The Traitor's Wife Page 6

  “Why did I ever let him touch me, Gladys? I'll never let him touch me again. Never!”

  Gladys, rubbing her lady's temples with ice, nodded sympathetically, but Janet the midwife, standing patiently by Eleanor's feet, suppressed a grin. Fifteen years ago at Caerphilly Castle in South Wales she had stood by in awe, holding supplies, as her own mother, midwife to the Clares for many years, had brought the young lady she now attended into the world. Since then many babies had come to that place under Janet's own auspices, and this birth, for all of Eleanor's complaining, was proving to be easy and quick for a first child. The girl was built for childbearing, and if she broke her vow never to let her husband touch her again, as fortunately her charges invariably did, there would be many more Despensers to come. “Push, my lady. Harder.”

  “I am pushing, damn you.”

  Oh, things were going nicely indeed. “Look at your fine boy, my lady. What a big fellow he is!”

  Eleanor, smiling and crying, took little Hugh, who was holding forth indignantly on the subject of being hustled out of his womb into Loughborough. He was indeed bigger than most newborn babies, but no less red and wrinkled, and no one but the woman holding him could have found out a resemblance between him and any adult human being. “Look at him, Gladys. Doesn't he look just like Hugh?”

  “Most like, my lady,” Gladys said loyally.

  She would have had Hugh—Hugh her husband, that was—brought to her immediately, but the ladies—Gladys and Hugh's sisters—insisted on tidying her up first, while the wet nurse bathed little Hugh and swaddled him. At last, however, she and her baby lay side by side on fresh linen, and Hugh came into the chamber. As Eleanor lay in a newly made bed with her freshly brushed hair flowing prettily over her shoulders, and little Hugh after expressing more indignation about being bathed had fallen asleep, the new father could perhaps be forgiven for thinking that the travails of childbirth were somewhat overrated. He stared at the baby as if his being there was a surprise to him, and then he bent and kissed his wife on the forehead. “He is beautiful, Eleanor. Absolutely beautiful. I am so proud of you.”

  “Won't you hold him?”

  “What if I drop him?”

  “You won't drop him, silly! Sit beside me and I'll show you how.”

  He obeyed, and Eleanor eased Hugh into his father's arms. Hugh held his son gingerly at first, then daringly moved an arm sufficiently so as to put a finger between the baby's. “My God, Eleanor. He is perfect.”

  Eleanor laughed. “I think so too.”

  They sat smiling at their new son and each other until Eleanor yawned. Hugh carefully passed the baby back to the wet nurse, who had timely appeared in the background. “I will let you rest now, sweetheart. Gladys told me you need it, and I obey Gladys in all matters.”

  “Hugh, I have been horrid to you lately. Scolding and crying and arguing. I wonder how you have borne with me, my love.”

  “You have made me the happiest man in the world.”

  “You don't wish you had married a great heiress?” It was a thought she had from time to time; she could not say why.

  “What nonsense! You are all I want in this world—you and our fine new son and the other children you shall give me. There is nothing else I desire, my love.”

  And on that day, he meant it.

  February 1309 to February 1310

  TO THE BARONS' UTTER DISGUST, GAVESTON WAS DOING WELL IN IRELAND. His qualities as a soldier had won him the notice of the first Edward, and Ireland gave him ample opportunity to exercise his abilities.

  Edward, still working assiduously to end his friend's exile, was delighted as reports came in of Piers, each more favorable than the last. “How can they not allow him to come back now?” he asked any confidant who happened to be around him—Hugh le Despenser the elder, or Gilbert de Clare, or even Isabella. “He'll be back soon, I warrant.” And then he would call for a clerk and dictate yet another letter, either to his friend or to someone on his behalf.

  Eleanor herself knew of Edward's efforts only secondhand, for she had not been at court since Hugh's birth. Though Hugh of course had a wet nurse, Eleanor spent much time with her son herself. He was a thriving baby, seldom succumbing even to routine ailments, and was regarded by his parents and grandfather as precocious in all things.

