For an instant, Eleanor hoped she had misunderstood the Latin. Then she heard William gasp beside her. As if in a trance, she stood silent as Master Preston announced that he would appeal to the Pope.
What would happen now? Would William have to take all of his things off her estates? Would John be expecting to move in that very afternoon? Would all the Zouche banners have to come down from her lands? How would she say goodbye to William? And how in God's name would she explain to her youngest children? “Mama thought she was married to Lord Zouche, you see, but it appears that she was married to Sir John. So it is him you must call Papa now…”
She began to laugh. “So many details!” she explained when all eyes turned toward her. “So many damn details to consider!” She doubled over with laughter. Then she began to cry at the same time.
It was Gladys who came to her rescue, hustling her out of the room. “Come, my lady,” she said, “let's get you out of here.”
“Gladys, where am I?”
“An inn in Worcester, my lady. We had an apothecary give you a sleeping potion. Poor creature, you needed it.”
“Was I as distracted as I think?”
“Worse,” said Gladys dryly.
“Where is William? Where is that Grey?”
“Lord Zouche is downstairs. Sir John is not here. It is not as bad as you think, my lady. Because your proctor appealed, it was ordered that you not have to live with Sir John just now, at least until the appeal is over. Even Sir John agreed. He saw how badly you took the sentence, that it would be too sudden a change for you. But you may not have conjugal relations with Lord Zouche either, on pain of excommunication.”
“Would you send Lord Zouche to me?”
“Yes, my lady.”
She stared at the bed curtains until William came in. “William, forgive me. Please.”
“There is nothing to forgive. You are my wife and we both know it. We'll fight this. We'll keep on fighting.”
“I know in my heart that I never married Sir John. But William, I know this too. It would not have mattered to me if I had. I could not have said no to you. When you came back for me I was as happy as I have ever been in my life.”
“Me too, my love.”
He settled on the bed with her and held her for a time. Then he said, “I did give my oath not to lie with you while this order stands, and I must keep it. I couldn't do it if I were living with you; I'm having a hard time keeping it now. So I shall go to Ashby-de-la-Zouche for a while. You understand the necessity of that?”
“Yes. There is no need to displease God further.”
“Gladys said that she would bring William to visit me soon.”
William, their newly bastardized child. “I know he will like that, William.”
“Then I must leave now. We will soon be united again, Eleanor. Don't fear that, my love.”
He kissed her and hastened out the door.
From Worcester, Eleanor went to Hanley Castle. When she dismounted from her horse, she said, “I am going to the quay, Gladys. I want to be alone.”
Gladys's voice sharpened, “The quay, my lady?”
Eleanor smiled faintly. “Gladys, I promise you I am not going to drown myself. I have committed enough sins without adding that to the list. I will be back before long.”
Reluctantly, Gladys left her, and Eleanor walked slowly to the barge on which William had married her. She sat down in the cabin, in the same spot where the waves had rocked her to sleep as she lay snuggled next to William, and cried until she could cry no more. Then, exhausted, she slept.
“Mother? Mother?”
She opened her eyes and stared around her. “Hugh!”
Hugh's release had been conditioned on his appearing before the king's council at the October Parliament. Twelve mainprisors had been required to guarantee his appearance. (“Twelve! Shows what a desperate character I am,” Hugh had told his admiring brothers.) Accordingly, Hugh accompanied William to Parliament and appeared before the king at the appointed day.
The king stared at Hugh after having ordered him to rise. It had been years, Hugh realized, since they'd seen each other, not since Edward, a reedy youth, had departed England for France to do homage to the French king. The first royal words were not encouraging. “Good Lord, man! You are the image of your father.”
This was rather a handicap, Hugh thought as he glanced at the members of the council, most of them older men who had disliked his father and grandfather, all of them studying his features now and murmuring in assent. “That would explain the looks I got from your grace's men as I made my way here,” he said cheerfully. “Half looked as if they'd seen a ghost and the other half looked as if they'd like to make me one.”
The king's mouth twitched upward but did not remain there. “Our cousin Eleanor has been begging us for some time to set you free. We wish to gratify her, if we can assure ourselves that you will be trustworthy. How far were you involved in your father's wrongdoing?”
“Very little, that I know of. My father did not confide in me, your grace. I suspect he probably wanted to keep me clean of his own sin. I knew he was disliked, of course, and I don't suppose I ever considered him overscrupulous. It wasn't a subject I cared to analyze deeply, and when I had nothing but time to analyze it deeply, it was too late. My father was dead and I was a prisoner, so it seemed like a pointless exercise, not to mention a depressing one.”
“What have you been doing with yourself since your release?”
Trying to acquire Gower, Hugh resisted the temptation to say. “I have been staying with my mother.”
“As a chaperone?” the king's chancellor said snidely. He was John Stratford, Bishop of Winchester. It was he, Hugh recalled, who had carried the queen's orders putting his mother in the Tower.
“As the heir to her lands, my lord, it is natural that I should help her with them. And as she has been subject to unkind remarks of the sort heard just now, she prefers my company or that of my younger brother when she goes out in public, and I daresay my being with her has been a comfort to her during this trying time for her.”
