The Traitor's Wife

by Susan Higginbotham

  Princess Gwenllian, daughter of the last Welsh ruler, had been sent to Sempringham as an infant and veiled a nun on the first Edward's orders after her father, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, had been killed in battle and her uncle David, his brother, had been hanged, drawn, and quartered. A woman in her forties now, she had never left the convent. Eleanor shivered. Would Margaret grow old in Sempringham too? “Hugh, that is not amusing! Please, let her out!”

  “No.” Hugh's voice was quiet. “Not now. Perhaps at some point, yes, when she can be trusted. What is stopping her from sending messages or aid to Audley, if she goes free?”

  Eleanor knew not what to answer. She sighed. Hugh, considering their conversation over and done with, kissed her and settled to sleep. Soon she heard him snoring faintly. He slept well at nights; it was Eleanor who had tossed and turned since Boroughbridge.

  She slipped out of bed, as she was wont to do these nights when she had difficulty sleeping, and made her way to the nursery where her newest little girl, born a few months earlier, lay in her cradle at the king's manor at Cowick, where Hugh and Eleanor were staying. Unusually, Eleanor had been ill after her daughter's birth, and the king had paid his own physician to attend her. There was nothing, he had told her when she thanked him, that he would not do for her and Hugh and his dear father, and he did not appear to be exaggerating. Since Boroughbridge, Edward had let his favor for Hugh and his father be known in no uncertain terms. These days, the Despensers had so much land that Eleanor, at least, could barely keep track of it. Even little Gilbert had been the unknowing recipient of the reversions of several forfeited manors, with Eleanor as the life tenant.

  The new baby herself had been sick more than her older brothers and sisters, and it had been decided to send her to live in a country priory. Soon she would be leaving for there in the grand style to which Hugh was quickly making them all become accustomed, with a nurse and a great household. Perhaps, Eleanor thought, that, not her sister's problems, was why she was melancholy tonight.

  The baby stirred in her sleep when Eleanor bent over the cradle and kissed her. “Good night, Margaret,” she whispered.

  Eleanor and her baby were not the only restless ones that night. At the Tower of London, Roger Mortimer of Wigmore waited impatiently as his guards, drinking drugged wine to celebrate the feast day of St. Peter ad Vincula, the Tower's patron saint, sank one by one into stupors. His plan depended almost entirely on other people: the sublieutenant of the Tower, Gerald d'Alspaye, with his crowbar and rope ladder; the pepper merchant John de Gisors, with his boat and men waiting on the Thames to take him to Greenwich; four men waiting with horses at Greenwich; another merchant, Ralph de Bocton, who had made a boat ready at Porchester, then a ship at the Isle of Wight, bound for Normandy. If only one of them made the slightest misstep, he was done for, and he would undoubtedly be hung, drawn, and quartered. But if all went right…

  Alspaye was digging with a crowbar now, and soon Roger could see a chink of light shining through his cell walls, then a larger one, then one large enough through which a man could fit. Sending one last prayer to St. Peter, he knelt and struggled out of his cell.

  “That's Mortimer for you! With the Tower garrison dead drunk or drugged, does he give a thought to his old uncle in his cell? Not a bit. Leaves the old man to starve there.”

  “He's being fed well enough,” said the king defensively. He and his chamberlain were supposedly hunting, but the huntsmen and the dogs had moved off in one direction, the king and Hugh in another. “I would not mistreat the old man.”

  “I daresay he could teach you a thing or two if he chose. Did you ever hear what happened in your father's time? Two little boys, set to inherit Powys, were put in his charge. They drowned, strangely enough, and to whom did your father grant the better part of their lands? Their guardian.”

  Edward nodded. “Yes, I remember hearing of that. I'm glad the nephew didn't take the uncle with him, in truth. One Mortimer on the loose is bad enough.”

  “We'll catch him,” said Hugh soothingly. “Or the Irish will for us, and I'm sure there's some with grudges there.”

  “What shall we do with his wife?”

