The Traitor's Wife

by Susan Higginbotham

  Three days later, William la Zouche, accompanied by Edward le Despenser and Alan, watched at the Tower as Mortimer was led out of his cell. Some-one—the king himself? William wondered—had remembered the handsome black tunic Mortimer had worn to the second Edward's funeral, and Mortimer had been made to wear it to his own hanging.

  “He should have been made to die a traitor's death,” muttered Edward beside him.

  “No,” said William, thinking of the Countess of March and her children, who by the king's mercy would be spared the sight of Mortimer's head upon London Bridge or one of his quarters on a gate. “He deserves it; you're right. But there's been enough of that.”

  Edward shrugged and watched as the earl was tied upon a hurdle, on which he would be dragged to Tyburn two miles off. William wished that his stepson, who had gone to Parliament with him as his squire, would stay away from the execution, as had all the other members of the Despenser family. But at sixteen the boy was too old to be ordered about like a child, and though he had been much friendlier to William since the latter's own arrest, he had refused to listen to his stepfather's advice on this particular matter.

  At Tyburn, Roger Mortimer, his smart tunic muddy and ripped, limped up the steps to the gallows. To William's surprise, he was given a chance to speak to the crowd. The bystanders tensed: Would he implicate Isabella in his crimes? But he was too much of a man to do that, as William had thought. Nor would he damage her reputation still further by sending a message of love to her from the gallows. Instead, in a flat voice, he requested forgiveness for his sins and asked for compassion on his wife and children. Then he added, “If I regret anything, it is the death of the Earl of Kent. He was a decent man whom I entrapped into conspiracy and treason through his fraternal honor.”

  He fell silent and gazed tight-lipped over the heads of the crowd toward London. Mortimer's tunic was stripped off him, and he was left stark naked as the hangman adjusted the noose.

  The silence of the crowd made the sudden sob beside William all the more audible. William turned and saw Edward, ashen-faced and weeping. “Let me get you out of here, Edward.”

  His stepson allowed himself to be led to a cluster of trees. “What is wrong with me, Lord Zouche? I've thought of seeing him hang for weeks. I've looked forward to it. But when they put the noose on all I could see was—”

  “I know. Your father. Come. Sit here.”

  Edward started sobbing even harder, and William realized that what he was seeing was the self-control of four years finally breaking down. He patted him on his shoulder and said, “Stay here. I will get you when it is over.”

  He stepped back into the clearing and watched as the dangling figure of the Earl of March twitched. With a hanging, a man's agony could be prolonged for hours if the executioner had been given orders to do so, but this was not the case today. In minutes, the figure grew still.

  William walked back to the cluster of trees and gently helped his stepson to his feet. “It's over, Edward. Let's go.”

  January 1331 to February 1334

  YOUR GRACE, PLEASE. HUGH IS NO THREAT TO THE REALM, AND YOU KNOW it. Why, he is your near cousin! Let him go, and I will never trouble you again. I promise.”

  Edward looked almost tempted after Eleanor's last sentence. But he shook his head. “As I have repeatedly told you, my lady, it cannot be at this time. His case requires further investigation and deliberation.”

  “Investigation and deliberation? Your grace, he was but eighteen when he was locked up! Locked up because he was loyal to his father, and for no other reason. He has done nothing since. There! Your investigation is done.”

  Edward sighed. “My lady, your son is fortunate to have such an advocate. But your time for advocacy has done for now. You will want to be going on to Glamorgan shortly, I know.”

  Days before, upon William and Eleanor's petition before Parliament, the king had signed a document stating that to ease his conscience, he was restoring Glamorgan, Morganwgg, Tewkesbury, and Hanley Castle to Eleanor and William, on the condition that they pay a fine of ten thousand pounds, in installments. Several days later, Parliament had reduced the fine to five thousand pounds. It was the second of Eleanor's petitions that had met with a favorable response, for the previous month, the king had issued an order allowing her to collect Hugh's bones from their five resting places. Already Hugh's head had been removed from London Bridge and borne in dignity to Tewkesbury Abbey.

