Isabella- She-wolf of France

by Georgiana Grier

  14 November 1326

  Caerphilly Castle, Wales

  11:32 AM

  The victorious forces of Queen Isabella are relentlessly claiming England for Prince Edward. The king and Despenser the Younger are inside the castle, but Edward is anxious, and Hugh feels that they must flee, even though it means leaving his eighteen-year-old son Huchon in charge of the castle to face the forces of the queen.

  “Monsters! They are monsters!” Edward raged.

  The news of Despenser the Elder’s death had travelled quickly as far as Wales. Hugh’s grief at his father’s death was tinged with apprehension. If that she-wolf was so bereft of womanly tenderness that she could watch without emotion as a man was dismembered, beheaded, and fed to the dogs, what would she do to the man who had stolen her husband’s affections?

  “They will stop at nothing until they have done the same to us,” Hugh Despenser the Younger warned. “We must get away from here.”

  “And go where?” Edward queried.

  “Farther west, of course. We can escape them. We must escape them. Do you realise what she will do to me if I am captured? You are at least the king, father of the heir.”

  “As if kings have never been killed for the sake of expedience,” Edward replied absentmindedly. “How can we leave? We are settled here; our possessions and wealth are here. We cannot take everything with us, and we cannot do without funds.”

  “I’d rather have my head,” Hugh retorted.

  Edward laughed without humour. “Truly? I find that hard to credit. I have never known you to seek a Spartan life over one of luxury, and yet now you are willing to do without?”

  “Huchon will hold the castle,” Hugh said confidently. “This is not Bristol. He will hold the castle for us until we can return in triumph.”

  Triumph. What would that be? How could the king regain what he had lost?

  “Huchon!” Hugh summoned his son, who came at his father’s call. “I am leaving you in command of the castle. It’s true that the queen is likely to send her curs here seeking the king, but we shall be gone long before she arrives. Caerphilly is a fortress; it will not fall. You must not surrender.”

  “Father, what if she is after my head and all of those who reside here?”

  “You are a boy. She is a woman,” Hugh scoffed. “She will not harm you. But you can see that I must go. Her quest for vengeance is ravenous. We will leave our possessions here, and you must guard them.”

  “Father—”

  “Mind that no one takes a penny or a jewel,” Hugh cautioned. “The money—the queen must not lay her hands upon it.”

  There were twenty-seven barrels of money in the castle holding fourteen thousand pounds. If the queen got hold of that, she’d be in funds for her ambitions. Edward had heard from his spies and messengers that she was already plundering the estates of his supporters, who were now being treated as if they were traitors. Traitors against the anointed king. The audacity of the woman!

  “I should have thrown her overboard when we left France,” he said hotly.

  “Your Grace?” Huchon asked.

  No answer was forthcoming.

  “We must leave. But you must guard what we leave behind and keep it away from the Queen,” Hugh reiterated to his son.

  Huchon wondered exactly how he was supposed to do that, but his father was a whirlwind of activity as he went through the castle, ordering the servants to gather up certain belongings and to pack others away. Edward, seeming lost in thought, followed in Hugh’s wake, apparently content to allow Hugh to determine what they would bring with them and what they would leave behind.

  “That foul Jezebel plundered my stores like a cursed Viking raider,” Hugh swore. “She took two dozen of my golden cups from the Tower. My belongings! She has no right to those things. She can pilfer someone else’s goods.”

  “She’s done the same to Arundel’s possessions,” Edward commented. “And money, as well.”

  “Father—” Huchon called, but Hugh, having made his way through his chamber, was already gone. Huchon looked doubtfully at what was left behind: a red robe with bears embroidered on the fabric, a black cap adorned with pearl butterflies. What the queen, if she stormed the castle, would do with such garments, he could not guess, but as he had been charged with keeping her from doing so, he ordered the bewildered servants to pack the items away.

  “We leave, now!” Hugh announced. The horses were saddled, the goods they were taking with them packed, and the servants—pitifully few now—waiting for the signal to depart. Edward took some comfort in knowing that he had paid his servants the night before. Some of the servants would stay on at the castle, but others were accompanying him. He was still the King of England, and he travelled with an entourage of valets, a sergeant-at-arms, and clerks. He would not be shamed.

  Once again, they were heading farther west, intent upon putting miles between them and the queen. The king was not without adherents, and there were supporters along the way who were willing to provide him with their hospitality.

  He was grateful to them for their kindness; Hugh, however, railed against them for the treason of those who had abandoned the king.

  “Sir,” replied his host that evening, “these are not our crimes. We have remained faithful to His Grace, and we shall continue to remain so.”

  “You say that now,” jeered Hugh, his face flushed from anger and the excess of wine that he had taken with his meal.

  “But when the she-wolf comes with her pack, you will all be as meek as sheep. We are served by curs and by cowards.”

  “You, sir, are not served at all,” the man replied sharply. “We serve, as do you, the king.”

  Hugh stared at him. “You would not have dared speak to me thus a month ago,” he shouted.

  “A month ago, my lord, you would not have honoured my household with your presence.”

