needed a woman with more to offer than this little wide-eyed mouse. Perhaps somewhere there was a secret mistress with a handful of bastard sons.
‘My lord is disappointed I am not carrying another child,’ she said, tears spilling over again. ‘It is three years since the last baby. He says one son is not enough and I must do my duty better. I try, Lady Margaret. I have been to Walsingham to pray for another son and I follow what I have been told by the midwife and by my ladies. I pray every night before I go to my bed but if my husband lies with other women what can I do?‘
‘As your father says, it is no business of yours. I think you should smile and stop worrying. Your husband won’t want to see a tearful face. Be merry.’
She looked doubtful.
‘Is that what you do, Lady Margaret?’
I smiled complacently. ‘I have no need to dissemble. Lord Edmund is a faithful and devoted husband; I am very fortunate.’
‘But I thought …‘
She looked embarrassed and didn’t finish what she had been going to say.
‘What did you think?’.
‘It was nothing but at the Christmas festivities my lord said …’
She stopped again and bit her lip. She raised her gaze to mine and I saw reflected in her eyes the compassion I felt for her. She was sorry for me because she believed my husband was unfaithful to me in the way her husband was to her. She saw us as sisters in our distress; both of us cast aside by our noble husbands tired of their impulsive marriages to lesser women.
The ground shifted uncertainly beneath my feet. What had she heard? Had Edmund’s brother mentioned things I didn’t know? Lady Jeanne said all men strayed, if not today, then tomorrow.
But Edmund was not like that, he loved me. He was faithful and steadfast, different from other husbands and our marriage was as secure as an iron-bound chest. I didn’t want to know what Lord Norfolk had said and I didn’t want to know what this young woman thought Edmund had done. He was my husband and I loved him. But a terrible doubt had crept into my mind and refused to go away.
I had brought nothing to our marriage other than myself yet Edmund had promised to hold me and not let me fall. But if Edmund was not faithful, I was diminished and if I was diminished I was no longer the person I thought I was. I would be nothing but a handful of earthshine and dust.
In the echoes a few thoughtless words by a foolish woman, I heard Dame Fortune laugh as she spun her wheel.
The king’s final attempts to agree a peace with the Scots failed, and by the middle of June Bruce was once again raiding our lands on this side of the border. Edmund and his brother Norfolk were appointed captains of the royal army under Lord Henry and the king would ride at the head of his men. This was his army and his first taste of war and he was as excited as any fourteen year-old boy would be in the circumstances.
In amongst the chaos of an army about to move it would have been easy to miss the horseman who rode under the gatehouse that evening. His horse was lathered and the rider exhausted. He flung himself out of the saddle and hurried up the steps. Curiosity got the better of me and I dispatched my maid to learn what she could. The days were gone when I could wander at will round the kitchens to discover what I wanted to know. Now I was too grand and no-one would talk to me.
‘He been riding five days wi’ no rest,’ she said, when she ev
entually returned.
‘Where was he from?’
She shook her head. ‘Cook said he were Lord Berkeley’s man but no-one were sure.’
‘Who did he go to?’
‘Lord Mortimer.’
I wondered what was so urgent that Lord Berkeley’s man needed to ride fast for five days to make delivery. It was a mystery like so much else of what my cousin did.
The following morning the royal army filed out of York on its way north to Durham. Trumpets blared and people cheered, as banners were hoisted aloft and thousands of red and white pennants fluttered in the cool morning breeze. The young king rode at the head of the procession and visible everywhere was his new emblem - the red cross of the warrior St George, the knight from Cappadocia.
I watched until the last man had disappeared and all that remained was a dark cloud of dust drifting into a distant haze. I had made a proper formal farewell to Edmund but, despite the reassuring touch of his glove and the warmth in his eyes, I was overwhelmed with fear. What if he did not come back? What if, like John, he fell under the Scottish pikes and I had to endure the rest of my life without him?
I wandered through the lofty rooms left empty by the king’s household where dozens of servants were cleaning. With most of the hangings removed there was very little remaining of a royal presence. I climbed the stairs to the solar rooms and from there up the stone steps to the door which led onto the upper walls. Here I had a view of the city below and the green hills and valleys beyond.
‘Looking for someone?’
It was my cousin. He was leaning against a wall, half in the shadows.
‘I thought you were gone with the others, my lord,’ I said, surprised to see him.
‘No, Margaret, I leave tomorrow. I have matters to attend to which cannot wait.’
Into my mind flashed the image of the mud-spattered rider of the previous day.
‘Matters more important than the Scots?’
He shrugged. ‘The Scots are unimportant. You might hanker after the lands your first husband had, but you know as well as I do that sooner or later we shall have to make peace. And a sensible man will make it sooner.’
The Queen's Spy Page 17