  Only on one subject had the king been intransigent. Eleanor's son Hugh was still a prisoner. All of the Earl of Kent's coconspirators, Zouche among them, had been pardoned. The Earl of Arundel's son had been restored to his father's lands. Mortimer's surviving sons, Edmund and Geoffrey, who had been arrested soon after their father, had been released after a few weeks. The Countess of Kent and her children were free and had also been restored to their lands. Except for John Deveril, who had been one of the men who had tricked the Earl of Kent, and Mortimer's crony Simon de Bereford, all of Mortimer's followers, including a scrubbed-up Bishop of Lincoln, had been released. Even Benedict de Fulsham had been released from his mainprise. Vigorously as Eleanor had reminded the king of these instances of leniency on his part, she had met with no success.

  Now, the king having reminded her not so subtly of what she had been given by him, which could certainly be taken away, she said meekly, “Your grace has been very kind to my family and me, and I do not forget it. But—”

  “You may visit him, my lady, and write to him. Send him whatever you wish to make him more comfortable. I wish you a safe journey.”

  “I'll send him supplies, all right! A rope ladder,” muttered Eleanor to William as they made their way out of Westminster's great hall.

  William was beginning to make a soothing reply when a young knight, followed by his squires, entered the hall. Seeing Eleanor, he bowed deeply. “Good day, Lady Despenser.”

  “Good day,” said Eleanor.

  John de Grey of Rotherfield shot William a venomous look and continued into the great hall at Westminster.

  Hugh le Despenser watched, open-mouthed, as luxury after luxury was brought into his tiny chamber at Bristol Castle. A bed, with hangings and pillows. A chest that proved to be full of warm, clean clothing. Wine and food. A chess set. Not since he had been in Ludlow Castle had he been showered with so many goods.

  Then he heard a light footstep coming up the stairs, and he saw a woman come into the room. The woman whom on his worst days at Bristol Castle he had thought he would never see again. “Mother!”

  It was a long time before either Eleanor or Hugh could control their emotions enough to speak coherently. Finally, Eleanor hiccupped and said, “Your brothers and sisters are downstairs, Hugh, but I wanted to see you alone first.” She frowned in the direction of the bed, which two of Eleanor's men, studiously ignoring the reunion nearby them, had been assembling, and wiped her eyes. “And I am not sure they could fit in here now. Why, when your bed is set up there will be scarcely room to swing a cat in here!”

  “Then I won't swing one,” Hugh promised his mother. “I've stayed on excellent terms with the cats here.”

  Eleanor laughed, then twirled her wedding ring uneasily. “Hugh, I suppose you have heard about Lord Zouche.”

  “That you remarried? The guards told me, Mother.”

  “Lord Zouche and I love each other very much, Hugh. He has been a good stepfather to your brothers and sisters and a good husband to me. I meant no disrespect toward your father or to you in marrying him.”

  “I know, Mother. It is all right. I like Zouche. He was good to me at Caerphilly and Ludlow.”

  Eleanor sighed with relief. “Then I shall bring everyone in.”

  Eleanor's middle daughters were at their convents, but the remaining Despensers were numerous enough to make Hugh's room very crowded indeed. Isabel, Edward, and Gilbert, scarcely less moved than their mother had been, embraced their brother for a long time, but John, who did not remember him, and Elizabeth and E
dmund Arundel, who had never known him, looked at him as if he were some sort of natural curiosity. William stood back awkwardly until Hugh, catching sight of him, grabbed him and thumped him on the back. “Lord Zouche! So you married Mother.”

  “Yes, please God.”

  “Good. She needs someone to keep her out of trouble.”

  William smiled and embraced Hugh.

  Lizzie had retreated behind Eleanor's skirts, where she peeped out occasionally, and disapprovingly, at the scruffy creature Mama said was her oldest brother. John, more forthcoming, said, “There is another one of us, baby William, but he is too little to travel in the cold, Mama said.”

  Gilbert said cheerfully, “The king has allowed Mama to bury Papa, did you hear, Hugh? Our men have already been to London, Dover, and here to get him. They still have to go to Carlisle and York.”

  “Gilbert!” hissed Isabel reprovingly.