  Hugh flung his goblet of wine from the table and stood up. “I’m for bed,” he announced. “See that my boots are cleaned by the morrow. We leave early.”

  After he left, King Edward spoke. “I thank you for your welcome,” he said humbly to his host. “You have fed us and sheltered us, and I am in your debt.” Before retiring, he chose five men in whom he had the utmost trust to meet with him privately; among them were his nephew and two squires.

  “I would send a message to the queen and my eldest son,” he told them. “Inform Her Grace that I would discuss with them diverse affairs affecting the realm.” It was not a capitulation, but it was an acknowledgment of the shifting roles in which he and his family found themselves.

  The next morning, they left at sunrise. Edward noticed that there were several faces missing from the gathering of his servants. He was not surprised; the desertions were not new, and he supposed that each man now must look to his own resources.

  As the king, Hugh, and the king’s men continued on their journey, the grey clouds hanging sullenly above them opened up to release torrents of rain.

  “We stop at Llantrisant!” Hugh yelled above the pounding noise of the storm, which had added thunder to the wild ballad of nature that was serenading the king’s forces as they moved. “We’ll take shelter there!”

  Edward simply nodded. It didn’t matter where they stopped; they had to get out of the storm.

  As they neared the boundaries of Llantrisant, they heard the sound of horses approaching. It was not a day for travel; the storm was too violent and the deluge too powerful for casual riding. Hooves pounded the soil, which would soon turn to mud.

  “Lancaster!” Edward called out in alarm, spotting the banner of his cousin.

  “Ride!” Hugh shouted, putting his spurs to his horse.

  They rode swiftly, but Henry of Lancaster travelled with a force of men who intended to achieve their ends.

  Before very long, they found themselves surrounded by the advancing soldiers.

  “Your Grace!” Henry of Lancaster called out, his voice carrying over the sounds of the storm an
d the noise of an assembly of armed men with weapons drawn.

  Edward drew in his breath. “My lord,” he replied, his voice equally emphatic. “You seek your king?”

  The men drew apart to allow Lancaster to make his way to King Edward. “I am charged by the queen and Prince Edward to bring you with me to my castle at Monmouth,” he said, his visor raised so that his eyes could meet the king’s gaze.

  “And what of me?” demanded Hugh. “I go where the king goes.”

  “Hugh Despenser, you are to be taken to Hereford,” was the implacable response.

  “You cannot order me!”

  “I can, and I have an army to make you comply if you should refuse,” Lancaster replied.

  “Edward, tell him—”

  Henry of Lancaster, outraged by this disrespectful address of a subject to his king, moved closer. His face was set in a grim mask of controlled anger to conceal his sorrow at these proceedings. He cared nothing for the demise of Despenser, but to see Edward I’s son reduced to this state of affairs was a tragedy. It was easy, therefore, to order Despenser to be bound and taken as a captive to meet his fate.

  20 November 1326

  Hereford, England

  12:32PM

  Hugh Despenser the Younger has been delivered to the power of the queen, who is based at the castle of Adam Orleton, the Bishop of Hereford.

  Despenser arrived in disgrace, mounted upon an unimpressive horse, nothing like the destrier that a warrior would have ridden. Once they were out of sight of the king, Lancaster’s men had placed a mock crown of nettles upon Despenser’s head; his servant, riding before him, carried his coat of arms reversed as a symbol of his defeat and disgrace. The crowds had lined up as news of Lancaster’s triumph spread along the route.

  They were in a celebratory mood, blowing upon horns as he rode by. They spat as he passed, and cheered the soldiers who had captured him. Despenser refused to look to either side, riding in his abasement with his eyes focused ahead of him, even though he knew that before him was his end.

  “He should be tried in London,” the queen said after Hugh Despenser and the guards had arrived and the prisoner had been securely confined. “His victims should be allowed to see him fall.”

  London deserved to see the hated favourite sentenced and executed. The crowded city was filled with supporters who would view Despenser’s death as proof that God blessed the queen’s success and that the prince was ordained to be crowned as their king. The city needed to be reclaimed from the madness that had overcome it after the mob took over, but the people also needed to be reminded that they were subjects and not masters.

  For her part, the queen could barely restrain her excitement. Seeing the proud Despenser riding into the castle grounds like a common felon, his disgraced coat of arms heralding his downfall, the crown of nettles piercing his skin and sending trickles of blood down his forehead, his arms tied behind him, sent a surge of emotion through her that was primitive in its force. All the humiliation that she had suffered through his engineering was exorcised. The lands that she had lost, the subjugation that she had endured, the displacement that she had suffered were suddenly minimised in light of this monumental event.

  “Let him stew in his chains for a time,” Mortimer advised her. “London will serve well as the place of his execution, but in the meantime, let him learn that his days are numbered.”

  23 November 1326

  Hereford, England

  3:12 PM

  Despenser is a prisoner of the queen, who now represents the ruling authority of England, although Edward II is still alive and a prisoner at Henry of Lancaster’s castle in Monmouth. Edward is well-treated by Lancaster, but Despenser enjoys no such solicitude in his cell.

  Queen Isabella had not imagined the satisfaction she would feel at the Despensers capture.

