The Traitor's Wife Page 8

  “Actually, my love, I was thinking of going to Dover.”

  “Dover? What is at Dover?”

  “The Channel, what else? I thought we would go to France.”

  “France!”

  “Aside from being full of Frenchmen, it's a pleasant place.”

  “We must get the king's permission.”

  “The king has other things on his mind,” said Hugh offhandedly. “And why would he care? You have leave from the queen to be away from court until February, so her pert little nose won't be out of joint.”

  “Hugh!” Eleanor swatted him.

  “So will you go?”

  “I would love to.”

  In her worst moments years later, Eleanor could tip her head back and remember their trip to France that winter of 1310: the salt water spraying her face as she stood on the deck with Hugh's arm around her; her wobbly legs as he handed her off the boat; the sleet storm that blew in from the shore just as they reached their inn; the day when it was too cold and miserable outside to do anything but stay in their warm bed and make love (breaking the midwife's rule without shame) and talk to each other.

  “Hugh, what was your mother like?”

  They had undressed for the night, and Hugh had had other plans in mind, but he answered obligingly, “Beautiful. You know her brother, Gaveston's Black Dog of Arden, of course. He is a handsome man, and she was better-looking than he. Beautiful, and she could sit a horse better than most men.” He smiled sheepishly. “She put me in mind of the goddess Diana.”

  “She must have been lovely. Was she delicate-looking like your sister Isabel?”

  “Lord, no. Isabel gets her name from my mother but nothing else. Mother loved hunting more than anything in the world—Diana again—and she was good at it. As a matter of fact, she took five deer on one occasion and had the hue and cry raised against her. I was only about ten when it happened, and I still remember when she came galloping home, in a fury. I don't know what made her angrier, having the hue and cry raised against her or leaving her five bucks behind. Father was with the king at the time, or she probably would have made him slay the gamekeeper. If I'd been a trifle older she probably would have had me do so.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  He shrugged. “In a way. But she never saw much of us children; it was our nurses or Father we went to when we were troubled. It is his loss that I would take to heart.” Hugh crossed himself and looked at the sleet beating against their window. “A gloomy topic for a gloomy night.”

  “I am sorry, Hugh. But I enjoy talking to you so much. There is so much I don't know about you even yet.”

  “Aye, you women must talk. But now I am done with words.”

  He gathered her to him and began kissing and fondling her, and she responded with her usual eagerness. It was therefore with great disappointment that she suddenly felt him arise from the bed. “Hugh?”

  “I am getting some wine.”

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  He went to the table where the remnants of their supper sat and returned with a cup of wine, smiling. She shrugged and lay back, naked and irritated. It was not like Hugh to arouse her and then to leave her unsatisfied, but as she had said, there was much she did not know about him. Then she jerked back as wine splashed in the hollow of her throat and began to trickle downward.

  “How clumsy of me, my love. But I shall clean it up.”

  And he did, in a manner that so shocked and pleased Eleanor that she expected lightning to strike them dead at any minute. As none did, she settled against Hugh for the night and reminded herself that after all, they were in France.

  Her father-in-law, meanwhile, had returned to court and was paying his respects to the king. Edward had spent a very pleasant Christmas at Langley with Gaveston and the queen, and was in good spirits. “And how is your family, Hugh? How is Philip?”

  In the case of those he liked, Edward could remember all manner of minutiae. Philip had never been to court; Hugh had probably never mentioned his name more than once or twice to the king. Yet Edward had never forgotten him. “He is a cause of concern to me, sir, as you may recall. He is not at all strong, and the winters are always bad for him. Would that he had a tenth of Hugh's good health.” Hugh stopped awkwardly, for he had not intended to mention his eldest son.

  “Aye, Hugh. And how are he and my little niece Eleanor?”

  “Quite well.”

  “They are still at Loughborough?”

  Hugh had a policy of never lying to his king. “No, your grace. They are—”

  Edward saw his advisor's discomfiture. “Abroad.”

  “Yes, I am afraid so. Abroad.”