  “Keep her where she is for now, in house arrest in Hampshire. From what I've heard, Mortimer isn't exactly uxorious, for all he's had a passel of children by the woman. Ten? Twelve? In any case, she breeds them well out of sight. I doubt that Mortimer's confided in her, if he even troubles himself to think of her.”

  Edward smiled. “Your wife troubled herself to think of her. She and the queen took the Exchequer to task for not paying her expenses promptly, did she ever tell you?”

  “Ah, yes, my softhearted wife. When she heard that Mortimer had escaped, she said, 'Hugh, what about Lady Mortimer?'” Hugh shook his head tolerantly. “She told me about the letter; she said that she felt guilty going behind my back. God knows what she sneaks to the other traitors' widows and children.”

  “You've a sweet wife. I wish I were married to her, Hugh.”

  “Too late, Ned. She's mine, thanks to your father.”

  “And I have Isabella, thanks to my father.”

  “Shouldn't she be back from that pilgrimage of hers soon?”

  “In the next few weeks. I'm not looking forward to it myself. I wonder if she still blames us for Tynemouth.”

  “Probably.”

  “I can never forget that she begged me to exile you, Hugh.” Edward leaned over his horse and touched Hugh on the cheek. “After that it was all I could do to lie with her, and that only because I thought we should try for more sons.” The king himself had been his father's fourth son, but the first two sons had predeceased Edward, while the third had died within months of Edward's birth. Edward sometimes wondered what life would have been like if one of his older brothers had lived to be king. “And I must keep on trying once she returns. But my heart just isn't in it.”

  “The issue here isn't your heart, Ned.”

  Edward laughed. Hugh, like Gaveston before him, could always make him do so. “Let's leave the hunt to the others, shall we, and go to my chamber.”

  “What is this latest I hear about France, Edward?” The queen was back with the king, who commented to Hugh later that pilgrimage had not improved her temper.

  Edward sighed. “Come to my chamber, dear, and we shall discuss it. The Earl of Winchester and Lord and Lady Despenser shall join us.”

  Isabella narrowed her eyes. “Sir Hugh is most familiar with this French business, my dear, and his presence will be most useful. So will that of the Earl of Winchester.”

  “And Lady Despenser? Is her presence also necessary?”

  Eleanor had herself been wondering about this, but Edward said coolly, “Lady Despenser is my dear niece. Her presence is welcome to me anytime.”

  The queen shrugged elegantly, and the five of them went to the king's chamber. “As you know, my dear, your brother has been asking me for some time to do homage to him—”

  While the king had been battling his enemies in January 1322, death had dethroned yet another French king. Isabella's second brother, Philip, had been succeeded by her third brother, Charles. “Yes, and I must say, Edward, his patience has been tried sorely. He has been on the throne for nearly two years.”

  “There was that business with Lancaster, and then the business with Scotland, and—”

  “Lancaster is dead, and the business with Scotland is settled. So what cause do you have for delay now?”

  She was not looking at the king, however, but Hugh the younger. He, therefore, replied with a disarming smile, “You well know, your grace, that no English king relishes doing homage to France. Aside from it being disagreeable in itself, it is an expensive business, at a time the kingdom can ill afford it.”

  “You are very well versed in the feelings of English kings, my lord, almost as if you were one yourself. And your concern for the finances of England is commendable. I wonder that you can bring yourself to accept another forfeited estate, when each cou
ld be fattening the king's coffers.”

  “They have been somewhat the thinner lately for your grace's traveling about.”

  Eleanor sighed imperceptibly. Ever since the queen's return from pilgrimage about a month before, in October 1323, she and Hugh had been having these types of conversations, trading polite insults back and forth. The queen and Hugh could keep up these exchanges forever, except when someone intervened, as the Earl of Winchester did now.

  “In any case,” said the Earl of Winchester, “the king had every intention of fulfilling his obligation to your grace's brother. However, there have been complications since then. You know that Mortimer is being harbored in France.”