  She was not entirely happy, though. Hugh her husband was a concern to her. Always restless, he had been more so after his son was born. With Eleanor reluctant to leave Loughborough because of the baby, Hugh would set out on horseback by himself and not return for weeks at a time, then return just as unexpectedly. Within minutes of his return he would contrive to get Eleanor alone somehow, and soon they would be carrying on together in a manner that made Eleanor blush sometimes to think of afterward. So he could not possibly have a mistress, could he? She was too proud to question him closely about his comings and goings, though, and he volunteered little information beyond the fact that he had been traveling.

  Philip, Hugh's younger brother, and Isabel, Hugh's younger sister, could be questioned, however. Philip was still in his teens and had not yet married. Isabel had already been widowed—her first husband had been a Clare, a cousin to Eleanor—and married again, to Lord John de Hastings, not long before. She was a pretty, delicate-looking girl of eighteen with thick dark hair that fell almost to her knees when loosened. Her husband, a man in his late forties with children older than his second wife, doted on her, and when she announced her first pregnancy, he had readily agreed to let her stay at Loughborough to await the birth.

  “Do you know what Hugh does when he leaves here?” she asked Isabel one day as they sat in her chamber. “Do you think he has a mistress?”

  Isabel laughed. “I doubt it, Nelly. He gets bored, that is all. Life here has never suited him. He might be going abroad, for all I know.”

  “Without the king's license!”

  “Hugh never was one to stand much upon formalities.”

  “He would like to have a place at court.” Philip, whose health had always been delicate, had been standing by the fire warming himself, though the February day was mild and the women saw no need to be near the fire. “A high place, though; he would prefer to go elsewhere rather than just to be another face in a crowd of courtiers.”

  “It is true,” agreed Isabel. She hesitated. “As you and my father are in favor with the king, Nelly, I have often wondered why he has not risen at court. He has brains and could serve Edward well.”

  “No need to wonder about that!” Philip laughed. “Forgive me for speaking frankly, but Gaveston crowds out all others. Even while he is in Ireland.”

  “I should hardly want Hugh to rise in that manner,” said Eleanor primly.

  “In any case, our father has not won himself any friends for staying by the king and Gaveston,” said Philip. “Hugh is wise to stay detached from all of this. A hornet's nest it is.” He could not keep from sounding a bit wistful, however, for he longed himself to be of service to the king. But even after a few miles' riding, he felt tired, although he tried to hide it.

  A messenger approached Eleanor and handed her a letter. “From the hornet's nest itself!” said Eleanor, seeing the royal seal.

  “How important we are,” said Philip cheerfully.

  The short letter did nothing more than inform Eleanor that the queen would very much like to see her back at court soon. Though not worded as a command, it was certainly one, and a similar note from the king underscored it. “The queen asks me to join her at Langley,” said Eleanor. “I must get ready. But if only I knew where Hugh was!”

  “How well you look, Niece! Motherhood suits you. How is little Hugh?”

  “Thriving, sir.”

  “We will not keep you here for so very long, but we have missed you so. Did your husband come with you?”

  “No.”

  “Occupied with his father's affairs, I suppose.”

  “I don't know what he is doing, Uncle.”

  Edward frowned. “I do not li
ke this, Nelly. Surely you are not estranged from him?”

  “No, sir, but he goes his own way at times.”

  “He will find his own way unpleasant if he slights you. But let us go to the queen now.”

  Isabella was dictating letters to a clerk when Eleanor followed her uncle into her chamber. “Lady Despenser! How is your babe?”

  “Growing well, your grace.”

  “When he is older you must bring him here to visit,” put in the king. “He will be good company for Adam.”

  Eleanor wondered how the queen, whose belly was as flat as ever, would receive this suggestion, but she said only, “An excellent idea, Edward. The boy will want young companions.” Isabella turned back to the clerk and dictated several more lines; evidently she had been asked to aid a poor priory. Then she dismissed the clerk. “And how fares the Countess of Cornwall?”

