The Traitor's Wife Read online

  Still, Eleanor was pleased to see her, and she was hurt, therefore, when Elizabeth did not appear to be quite as happy in return when Eleanor arrived after dusk on the fourth of February, having traveled rather slowly by chariot, as she always did when she was with child. Perhaps it was because Eleanor had arrived without warning, having had no time to send a messenger, and Elizabeth was not one to like the unexpected. She quickly recovered her good manners, however, especially after seeing that Eleanor was accompanied only by Gladys and a few attendants, and soon the sisters were sitting cozily by a fire together, sipping wine. Eleanor's condition, which was visible once she removed her heavy cloak, provided a natural topic of conversation, and from then they could move on smoothly to discussing their children. William, nearly four, had been left behind in Ireland in the care of his uncles, and Eleanor's three children were at Loughborough. Next, Eleanor was careful to ask Elizabeth about her charitable work, for good works had always been a feature of her sister's daily lists. She listened meekly, feeling completely frivolous, as Elizabeth modestly spoke of the friary she had founded in thanksgiving for William's birth. Eleanor gave the small priory of Wix, on one of her husband's estates, money and goods from time to time, but she could hardly match Elizabeth in this respect.

  “This is where our grandfather imprisoned Ralph Monthermer after he married our mother, you know,” said Eleanor finally as the sisters' conversation lagged.

  “Eleanor! What a depressing thought.”

  “I am sorry; it just occurred to me. But Lord Monthermer doesn't find it depressing anymore, so you shouldn't. He regards the whole escapade as quite humorous now.”

  “He was always rather light-minded.”

  “Oh, I think he just makes the best of things. He was a great comfort to me when Gilbert died. And speaking of Gilbert, have you heard from Maud?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “She might have written to her father from time to time"—Maud was a daughter of the Earl of Ulster—"but he did not mention it to me. With his troubles in Ireland he scarcely has time to care whether she is pregnant or not. I understand your husband is pressing for a partition.”

  “Yes, Hugh is working very hard to see that we get our shares soon. We will all owe him our gratitude when it is taken care of, for he has been very conscientious in pursuing this matter.”

  “Of course, he wants to be Lord of Glamorgan.”

  “Well, yes, what man would not?” Feeling rather guilty that as the eldest sister, she would surely get the best lands, Eleanor hastened to change the subject. “Tell me, how long does the king plan to have you stay here?”

  “Not long, I hope.”

  “Perhaps you can come back with me to Loughborough. There is no particular need for you to remain here, is there? I am sure our uncle will not mind. Or perhaps until things are settled in Ireland again you can travel with the queen's household, as Margaret does now. Or—”

  “Eleanor! So many plans you are making for me in one breath! I should like to rest here a few days before I do anything, thank you; the crossing was a rough one.” Elizabeth half-suppressed a yawn.

  Eleanor took the hint. “It is late, isn't it? I will leave you, then, to rest.”

  She kissed Elizabeth on the cheek, and Elizabeth reciprocated in a friendly enough manner. Then Eleanor followed her page to the chamber that had been prepared for her, where Gladys sat yawning over a prayer book. As it was indeed late, within minutes after climbing into bed, she was fast asleep.

  It was very early in the morning when she heard frantic voices outside her bed curtains. “Lady Despenser! Is your sister here with you?”

  Dazed with sleep, Eleanor looked around her several times before replying, “No, why do you ask?”

  “She's gone, my lady! No one has seen her since last night.”

  “She is probably in the chapel, have you checked there? My sister is very punctilious in her religious observance.”

  “'Twas the first place we looked, my lady.”

  “I know! She has probably gone to the cathedral to pray. She has been cooped up in Ireland so long, and it is most beautiful.”

  “My lady, that has been thought of also. She is not there, and no one there has seen any sign of her.”

  “Good Lord! Then where can she be?”

  Search parties were promptly sent out in all directions, but their mission was a short one, for by late afternoon, a squire had arrived at Bristol Castle, where he asked particularly for Eleanor. “My lady, I come from your sister. She begs your pardon if you and the others here have been worried, and she asks that she be pursued no longer.”