  “Yes, after so much time was wasted searching for him in Ireland.”

  Edward said stiffly, “My dear, most of his career has been based in Ireland, was it so unreasonable that we should have thought he would be there?”

  “This is beside the point,” the earl said. “He is in France now, and would be a danger to our king if the king were to go there. Indeed, he may have sent agents to procure the death of my son and myself.”

  Eleanor gasped.

  “No need to worry, love,” said Hugh. He walked over to Eleanor and kissed her quickly on the cheek. Isabella looked on balefully. Hugh straightened. “But I suppose what you are referring to, your grace, is this business in St. Sardos. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “In Gascony?” asked Eleanor.

  “In Gascony, my love. Fine wine country, as my lord father can testify from his enforced stay there.” Hugh's eyes glittered at Isabella, but he continued, “There are plans to build a fortress there, which the French have no business building, but that's for another day. In any case, in the midst of construction, Raymond Bernard of Montpezat, one of the Gascon lords, led a group of armed men to the site and burned it down. In the process they hung a French official. Now Charles has hinted that our seneschal of Gascony, Ralph Basset, is implicated in this business.”

  “Was he?”

  “He says not.”

  “I shall order an investigation,” said Edward. “Surely that will satisfy your brother, Isabella?”

  “Perhaps about the St. Sardos affair, but not about the homage.”

  “If Charles sends Roger Mortimer to me in chains, or without chains and without a head, then I will gladly pay him homage,” said the king. “In the meantime, if he wishes to show him hospitality, he will have to do without my company.”

  Hugh frowned at a letter bearing the papal seal. “Well, this is all but useless.”

  “What is, dear one?”

  Hugh read, “'In answer to your complaint that you are threatened by magical and secret dealings, it is recommended that you turn to God with your whole heart, and make a good confession and such satisfaction as shall be enjoined. No other remedies are necessary beyond a general indult.'” He tossed the letter aside. “One would expect more from the Pope.”

  “Are you still fretting about those men making wax images of us? Dear one, they will be dealt with.”

  Hugh sighed. Though he had cleverly managed to get William de Braose to bring a writ of novel disseisin against Elizabeth de Burgh for Gower, with the result that Gower had passed back to the hapless Braose, who had subsequently granted it to the Earl of Winchester, who had then granted it to Hugh himself, his pleasure in having even more of Wales in his hands had rather been diminished by the news that a group of men in Coventry had been making wax images of the king, Hugh, the Earl of Winchester, and several nobodies in an attempt to kill them by black magic. “But what if there are more of them?”

  “Well, you hear the Pope. You must make your full confession.”

  “That would take a while,” admitted Hugh. He shook his head, trying to erase from his mind the look in Eleanor's green eyes when she had heard that Elizabeth had lost Gower. Hugh managed to keep a good deal from his wife, but there inevitably were leaks. Still, she had seemed almost convinced when he explained to her that Braose had acted quite on his own and that much as Hugh would have liked to restore Gower to Elizabeth, it seemed best for the realm that it not be in hostile hands. After all, he had pointed out, Elizabeth might marry again.

  “Marry! I think she is quite tired of marriage by now. After all, she never wanted to marry Damory, and what did that marriage bring her?”

  “But she might be abducted, as she was by that fortune-hunter Theobald de Verdon.”

  “Theobald was no fortune-hunter. They were genuinely fond of each other.”

  They had bickered about this side issue for so long that Eleanor had forgotten all about Gower for the time being. He supposed once she remembered, he would have to satisfy her somehow. Perhaps he could rent Usk to the Prioress…

  “Hugh?”

  “I beg your pardon. I was distracted.”

  “See your confessor after you leave me. In the meantime, I think we have something more important to worry about. Do you think the queen is loyal to us in this business of France?”