  Edward shook his head. “Without license and against my orders. Hugh, you know I cannot let this pass unnoticed. If your wild son flouts my authority in this manner, what will the barons who hate me do? I must seize his lands.”

  “You must do what you must do.” Hugh grimaced. “He is my beloved son, but he has always been lacking in a sense of propriety. It is that Warwick streak, I think.”

  “What does he do on these jaunts of his?”

  Hugh could answer truthfully. “I don't know, your grace. He is a grown man, and minds my own affairs splendidly when I am unable to attend to them because of my duties here. I ask no questions, and he tells me nothing.”

  “Piracy.”

  Hugh and Edward turned to look at Gaveston, who had been bent over a table spread with maps during the whole of their conversation. Hugh was well used to Gaveston's constant presence, but there were times when he had to acknowledge that it might irritate others. Though in all fairness, he reminded himself, Gaveston had always willingly left the room on the one or two occasions that Hugh had requested privacy. Did he do so for others? Perhaps not. Gaveston looked up and smiled dazzlingly. “He disappears for long stretches; he never seems to be in want of money when he returns, does he? So his wife says to my wife anyway—women do talk. I don't think with luscious little Eleanor there would be a wench he stays with, and such cost money anyway. He'd be coming home poorer if that were the case.”

  “That is utter nonsense. My son is not a pirate,” said Hugh loftily. “And my young daughter-in-law is not luscious.” He stopped, aghast at the trap he had wandered into.

  Gaveston, for once, declined to spring it. “In any case, you said they were together, so I would guess they are merely on pilgrimage on this occasion.”

  Hugh relaxed. “That is what he wrote.” He dropped to a seat by the fire. “And now, may I ask, is there to be a Parliament in February or is there not?”

  “Not with me there, it appears,” Gaveston said cheerfully.

  “I have scheduled it for Westminster,” said Edward. “But the barons are refusing to attend if my brother is there.”

  “It is my understanding from Gilbert that they have parchment after parchment of grievances to put forth,” said Gaveston. “So they'll have to attend to let them be heard, I suppose.” He kicked at the fire. “I suppose you are aware of their grievances, Despenser?”

  Hugh shook his head. “No. I have not their confidence, being older than most of the earls and not of their rank. And—”

  “And they dislike you because you have been steadfastly loyal to me,” finished Edward. “Someday, good friend, you shall have your reward.”

  Margaret was annoyed. “My husband to leave the court just so the barons can complain to the king!”

  “The king tried everything to avoid him having to leave,” said Eleanor. “But Hugh said that the earls threatened to come in arms, and even when the king promised that our brother and others would keep the peace, they would not relent.”

  “And what are these grievances anyway?”

  “Hugh says they are angry about the conduct of the Scottish problem, among other duller things I didn't quite understand.”

  “With you it is Hugh says, Hugh says, Hugh says!” Margaret scowled.

  “We had much time to talk over the past
few weeks,” said Eleanor mildly. She smiled at the thought of their sojourn in France. Even having Hugh's lands seized had not diminished the joy she had taken in his company, although to her dismay her monthly course had started only a few days ago. “I am sure he will not be gone for long, and you will be together, after all.”

  “Where shall you stay, Countess?” asked the queen, who had been listening to the sisters' conversation with undisguised interest, as she had a perfect right to since it was taking place in her chamber. Margaret had stomped there to bid Eleanor farewell.

  The countess shrugged, then remembered herself. “I beg your pardon, your grace. We shall be staying in Knaresborough for the time being, I suppose. I am not certain. It depends on the stupid earls.”

  “The earls may have valid grievances,” said Isabella. “Perhaps some good will come out of this.”

  “None that I can imagine, your grace,” said Margaret. “Now if you will give me leave, your grace, I will go and decide what to pack.”

  March 1310 to June 1312

  EDWARD'S OPPONENTS HAD PRESENTED THEIR GRIEVANCES TO THE KING, who had most reluctantly agreed to allow them to elect a group of earls, bishops, and barons called the Ordainers. Till Michaelmas of 1311 they planned to work, drafting a series of what they called reforms and what the king called a number of other things, all of which made Eleanor blush.