  “Well, they do,” said the boy unapologetically. After pestering the servants for some years, he had finally gotten a very edited account of his father's death, and he took a certain pride in the fact that Papa had not been merely beheaded, as anyone's father might be, but quartered as well.

  “God, I've missed all of you,” said Hugh quietly. Eleanor stole a look at him. Like his father, he'd never had any excess flesh, and nearly two years under Gurney's governance had left him downright bony. He was more subdued than he had ever been, but Eleanor knew from her own much shorter imprisonments that he was probably feeling overwhelmed by the sudden influx of pleasant company. She squeezed his hand, and he smiled at her with something of his old carefree look.

  Edward said, “Can't I stay here with him, Mother, until he gets out? If the constable allows it?”

  Bristol had a new constable, for Gurney, along with Maltravers and Ogle, had fled from England when Mortimer fell. Gurney's replacement, a relative of William's, had been most gracious to Eleanor. “If he allows it,” Eleanor agreed. “And if Hugh wants the company.”

  “I do,” admitted Hugh. “Very much.”

  “Then that's settled,” said Eleanor.

  “I want to keep him company,” protested Gilbert.

  “And me,” piped up Edmund.

  “And me,” said John.

  Hugh grinned. “Sorry, mates. You'd get bored very quickly, I fear. But when I come home you shall take turns sharing my chamber.” He peeked around Eleanor's dress. “Anyone back there?”

  “No!” said Lizzie.

  For an hour or so more they visited, catching Hugh up on the news. Eleanor was pleased to be able to report that the Countess of March had been well treated by the king and had not lost her own inheritance. Queen Isabella had been brought by the king to Windsor for Christmas and was still staying there. Her outsize dower had been taken from her, but the king had granted her three thousand pounds a year—a perfectly respectable income for a dowager queen.

  “Three thousand pounds more than she deserves,” said Hugh with rare bitterness. He glanced at William. “Zouche, may I see you alone for a few minutes? We can walk on the castle grounds. I'm allowed. Business,” he explained.

  William nodded and followed Hugh outside, noticing that he walked with a limp. “Did Gurney do that to you?”

  Hugh grimaced. “I was rather free with my speech to him one evening, and he kicked me with his boot in the ankle. It only bothers me when it's damp. Trouble is, of course, in England it's almost always damp.”

  “Christ!”

  “I repaid him in kind. He didn't bother me much after that.” He drew his new cloak closer around him. “It's Gurney I wanted to talk to you about. The first few months I was here, he'd bait me. Mainly about my father and the king, telling me what they did with each other and suggesting I shared their tendencies. I don't, by the way; there's days where I could take the laundress here if she weren't every bit of sixty. Well, anyway, I'd get angry like a fool and insult him; then he'd have a go at me. That's where my ankle came from. It passed the time, at least. Then he went through a spell when he didn't see much of me at all. He had the good burghers of Bristol to fleece in various ways, and that took a lot of his time. Then he started coming again. Drunk, and prone to babbling, without any regard to whom he was babbling to. Toward the end I thought I should be in Holy Orders, he was confessing so much to me. One night, he told me what he did to the king. I suppose his conscience was finally catching up with him. You heard how they killed the king, Lord Zouche? The spit?”

  “Yes. There were rumors at Parliament.”

  “Does Mother know?”

  William shook his head. “She knows that he was murdered; she believed that from the start. I don't think she's heard anything more. I've done my best to keep the rumors from her. I suppose she thinks he was poisoned or smothered, and I intend to let her keep on thinking so.”

  “Thank you, Lord Zouche. That's what I was worried about. She was very fond of him, you see. I couldn't bear to have her know that he died that way.”

  “Neither could I.”

  They walked around in companionable silence for a while. Then Hugh said, “I suppose the king will set me free eventually. When he does, I want to go on pilgrimage, as a thanksgiving.”

  “Where to?”

  “Santiago.”

  “That's where your aunt Aline's gone. She was planning to do it by foot.”