  Although Edward had, as promised, appointed commissioners to hold an inquiry into the St. Sardos affair, the French king had summoned several men, including Ralph Basset and Raymond Bernard, to appear before him. When they had failed to do so, they had been sentenced to have their possessions confiscated and they themselves banished from France. Edmund the Earl of Kent, the king's young brother, had been sent to France with others to try to ease the situation and, through what seemed to be a natural aptitude for bungling things, had succeeded only in making things worse. He was followed by the Earl of Pembroke. But in June 1324, as Pembroke was traveling toward Paris, news reached the English court that the aging earl had collapsed and died while on his way. Though negotiations went forward in his absence, the castle of Montpezat had been razed by the French, after which Edward in late July had ordered the arrest of all French subjects in England and the confiscation of their goods. Charles of Valois, the queen's uncle, had invaded Aquitaine, where the Earl of Kent had been appointed lieutenant.

  Hugh mused. “She's done nothing to help our cause, that's for certain. But whether she'd hurt it, I don't know.”

  “I think we should confiscate her lands.”

  This sounded so much like something Hugh himself would have thought of that he started. Edward continued. “Confiscate her lands, at least for the time being, and give her an ample allowance in their stead. And I think an eye should be kept on what she writes, what goes in and out, and what she spends. And it is high time that the younger children were given their own households, away from her influence. It's not that she has much to do with them now; she hardly saw them during that endless pilgrimage of hers.”

  “In whose charge are they to be put?”

  “What woman do I trust more than your wife? I will put the queen in her charge, and my son John. I was thinking of Ralph de Monthermer and your sister for the girls.”

  “It will anger her.”

  “What else can she expect? After all, she is French, and we are in a war with France. Perhaps it will give her some incentive to use her influence against Charles. And speaking of Charles, it will give him the idea that we are not to be trifled with.”

  “It does sound like a good idea,” admitted Hugh, still a little vexed that he had not thought of it himself. But then, he and Edward had reached the point in their relationship that they could complete each other's sentences, so why wonder that they were thinking alike? “Shall I make the arrangements?”

  “Yes, you and Bishop Stapeldon.” Bishop Stapeldon, the Bishop of Exeter, was the royal treasurer. “But I suppose we also should consult your wife.”

  “You sent for me, Hugh?”

  “Yes, sweetheart. Sit down while I finish this. It won't be long.”

  Eleanor sat on a window seat and listened to Hugh finish the letter he was dictating to a clerk. Never had she seen anyone thoroughly enjoy dictating a letter as much as Hugh did. He would settle back in his chair, feet upon a stool, and hold forth
, measuring his words to the exact pace his clerk needed to keep up with him. He never fumbled for a word, never forgot what he had just said, never changed his mind and had his clerk cross something out. Eleanor loved to listen to him; so did the king.

  As promised, it was not long before he finished. Dismissing the clerk with a breezy wave, he turned to Eleanor and smiled. “This is rather formal, my summoning you here, isn't it? But it is a matter that requires immediate attention. This French nonsense. It's an irritant, but I trust it shall soon be gotten over. The king and I, however, are concerned about the queen's role in all this. She has, after all, divided loyalties. Has she ever confided in you about this business?”

  “She confides nothing to me, Hugh. We have had very little to say to each other since she begged for your exile. And there was not much intimacy between us for some time before that. But in truth, I do not think she would work against England, Hugh.”

  “Still, it would be well to ensure that nothing passes from her to France during this delicate situation. The king and I have a suggestion to put to you. How would you like to be her housekeeper?”

  “Her housekeeper?”

  “Look over her accounts, superintend her correspondence. Sit with her council at its meetings. Screen her visitors.”

  “Spy on her, you mean?”

  “I doubt you could spy on her. As my wife, you are hardly likely to be a confidante of hers, and I doubt she would do anything to betray herself before you. But your presence would certainly hamper her ability to intrigue with her brother, if that's her game. It may not be. But she has done, after all, very little to help the situation with her brother.”

  “True.”

  “But now I suppose you will have scruples about doing what I have asked you to do. So this is all I can say: I do not think you would be acting merely to spite the queen, or to please the king and me. I think you would be acting for the good of England. And—”