  “What in the world has happened to her? Is she safe?”

  “Quite safe, and with a protector. You see, she was married this morning to my lord, Theobald de Verdon.”

  At Lincoln, Roger Damory and Hugh d'Audley gave each other sour looks, for with only one single Clare almost-heiress remaining, who would be the lucky man?

  Theobald de Verdon, facing the possibility of abduction charges, journeyed from Alton to Lincoln, where he maintained in front of the king's council that he had been betrothed to Lady Elizabeth de Burgh, whom he had met during his own recent stay in Ireland. The lady would have waited for the king's license, he explained gallantly, but being uncertain of her future in England, had reluctantly agreed to walk outside Bristol Castle late at night, where Theobald was waiting with a snow-white palfrey and a wedding ring, and elope with him. As nothing indicated that the lady had been taken by force or violence, the king let the matter drop, settling for collecting the usual fine imposed on the impetuous who wed without license. Theobald, a widower with three little girls, went back to his bride and daughters in the best of spirits.

  There were other matters, in any case, bedeviling those at Lincoln. Though as the leading adherent of the Ordinances, Lancaster might have been expected to be at Parliament, nearly half of February had come and gone before he put in an appearance there. Trouble, however, had not waited for the Earl's arrival. In late January, under the leadership of one Llywelyn Bren, the Welsh in Glamorgan, upset at the actions of the royal administrator who had been given custody of the land after Gilbert de Clare's death, had surprised the sheriff of Glamorgan while he was holding a lordship court at the gates of Caerphilly Castle. They had killed a number of the officials attending the court. Though they could penetrate no farther into the castle, the surrounding area had been devastated, and the Countess of Gloucester, who had been living in the castle, was trapped there. “With a midwife, I trust,” Hugh had said when he heard the news.

  Had the countess not been playing her tricks, Glamorgan would have been his. And the countess was winning for now. Hugh had gone before Parliament and pointed out, in his politest voice, that Maud had been claiming pregnancy for over a year and a half, twice the time any other woman took to bear a child; that any child born eleven months after his father's death would be presumed illegitimate; that Maud had not been seen in public in months. Surely she could not be with child?

  He was met with the response that the countess's pregnancy was well known in the parts where she was living. (By a bunch of mad Welshmen, Hugh thought, but did not utter aloud.) That he should have obtained a writ from chancery to have the countess's belly inspected by discreet knights and matrons to see if she were indeed with child, and that Hugh's negligence in this regard should redound to his loss and prejudice. That the king had nominated certain men, well versed in civil and canon law, to advise him on the matter, and that they could not reach a final decision because of the case's difficulty and rarity. Because of this, no action would be taken now, but Hugh and Eleanor could bring the matter again before the king and his council at the Easter term.

  “I will have a man examine the woman's belly if Parliament wishes,” said Hugh testily. “Llywelyn Bren!”

  As Parliament dragged on, Hugh grew tenser and more irritable each day, alarming his father, for however many Hugh's faults were, ill temper was generally not one of th
em. These days, however, he brooded over the situation in Glamorgan and muttered dark threats about what he would like to do with Llywelyn Bren, and darker ones about what he would like to do with the Countess of Gloucester. “Hugh!” his father reproved him after a particularly scabrous tirade. “Your mother would turn in her grave to hear a son of hers speak so.”

  Hugh snorted as father and son made their way from their lodgings to Lincoln Cathedral, where Parliament had been holding its meetings. “Mother would have scratched the bitch's eyes out by now, Father.”

  “That may be so, but can you at least hold your tongue as we approach the cathedral? It is a house of the Lord.”

  “I'm fed up with this nonsense! Most of all, I'm fed up with this king of ours. How can he let this drag on like this? He's well content enough, I suppose, with those pretty boys Damory and Audley to keep him happy—”

  “Hugh, for God's sake curb your tongue!”

  “Let the king curb his!”