“Yes, I suppose it would be,” said Stratford, a little abashed.
“Your grace, I am well aware that my father's and my grandfather's lands were forfeit to the crown. I am not asking for them or for anything else. I am not asking for my grandfather's earldom, or even for a knighthood. I am not asking you for anything, except to be free of all charges against me. It is my wish to be of service to you someday, so that I may earn your trust and perhaps make my family's name less of a hated one. I cannot do any of those things if I am locked up somewhere or confined to my mother's lands.”
“We are satisfied with what you have told us, although we may have questions later,” the king said. “You shall appear before Parliament tomorrow with your mainprisors, and we shall render our decision.”
Hugh bowed and backed out of the room. Edward looked at his councilors and sighed. “While we are on the subject of the Despenser family, let us see my troublesome cousin's husband. Bring in Lord Zouche.”
“You and Sir John both claim to be married to our kinswoman, Lady Despenser. Correct?”
“Yes, your grace.”
“That is in the hands of the Church,” said Edward, not without relief. “That is where it should be, and that is where it should stay. We have summoned you here because we have received reports that your men are harassing each other.”
“I beg your pardon, your grace. But my men cannot help but feel indignant that that blackguard of a knight, who I might add did almost nothing to recover his so-called wife until your grace restored Glamorgan to her, has caused my wife Eleanor so much grief and pain.”
“We shall command you both in Parliament to keep the peace between you, on pain of imprisonment. There is an appeal pending in Avignon about this matter?”
“Yes, your grace.”
“I hope that shall settle it. If it does not, we will summon both of you to appear before this counci
l later, with the lady, to see if some agreement can be reached. In the meantime, you and your men are to do no violence to each other. You understand us?”
“Yes, your grace,” William said.
The next day, Hugh le Despenser with his twelve mainprisors appeared before the king and Parliament and was pardoned for holding Caerphilly Castle against the queen. William was summoned before the same Parliament and ordered to keep the peace with John de Grey, who was served with a writ commanding him to do the same.
Soon after this eventful Parliament for the Despenser family disbanded, the Pope ordered the case of Grey v. Zouche to be reheard by Robert de Welles, the prior of Southwark Abbey, and William Inge, the archdeacon of Surrey. With the hearing pending, the king summoned William, John, and Eleanor to his council in January 1332.
“I have called you here to see if this matter can be settled,” Edward said. “For the best interest of all three of you. I shall be blunt. My cousin Eleanor is a wealthy woman. If she were to grant one of you some of her more valuable lands for life, with a remainder to her heirs—”
John said, “Your grace, it is not the lady's lands I covet. It is the lady, my wife. I tried to recover her before she got her lands back. But there was her imprisonment, and the Bishop of Lincoln's intransigence—”
“I'd take her if she were a beggar,” said William.
Eleanor said, “Your grace, I married Lord Zouche with witnesses, before God. My wedding vows cannot be bought and sold in that manner.”
The king sighed. “So it's not money, as I hoped? Very well.”
“I only wish to have my wife restored to me,” said John. “She promised to marry me, and we consummated the promise. Then this smooth-tongued scoundrel came around and took her, by force and fear, I think—”
“He is mistaken!” Eleanor waved her hands frantically. “I did lie with him, your grace, I was foolish. Call me a whore, but do not call me his wife. It was Lord Zouche I married, Lord Zouche I wanted to marry all along. Only I felt so guilty doing so because of Hugh, and when Sir John came to visit—”
“You took advantage of her!” said William.
“I! You had a priest with you, ready to do your bidding, didn't you? No waiting, and why? Because you knew that she was my wife, and you were hoping that once you'd snatched her away, I'd graciously forget about her. Bloody hell I will! I'd as soon cut your throat, you villain!”
He reached for his dagger. Before he could draw it halfway, Eleanor shrieked, “No!” and threw herself in front of William. “Don't you dare harm him!”
“Gentlemen!”
One of the king's sergeant-at-arms grabbed John, and another grabbed William. John, as best he could with the burly man holding him, replaced the knife and said, “Lady Despenser, I did not mean to frighten you, please God. I only—”
“Lord Zouche, Sir John, you are both in our custody now. We will not tolerate such behavior in front of us and our council.” The members of the council, who throughout the proceedings had looked both attentive and highly entertained, nodded disapprovingly. “Take them both to the Tower.”
“The Tower!” wailed Eleanor.
William got a hand free to grip Eleanor's. “Don't distress yourself, my love. Just the usual family quarters, no doubt.”
As the men were led away, William de Montacute rose and walked Eleanor to his seat. “Sit here, my lady. Someone will get your son to take you away from here.”
“Thank you, Lord Montacute.” She sank down in her seat, finding as she did that she still had enough spirit to meet John Stratford's disdainful gaze at her with a magnificent stare that made the bishop blink.
“Then the king's sergeants-at-arms arrested both men and took them both to the Tower,” Joan of Bar reported to Queen Isabella a few days later at Windsor Castle. She considered it her duty to keep her friend up-to-date on the news from court, even if the dowager queen did not always show an interest in her reports.