  Gilbert de Clare was the youngest of the Ordainers. Though loyal to the king, he was rather proud to be part of what he considered to be a worthy object. With an almost paternal air, he brought Eleanor a parchment containing the first products of the Ordainers' handiwork. “Very reasonable, you see, sister. We are to protect the franchises of our Holy Church. We are to sit in London so that we might have all the necessary records at our disposal. We are to maintain Magna Carta.”

  All this sounded reasonable enough to Eleanor. But were there not other Ordinances? She leaned over her brother's shoulder. “No gifts are to be made by the king without the assent of the Ordainers—Gilbert! You know full well this means Gaveston here. The king will never agree.”

  “But he has no choice, you see.”

  Edward's reaction to the preliminary Ordinances was to ignore them. Instead, he and Gaveston planned a Scottish campaign and went north to Berwick, while the Ordainers remained in London. Shortly after the preliminary Ordinances took effect, Edward tweaked the Ordainers' noses by making Gaveston a justice of the forest north of Trent and keeper of Nottingham Castle.

  Aside from these snubs, the king was making little progress in Scotland, though Gilbert, Gaveston, and the Earl of Surrey, who had married Eleanor's cousin Joan on the same day she had married Hugh, had brought troops with them and at least could take credit for keeping Robert Bruce, the Scottish leader, from complacency. Lancaster, meanwhile, made great progress in February 1311 when his father-in-law, the Earl of Lincoln, died, giving Lancaster more earldoms. His income of eleven thousand pounds a year dwarfed even that of Gilbert, and he quickly showed his hand by refusing to cross the Tweed to swear fealty to the king. For weeks the king remained north of the Tweed, Lancaster south of it, until finally the king gave in and crossed the river to take Lancaster's fealty. Lancaster enjoyed himself still more by refusing to acknowledge Gaveston's presence.

  The completed Ordinances arrived in the king's hands in August 1311 as the court, dispirited from what had ultimately proven to be no more than a change of scene, made its way back to London. Edward went off to read them and returned livid. “Look at this, Isabella! Look, Niece! They have charged my brother with providing me with evil counsel. Evil counsel, from my one true friend! With draining the royal treasury and sending it abroad. With—”

  “No doubt the charges are excessive,” said Isabella coolly. “But they cannot come as a surprise to you. They are only what the Ordainers have been saying all along.”

  “Aye, but this will be a surprise to you, Isabella. Gaveston is not the only one they proscribe. They have targeted one of your ladies. Isabella de Vescy.” He picked up the parchment that he had thrown upon a table and read, “It is determined by the investigations of the prelates, earls, and barons that the Lady Vescy petitioned the king to give to her brother, Sir Henry de Beaumont, and others, lands and franchises to the damage and dishonor of the king and the disinheritance of the crown. Moreover, she had procured letters of privilege contrary to the law and the intentions of the king.”

  “What utter nonsense!”

  “They demand her departure by Michaelmas and require that she relinquish her wardship of Bamburgh Castle,” said Edward almost complacently. “Of course it is nonsense. It was my father who gave her custody of that castle, after she served for years as one of my mother's ladies in waiting. Her late husband was my father's good friend. I only renewed her wardship, and for good reason; she has been loyal and carried out her duties well.”

  “The impertinence!”

  “They call for her brother Beaumont's dismissal as well.” Seeing Isabella's indignation had almost cooled Edward's. He glanced at the parchment again. “The rest of these are what one might expect. Magna Carta is to be fully kept. Royal revenues are to be paid in the exchequer. Escheators are to be appointed in Parliament. My right to issue pardons is restricted. Prises are to be abolished.” He tossed the parchment aside. “Fine words from the Fiddler, but can he play? And can the Black Dog bite as well as bark?”

  “Do they want Gaveston gone too?” the queen asked.