  Even though Piers and Margaret had been married well over a year now, Eleanor still could not adjust to her sister's new title. It did not fit her as it would have the dignified Elizabeth. “She sent me a ring for New Year's, your grace, and at that time she was doing very well. She finds Ireland very pretty, but she is a little homesick, I think.”

  “We will bring her home soon,” said Edward firmly. “Soon she and my brother will be back among us.” He forestalled Eleanor's next question. “Yes, things are going well. We are holding profitable discussions with the Pope and the barons.”

  “And my father,” said the queen magnificently.

  “And the King of France,” agreed Edward. “Next month I shall send an envoy to the Pope to have his excommunication reversed, and then this waiting shall soon be over, I hope.” He reached for Eleanor's hand and kissed it. “I must meet with my council now, but I am glad to see you safely here. I know you ladies are eager to gossip now, anyway.”

  He went away whistling.

  “What may I do for you, your grace?” Eleanor asked the queen. “Shall I tell you the latest news from Loughborough?”

  Isabella laughed. “That would take too long!” She glanced at Eleanor's robes. “You seem to have gotten your figure back, Lady Despenser. Are you with child again?”

  “Not that I know of.” Eleanor hesitated, then confided, “Truth be told, your grace, I hardly see Hugh anymore, it seems. He comes to Loughborough and stays for a few days, and then he is off again.”

  “Are you tiring of each other?”

  “I hope not, your grace, because I love him dearly.”

  “I would not let a man treat me that way.”

  “He treats me well when he is with me.” Eleanor began to brush the queen's hair. Unlike her own hair, which pretty much went its own way and would barely consent even to hold a braid, the queen's was a pleasure to style. “I shall braid your hair and coil it about your ears. Won't that be pretty?”

  “You digress, my lady.”

  “I don't wish to speak ill of Hugh, your grace. He has a restless spirit and no real outlet for it.”

  “He should visit Gaveston in Ireland if he is so restless.”

  “For all I know, he might have done so.” Eleanor finished a braid and started to coil it. “Shall he be there long, do you think?”

  Isabella held a glass mirror up to her face to admire her lady's handiwork. “The king insists on telling me how things are progressing, and he seems to feel they are progressing well, as you yourself heard. I don't know why he confides this to me.”

  “He confides in you, your grace, because he is fond of you and trusts your judgment,” Eleanor said a bit reproachfully.

  “Well, then, he must trust my judgment a great deal, because I am at no loss for news of that upstart Gascon.”

  The days went by pleasantly at Langley as the weather grew milder. Eleanor had shyly requested several favors of her uncle. Her damsel, Gladys, was having difficulty with her dower lands. Would the king put a word in with the chancellor? A word was put in, and Gladys's problems were soon over. A knight wished for a hundred. Would the king…? It was granted. The king also hinted at granting Eleanor and Hugh a manor, in honor of their fine new son, but Hugh was still in parts unknown.

  At last, word came from Hugh that he was back from wherever he had gone to and was preparing to attend a tournament at Dunstable, along with Eleanor's brother Gilbert, most of the other earls, and a great quantity of knights. Eleanor would have liked to have seen it, to give Hugh her favor to wear and watch him joust, but her uncle was so put out by news of the well-attended tournament that she did not dare ask leave to travel there. “You know what the earls are doing,” he told her and Isabella. “Plotting to keep Gaveston away! Preparing some absurd demands for the upcoming Parliament. If they don't take him back, I'll be damned if I'll allow them any more tournaments in the future.”

  The tournament over, its attendees began to straggle back; some to their homes, some to Westminster to await Parliament, some few to Langley where the king and queen remained. Early one fine morning in late April, Eleanor sat outside in the garden, playing with Adam and wishing her own son was nearby. She was bent on all fours looking for a ball that he had thrown into a bush when she heard a whistle, followed by, “Upon my word, wench! You have a fine arse!”

  The speaker had used English, a language the nobility spoke only with those whose French was too poor for communication. Eleanor turned to glare.

  “Fooled you, didn't I? But it's true.”

  “Hugh!” She ran into his arms. “I have missed you so.”

  “And I you, my love.”