“Are they there now?”
“No. Lord Zouche was released on mainprise. Sir John was released into the custody of William de Clinton.” Too late, Joan remembered that he had been one of Mortimer's captors. “Not exactly close custody, as they are good friends.”
“And the silly little cat who started this nonsense? She is not living with one of these men?”
“No. She is under orders not to bed with either of them, on pain of excommunication, poor thing. Not that I think she needs to be told to stay away from Grey, the handsome one who's years younger than she is. It's Zouche, the gray, homely one ten years her senior, whom she's in love with.” Joan giggled. “Funny, isn't it? Zouche is the gray one, not Grey.”
Isabella snorted and stared out of her window, seeing nothing but the usual view of trees and river. For well over a year now she had lived here, not exactly her son's prisoner but not quite free either. Her quarters were as comfortable as they had ever been; she was served as obsequiously as she could desire; her ladies and damsels humored her every wish. She had musicians to keep her entertained, scribes and illuminators to produce manuscripts of romances for her, chaplains to see to her spiritual needs. Joan of Bar, her dearest friend, frequently visited; so did the Countess of Pembroke. Her children Eleanor and John came too, though their visits were clearly paid out of duty. The king himself came infrequently, but dutifully sent his agents to inquire about her needs.
For months after Mortimer's death, Isabella had been closely supervised; there had been worries, never expressed to her in so many words, that she might try to kill herself. It was true that there were weeks she simply did not recall, so deep had been her anguish. Gradually, the restrictions on her had been lifted, and just the other day Edward had told her (in person for once) that she would soon be able to leave Windsor and live on any of the lands she had been given. He had been rather disappointed at her lukewarm response; clearly, he had expected a bit of gratitude. He was right to expect it, she knew. Another sort of son might have locked her up for life or forced her into a nunnery; a man like her own father might have had her burned at the stake. Instead, Edward had evidently determined to treat her as if Mortimer were but a disease from which she was slowly recovering, one that was better left unmentioned. Sometimes, she thought, she would have preferred harsh treatment; it would be less humiliating than living her life as the prodigal mother of this saintly son. At least it would have given her someone to be angry at, besides herself.
“Enough about that wretched Despenser woman,” said Isabella. “What of my daughter Eleanor? Is there any further news about her marriage?”
“No. The king has yet to conclude the agreement with the Count of Guelders. I still think she could do better, your grace. But as the negotiations with France came to nothing…”
“Aragon didn't want her either,” said the queen. “Not surprising, I suppose. They could do better for a marriage. I could have, too. Why, I regret the day I came to this miserable, gray little country. I truly do.”
Joan was well used to such diatribes. She said placidly, “Shall I summon your musicians, your grace? That always cheers you up.”
“Yes. Summon the damn musicians.”
When Hugh le Despenser had assisted his mother from the king's council chamber, the king had instructed him to see him a few days hence at Waltham Abbey, where Hugh duly arrived in early February. “We have released your mainprisors from their obligations, Hugh. You are as free as any Englishman now.”
“Thank you, your grace.”
“As you may know, your lady mother has asked permission to alienate several of her manors to you. To provide an independent living to you until you inherit her lands at her death.”
Hugh smiled. His mother gave him ample money for his wants, and he assisted her diligently in her affairs, but at his age it was humiliating to be living off her generosity while his male cousins ran their own estates. He'd not needed to bring up the idea himself; Eleanor had offered.
“And we have refused her request.”
Hugh felt slapped across the face. Making an effort to keep his voice low, he said. “I don't understand, your grace. I shall not argue with your will, but I don't understand. We are not asking for anything more than what is in our family already, only for something that would cost the crown nothing and let me live independently like other men of my age and station. But it matters not. A man who's good with a sword can make a welcome for himself anywhere, and it needn't be in England. When my mother's marital problems are settled, I shall leave the country, with your grace's permission, and start afresh elsewhere. May I leave your presence now?”
“Your mother needs her revenues right now, Hugh. She has her fine to pay for her theft, and there is the matter of her marriage litigation, which I'm sure is no small expense. And besides, any grant she might make could be invalidated if it turned out that John de Grey was her true husband.” He nodded to a clerk, who handed Hugh a paper. “Read this.”
Hugh read it. Halfway through he looked up and frowned. “This is a grant of land to me?”
“Yes. The crown is promising you two hundred marks a year in income from lands and rents.”
Two hundred marks. A trifle compared to what his father and grandfather had owned. Yet it would allow him to live independently, and he wouldn't have to learn Italian. He swallowed hard. “Thank you, your grace.”
“The manors are from Grandfather's estate, Mother—I think for a while they were in the hands of Simon de Bereford, the man who was executed not long after Mortimer. But he doesn't seem to have spent much time on them, so I'm unlikely to have visitations from his ghost in the middle of the night.”
“It is kind of the king, indeed,” said Eleanor, a little wistfully, for she would have liked to have seen Hugh given Loughborough. But one could not be particular, and it was good to see her son finding some favor with the king at last. “Freeby in Leicestershire and Ashley in Southampton. An interesting combination.”
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