  Hugh laughed. “My aunt! I'll have to crawl then, to outdo her. My grandfather went there too, you know.” He made the sign of the cross. “There are nights I can't sleep, thinking of him being tried here, his last night here in chains. Gurney, always thoughtful, showed me where they kept him. Mortimer certainly picked my accommodations well, didn't he?”

  “There's every reason to believe you will be released soon.”

  “Once I finish with Santiago, Lord Zouche, I may just stay over there. Or Italy.”

  “In God's name, why?”

  Hugh shrugged. “What's for me here? I've no lands, I'm penniless, I'm not even a knight. Ladies won't exactly be clamoring for me as a husband now. I used to be a decent fighter, and I suppose I still could be once I got into practice again. I can hire myself out as a mercenary.”

  “Hugh, you know full well your mother won't allow you to stay penniless, and I'm sure the king would let her alienate some lands to you. The knighthood will come. So will marriage.”

  “Yes. But the king has been taught to believe my father was the antichrist. So has all of England. Isabella and Mortimer being gone hasn't changed that. I don't think there'll be any royal favor for the likes of me. I'm better off just starting off on my own somewhere where no one knows about Father.” He sighed. “Forgive me, Lord Zouche. I'm feeling sorry for myself. It happens at times.”

  Zouche said, “The king is still feeling his way, you know. After being led around by his mother and Mortimer for four years, he's uncertain, I think. Once he gets more confident, he'll be more at ease with the idea of setting you free. And he'd be a fool not to want to make an ally of you, not with what you'll inherit someday. Don't give up on England so quickly. Make your trip to Santiago, and then come home. We'd all miss you, for one.”

  Hugh shrugged noncommittally, but he seemed a bit more cheerful as the men turned back toward the castle, Hugh walking quickly in spite of his limp. William pointed at his ankle and said, “I hope Gurney paid for that dearly.”

  “Oh, he did, but I'm afraid I might have hampered the search for him a bit. They may be looking for a man with two front teeth. When I finished with him, he had but one.”

  “Awkward for you, isn't it?” said Eleanor's aunt Mary to William. “I mean, it's not every man who buries his wife's first husband after he's become the second husband.”

  As far as William could tell with her nun's veil and wimple, Mary was a handsome woman of fifty or so, slightly tall for her sex, with strands of graying hair peeking out from beneath her headdress. Unlike her late brother the king, she was naturally gregarious, and after Hugh's funeral mass she had lost no time in trot
ting her horse up beside that of her niece's new husband. (“New to me, at least. And new to her, almost, considering how long you were kept apart.”)

  “It was a trifle odd,” admitted William. What was oddest, he thought to himself, were the tears that had clouded his own eyes as Hugh's coffin, draped in cloth of gold, was at last lowered into its resting place near Tewkesbury Abbey's high altar. Through Eleanor and the children, he'd come to like the man he'd barely known in life, numerous as his sins were.

  “Well, it was a beautiful ceremony,” said Mary briskly. “You served him well with that. Pity his eldest son couldn't be here.”

  “We thought of postponing the funeral until he was released, but not knowing when that would be, we decided to have it now.”

  “How is he faring?”

  “Well. He was a little low in spirits when we saw him, but his brother Edward's been staying with him, which has cheered him up quite a bit, it appears from his letters. And he's had other company besides.” William smiled faintly, for he could not tell Mary of the very special visitor he had arranged for Hugh to have periodically. Guinevere, as she had dubbed herself, might not be the Queen of England, but she was certainly the queen of the whores of Bristol. Any man who was not rejuvenated by her golden hair and her inexhaustible inventiveness might as well start building his own tomb.

  “There are my fellow sisters, Eleanor's girls. I must see them, poor dears, and compare convents.”

  “You will stay with us at Tewkesbury manor, though?” He added, “Tomorrow night we can play at dice.”

  Mary's face lit up. “Ah, Lord Zouche, I see my niece has told you all about me! She never did have luck at dicing. Perhaps you shall be better.” She clucked at her horse and moved on.

  Eleanor took her aunt's place. Though William had watched her dress that morning and had of course stood beside her in the abbey, he still blinked to see her in her black robes again. He pressed her hand as their horses moved companionably together. “This has been a hard day for you, sweetheart.”