  “Hugh!” The elder Despenser decided, desperately, that it was time to change the subject. “Did I tell what happened to Berenger?”

  Ingelram Berenger was one of Hugh the elder's closest friends. The younger Hugh looked at him as something of a father. He softened when his name was mentioned. “No, what?”

  “John de Ros tried to have him arrested.” Hugh chuckled; he had not taken the episode very seriously. “Some land dispute. Ingelram sent his men packing, I'll tell you. He said— Hugh?”

  Hugh had stormed ahead of him and entered the cathedral, where the king was standing chatting affably with Montacute, Damory, and Audley. (The King's Three Lapdogs, Hugh privately called them.) Edward smiled at him, but Hugh ignored him, looking around until he found the man he sought. “Lord Ros. Might I have a word with you?”

  “Certainly.”

  “What do you mean, arresting my father's man Ingelram Berenger? What gives you the right?”

  “It is my dispute with him, Despenser, and none of your concern.”

  “It is precisely my concern, when you meddle with my father or his men. Now tell me. What makes you fancy you have the right to arrest him?”

  Hugh the elder caught up. “Hugh—”

  “Leave me, please, Father. I intend to have this blackguard talk to me. Tell me!”

  Ros snorted. “Despenser, just because your marriage to that little redhead of yours hasn't brought you the land you hoped for gives you no right to manage my affairs. She must be good in bed, with that hair. Let that be some consolation to you.”

  Hugh struck Ros across the face, drawing blood. Though the men were closely matched in terms of height, weight, and age, Hugh was by far the better fighter on his feet, having had practice in his pirate days, and he was taking months of frustrations out on his opponent besides. Ros was at last able to knock Hugh to the ground, but Hugh quickly got to his feet and began to lunge toward Ros again. The better swordsman of the two, Ros pulled his weapon and rushed toward Hugh, who had no time to draw his own. It seemed that Hugh was doomed; then, at the last possible minute, he leapt aside. As Ros's sword swished at the empty air, the king's sergeants at arms ran forward and put both young men under arrest.

  “Learned that from the Bruce himself,” Hugh said as his father, who had been all but dead with fear for his son's life seconds ago, hurried forward to Hugh's side.

  If the king had intended to give Hugh a part in the reclaiming of lands that even the most stubborn defenders of the Countess of Gloucester had to admit would someday be his own, his unseemly fight with John de Ros in Lincoln Cathedral changed his mind. Instead, the Earl of Hereford was appointed to subdue the Welsh rebellion, along with William de Montacute; the Earl of Lancaster's younger, better-natured brother, Henry; Bartholomew Badlesmere; Roger Mortimer of Wigmore, the man whom Eleanor thought of as the odious Mortimer; and Mortimer's uncle, Roger Mortimer of Chirk. By March, Llywelyn Bren, facing certain defeat and not wishing to be the reason for a slaughter of his followers, gave himself up and was sent a prisoner to the Tower. The Countess of Gloucester, wrapped in a voluminous cloak, had been freed from Caerphilly Castle and sent safely to Cardiff.

  Meanwhile, in March a charmingly written letter arrived for Eleanor, from the queen. It had been so long since Eleanor had been at court. Wouldn't she like to pay a visit to her queen for Easter? Recognizing a sugared command when she saw one, Eleanor set her servants to packing.

  Hugh, who like John de Ros had been jailed for a short time and fined ten thousand pounds for his parliamentary antics, had prudently decided to stay away from court for a time, but Eleanor's children had been invited to join her. Little Edward was too young to make the trip in Eleanor's opinion and would stay in Loughborough with his nurse. He bid her good-bye with the utmost gravity, for he was the most serious child Eleanor had ever seen, the opposite of his elder brother, who was finding it hard to contain his excitement about visiting the court and his old friend Adam. Since daybreak he had been in the stables, pestering Eleanor's men with questions about when the chariot in which they were to travel would be ready. Isabel's governess, upon hearing that her three-year-old charge was to meet the queen, had been frantically trying to teach Isabel to execute a perfect curtsey, and Isabel proudly showed her grandfather her new skill over and over again before their departure.