  “Where have you been besides the tournament?” He was dressed plainly, like any respectable but common traveler might, and was deeply suntanned.

  “Traveling.” He pressed her against a tree and began to kiss her, moving from her lips to her bosom as Adam, fascinated by these unusual goings-on, stared raptly. Only when he started to undo the fastenings of her gown so that he could slip a hand inside did Eleanor recall herself and whisper, “The child, Hugh.”

  “The— Oh, hello.” Hugh smiled down. “And who is this fine young man? Adam, I'll wager.”

  “Yes.” Eleanor drew back a little. “And Hugh, I am sorry, but I told the queen I would be back presently. She bade me leave her while she wrote to her father.”

  “The queen!” Hugh pulled her back to him. “You are my wife, and I'm mad for you just now. The queen will have to wait.”

  “The queen? Wait? How?”

  “Easily.” Hugh turned as Adam's nurse hove into view. “Miss! Tell her grace, if you please, that Lady Despenser is ill and has gone to lie down.”

  The nurse glanced at Lady Despenser, who with her gown opened, her cheeks flushed, and her hair tumbling free over her shoulders looked anything but ill. “Yes, sir.” She nodded at Adam. “Come along, young man.”

  “Now,” said Hugh. “Back to it.” He put his arms back around her.

  It took all of Eleanor's self-control to push him back. “Hugh. Not here!”

  “Why not?”

  “Anyone looking from a window could see us.”

  “Oh, very well,” said Hugh grudgingly. “We'll take a walk by the river.”

  By the river, they lay in some tall grass, both gasping for breath, only partly dressed. “Was that worth standing up the queen for?”

  “Oh, yes.” She rolled off him and lay on his shoulder, staring up at the perfectly blue sky. Shyly, she asked, “Hugh, why do you dislike her? I only am curious.”

  Hugh yawned. “Just a natural antipathy, I suppose. No good reason, really. Some people do that for one. I suppose I do dislike sharing you with her.”

  “I would be sorry to do so, but I could leave her household if you pleased.”

  “No, it is an honor for you, and for our family too. I should not have mentioned it.”

  “I am sure there would be a place for you at court if you wished it, Hugh.”

  “But I don't wish it.” He tickled her with a blade of grass. “Chilly, my love?”

  “A bit. And I am still afra
id someone might see us.”

  “And a man who saw us would go mad with jealousy of me. Let's go to my inn, then. I have gifts for you in my saddlebags.”

  There were rooms at Langley in which Hugh could have stayed, but Eleanor asked no questions. They made themselves decent and walked to Hugh's inn, the proprietor staring at Eleanor. Hugh laughed when they came to his room, a quarter of the size Eleanor was used to. “He must recognize you from the queen's household, my love, and wonders at my skill in getting such a prize to my room. I will have to disabuse him of that notion later, I suppose. Now let me show you your gifts.”

  He opened the saddlebags and pulled out jewel after jewel, of a workmanship Eleanor had never seen in England. “I have never seen anything like them. They look as if they must be from Italy.”

  “They are from Italy.”

  “Hugh, where—”

  “This garnet necklace would look pretty on your chest, but your clothes get in the way. Take them off.”

  She obeyed.

  Much later they walked to the king's residence, Eleanor utterly drained yet not wanting to part. How could she sit quietly with the queen after those hours with Hugh? “Tonight while the queen sleeps I'll slip out and meet you in your inn,” she whispered as they entered the great hall.

  “You are an insatiable little harlot, but I can't have you wandering around after nightfall by yourself. I'll meet you in the garden. Or perhaps I'll make the supreme sacrifice and ask for a chamber here.”

  “It would be much more comfortable for us than that horrid room at the inn.”

  “Spoilt earl's daughter.”

  “Yes.”

  They were kissing again when they heard footsteps approaching. “My lady. Son.”

  Eleanor pulled away from Hugh as his father came to stand beside them. “My lady, the queen has wondered where you were. She sent me to find you, as a matter of fact.”

  “I am sorry, sir, to have troubled you. I will go to her immediately.”

  “No. Come to my chamber for a moment, the two of you.”