  He will die soon.

  But first, he would suffer, and before he died, he would know that his own followers would go to their deaths as a precursor to what awaited him at the queen’s hands.

  In the meantime, she had much to do, and there were times in the succeeding days when she nearly forget about her prize captive. She was the queen, and she intended to be regent; in order to establish her qualifications for this role, she was determined to show herself as the authority.

  There were papers to sign and announcements to make. Writs were signed regarding the king. The Great Seal was handed over to the bishop. In his wording, King Edward gave no indication that he was anything but willing to cede his power, writing that, with the wellbeing of his subjects in mind, it was his royal pleasure to send the Great Seal to Queen Isabella and Prince Edward.

  Of course, this was not the reality. Edward hated Adam Orleton with a hostility that was entirely inappropriate since the cleric represented the Holy Church. When Isabella made this point, the lords agreed with her. In truth, many of them had been less than reverent in previous dealings with the clergy, but the construction of Edward’s surrender must be carefully dealt with. He was still the king, at least for the moment.

  Isabella was frowning over the wording of a response regarding the king, when the door to the room burst open and Mortimer charged in, followed by servants.

  “Damn him! He’s trying to cheat us of his rightful death!”

  Queen Isabella, who was about to send for her son so that the prince could begin to take a role in the transition process that would transfer authority from the captured king to the waiting prince, looked up. “Who is cheating us?”

  “Damned Despenser! He refuses to eat! He intends to die before we can kill him.”

  “That shall not happen! He will die as we have planned. Force him to eat!”

  “We can not force him to eat. We must kill him sooner. There’s no time to take him to London. We must try him immediately.”

  “Is he so close to dying?”

  “Close enough,” Mortimer said grimly. “What are these?”

  “Papers to sign.”

  “That can wait. Despenser is first.” Carefully, Mortimer pushed the papers to the side of the desk. He had not read them yet. “Summon the lords and let them know that the trial will be tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? So soon?”

  “What, you now long for him to live?” Mortimer asked sounding irritated.

  “You know that I do not. I want him to die. He deserves death. But London is the place for this to happen.”

  “Would you put a corpse on trial merely so that it could be buried in London?” Mortimer asked curtly. “He must be tried tomorrow.”

  “Then he will die tomorrow.” Isabella said with a nod. “But tonight, we rejoice. It’s the Feast of All Saints,” she added with a smile.

  Mortimer returned her smile and drew her in his arms in a heated kiss. They were united in what, to others, might have seemed a blasphemous rallying of darkness and a perversion of holiness. But others did not understand the depth of the queen’s suffering. Mortimer was her lover, and for all that he was an ambitious and avaricious man, he was her ally. They were joined together in a partnership that had been forged in hatred of the Despensers.

  Now the end of their mutual enemy was in sight, but their passion remained.

  24 November 1326

  Hereford, England

  1:32 PM

  The lords are assembled for the trial of Hugh Despenser the Younger, who, in order to preserve the last vestiges of his dignity, has been denying himself nourishment in the hopes of dying before the queen’s revenge can be enacted. But his hopes are denied by the sudden decision to try him without delay, and when he enters the chamber where he is to be judged, he is not a prepossessing sight, gaunt and wan from lack of food and drink, soiled with grime from his time in the cell, and clearly a defeated man.

  Sir William Trussell was seated in the midst of the assembled lords, the elite of English nobility who were born to the responsibilities of their class and intended to see that justice, however gruesome, was done. Beside him was the queen
.

  Hugh Despenser, when he was brought in, saw Trussell, and his expression revealed that he knew that Trussell had been the agent of his father’s execution. The repetition of the role was not a coincidence; Trussell was willing, and the queen was conscious of the fitness of the duplication.

  The charges had been carefully compiled, and every accusation that could be levied against Despenser was in place.

  It no longer mattered if every charge was accurate or not, because Despenser’s enemies had allies who were determined to see him pay for all his misdeeds.

  Hugh Despenser the Younger had not only violated the lives of specific people, but he had imperilled the soul of England. England, in order to cleanse itself of his pollution, was required to vomit him from existence. The lords were ready to do their duty.

  “Hugh Despenser, heed the words of your accusers. You are charged with the following:

  The death of Thomas of Lancaster;

  Piracy;

  The imprisonment and murder of numerous magnates;

  Exposing the queen to danger at Tynemouth;

  Conducting yourself as a false Christian by robbing prelates of the Church;

  Forcing the queen and the prince to escape to France for the safety of their lives;

  Encouraging the king not to see the queen or the prince;

  Causing the beheading of the greatest barons in the land;

  Violence against Lady Barer until she was driven mad.”

  Not yet finished, Sir William went on.

  “Hugh Despenser, you have been accused of committing vile and unnatural crimes against the queen.

  “Hear now her words: ‘I feel that marriage is a joining together of man and woman, maintaining the undivided habits of life, and that someone has come between my husband and myself, trying to break this bond. I protest that I will not return until this intruder is removed, but, discarding my marriage garment, shall assume the robes of widowhood and mourning until I am avenged of this Pharisee.’”