  Seven months pregnant, Eleanor settled back in the chariot cushions, feeling not for the first time a twinge of guilt as she contemplated the contrast between herself and her children, warm in their furs and lap robes, and the ragged passersby she saw as they slowly made their way toward Langley and the king. The year 1315 with its constant rains had been a miserable one for England, bringing famine in its wake as crops were ruined, and 1316 had thus far been more of the same. People were dying on the roads, yet Eleanor had noticed little change in her own standard of living, nothing that could not be dealt with by a bit more frugality on the part of her husband's and her father-in-law's stewards. Were she one of the pathetic wenches she saw standing along the road, clutching whimpering babies, what would she have thought of the cosseted lady in her chariot, who had never wanted for anything in her life? Envy? Hatred? Eleanor sighed. At least her almoner had come along on the journey, and he was staying busy.

  Eleanor had not seen the king or the queen for some time, and when she arrived at Langley and was conducted to the royal couple, she was struck anew by the queen's loveliness. At age twenty, Isabella was prettier than she ever had been, and her outer radiance was matched by inner satisfaction, for as Eleanor soon learned, she was expecting another child in August. This news had had a visible effect on the king, whose usual optimism had been much taxed by the dreadful battle of the Bannock Burn and the famine that had come in the following year. He had wondered if Gaveston's death had not brought England under some sort of curse, which extended to the queen's womb, for he had visited the queen regularly since the birth of Edward, the Earl of Chester, with no results until now. His good humor was much augmented by the departure from Langley by Lancaster, who had visited for a day or so to report on the activities of the council and then taken himself off to spend Easter on his own estates, where Edward liked him best.

  With the queen, and receiving the beautiful green, miniver-trimmed and -lined robes issued to a select few that Easter, were not only Eleanor, but the Countess of Hereford (Edward's slightly older sister Elizabeth), the Countess of Warwick, and the Countess of Cornwall. Eleanor thought this group a singularly ill-assorted one, as the first two countesses' husbands had destroyed the husband of the third countess, but the ladies were being perfectly polite and gracious to each other, though they seemed relieved at the arrival of Eleanor, whose husband had played no role in the Gaveston business. They all admired sturdy young Hugh, who spent only a few minutes in the grasp of the ladies before bolting to search out Adam, and Isabel, who curtseyed a full seven times before being taken off by her nurse to play with the Earl of Chester.

  Once the children had left the room, Elizabeth de Burgh's r
unaway match to Theobald de Verdon became the chief topic of conversation among the ladies, who were working on baby clothes for the expected royal arrival, clothes that would be embroidered so beautifully that it seemed almost a pity to expose them to the depredations of a baby. “Surely she could have done better,” said the Countess of Hereford. “Who is this Theobald de Verdon?”

  “He was justiciar of Ireland for a time,” said Eleanor. “He is not a mere nobody; he has lands in six counties here in England and also interests in Ireland. And I believe he is also associated with the Earl of Lancaster.”

  “Hardly a recommendation,” said Margaret tartly.

  “She has written me, did she not write you, Margaret? She said that she was quite happy and that she was enjoying being stepmother to Theobald's little girls.”

  “Yes, she wrote me. Someone to manage, of course Elizabeth would be happy.” Margaret glanced at the queen. “Was the king upset by the match, your grace?”

  “Upset, aside from the loss of the license fee? Should he have been?”

  “I would think so, because he surely planned to marry my sister and me to Roger Damory and Hugh d'Audley, or I am sadly mistaken.”

  “I have heard nothing of any plans to marry you to anyone, Countess.”

  “Oh, he is probably waiting until he decides to partition the lands, which I think will never happen as long as that blockheaded woman continues to claim she is pregnant.”

  “Hugh is doing all he can to speed it,” put in Eleanor loyally.

  “Is that what you call his antics at Lincoln?”

  “He was sorely provoked,” said Eleanor in an injured tone.