  “He is to depart from Dover by the first of November.” Edward's mood sank again. He walked to a window and stared out of it.

  Eleanor had been sitting in silence listening to the royal couple's conversation. Now she burst out, “Uncle, they cannot send him away! Margaret is with child.”

  Edward started. “I have heard nothing of this, Niece.”

  “I heard of it from Margaret only yesterday. She said she would wait a couple of weeks more before telling Piers.” Margaret and Piers had not followed the king south, but had stayed in the north.

  “Is she certain?”

  “She feels ill all the time, and she says she is losing her waist.”

  “Then she must be with child,” said the king. “What splendid news! Gaveston to have an heir! We shall give him—that is, Margaret—a churching as has never been seen.”

  “Not if he is in exile, Uncle.”

  “Those damned Ordainers,” said the king. “I'll fight them.”

  The king did fight the Ordinances, but it was of no use. In the end, fearing civil war, he grudgingly acceded to all of the Ordinances but the one concerning Gaveston, and eventually he was forced to accede to that one too. Though Gaveston left from London, not Dover, and on the fourth of November, not the first of November—the minor discrepancy a source of some small satisfaction to the king—he still left, with his pregnant bride remaining in England.

  Isabella de Vescy had left the court before Gaveston, though only for her lands in Yorkshire. “Don't fear, your grace, I'll soon be back,” she promised the queen. “Fool barons!”

  The king, Margaret, and Eleanor had gone to the side of the Thames to see Gaveston off. Eleanor had never learned whether the rumors about Gaveston and the king were true, but as the years had passed by, she had ceased to wonder about them. Margaret and Piers seemed as happy as most couples she knew, and it was not like Margaret to keep her complaints to herself if she had any. She'd wanted to join Gaveston in his exile, but he had not wanted her to travel by sea in her condition.

  Edward was making no effort to control his emotions as he embraced his friend to say good-bye, and Eleanor tactfully took a great interest in the unloading of a nearby merchant ship. Then Gaveston turned his attention to Margaret, whose bulk prevented him from holding her as close as he had the king. “I know I can trust you to take care of my wife, Nelly,” he said at last, tapping her on the shoulder to unfix her gaze from the merchant ship.

  “I will do everything possible for her, Piers. But where shall you go?”
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  “Where life takes me, as has always been the case.”

  “But you cannot be so careless once you have had your child, you know.”

  He laughed. “Your earnestness delights and instructs me as always.” He drew her into a hug. “Good-bye, Nelly. Where is Hugh? Traveling as ever?”

  “No. He is back at court for the moment.” She frowned, for Hugh had greatly irritated her that fall by borrowing her carts and sumpter horses without warning, forcing Eleanor's elderly chamberlain to scramble about to hire some for her own travels with the queen. Isabella had had a great deal to say about Hugh's presumption, and Eleanor had found herself agreeing with much of it. Even after the horses and carts had arrived back in their designated place in the royal stables, and Hugh had apologized, Eleanor still remained a little piqued.

  “Someday, my dear, you and I will have a chat about Hugh's travels, but not today. If I run into him abroad, I shall tell him you have taken a French lover and have no need of him.”

  “Piers!”

  “Very well. A plain old Englishman.” He turned to embrace Margaret again, then the king, and turned to board his ship. Only when its sails went out of sight did the three of them turn away. Eleanor could see from the king's and Margaret's slumped shoulders that they were both dejected; what surprised her was how dejected she was herself.

  Immediately after Christmas, Eleanor and her father-in-law were summoned to attend the king in York. Eleanor was disappointed, for life at Loughborough had been extremely agreeable. Philip's health had improved so much that he had married, and he and his new bride had come for the holiday festivities. Isabel de Hastings, whose second son had been born a few months earlier, did not visit, but sent good reports of her family; she and her husband had just returned from Gascony. Margaret le Despenser came home from some great house where she had been improving her manners and conversation, as was the custom among girls her age, and all at Loughborough agreed that she was duly improved. Hugh the elder had his eye out for a match for her.