by Jean Plaidy
Isabella and Mortimer had anxious meetings together. They would not be separated. Moreover it would be very dangerous for her to leave now. There were surely spies at court and it might well be that someone had noticed the relationship between them and had reported it to Edward.
‘It would give him an opportunity to be rid of you,’ said Mortimer and added with a shiver: ‘He could accuse you of treason. Time is what we need, my dearest. Time.’
‘Then we must find it,’ replied Isabella firmly. ‘We shall not falter now.’
‘Stapledon has a great influence over young Edward,’ Mortimer pointed out.
Isabella agreed. ‘I am a little concerned about Stapledon,’ she added.
‘He makes it dear that he regards me as a traitor,’ added Mortimer.
‘The old fool. I am going to sound him out. I am determined to discover what is in his mind.’
‘Go carefully.’
‘You may trust me,’ replied Isabella.
‘Edward must have had a high opinion of him to have trusted young Edward to him.’
‘Edward would always put his trust in the wrong people. I will see what can be done with the old Bishop.’
Mortimer agreed. Isabella’s power to fascinate had grown since she had come to France. She had changed from the humiliated Queen who at every turn was shown by her husband how much more attractive he had found his male friends.
* * *
Walter Stapledon, Bishop of Exeter, was reckoned to be a man of integrity.
He was learned and a member of the University of Oxford. He was, in fact, the founder of Exeter College which at this time was known as Stapledon Hall. He had taken a great interest in the rebuilding of his cathedral and had spent a part of his income on making it beautiful.
He had gone into politics some years before when Edward the First had sent him on a mission to France. Later he had returned to France, this time with Edward the Second; he had deplored the differences between Lancaster and the King, and had tried to bring about a reconciliation between them; and Edward’s trust in him was shown by his sending his son to France in his care.
The Queen approached him carefully.
‘My lord Bishop,’ she said, ‘how think you my son responds to his responsibilities?’
‘He has done well, my lady,’ answered the Bishop.
‘I am glad you agree with me. It is said that he will be another such as his grandfather. I pray this may be so.’
The Bishop did not meet her eye. He said: ‘There is a resemblance between the Prince and his father and grandfather.’
‘I trust he may be like his grandfather,’ said the Queen firmly.
The Bishop was alert. He had heard rumours. Could it be true that the Queen was engaged in an adulterous liaison with Mortimer? There was that in their manner when they were together to suggest this might be true. Mortimer— a traitor to the King— a man who had escaped from prison where he had been condemned for treachery, and to be received as he was, to be honoured by the Queen and the Court of France― it was a state of affairs which made the Bishop very suspicious.
The Queen went on: ‘My lord, like so many good men you must be saddened by what is happening in England.’
She waited for his response but it did not come and she went on somewhat impatiently: ‘You cannot be happy about the King’s obsession with Hugh le Despenser.’
‘I respect the King’s right to choose his ministers,’ replied the Bishop rather coldly.
‘Ministers, my lord,’ said the Queen rather hotly. ‘Would you call pretty Hugh a minister?’
‘He holds the office of Chamberlain bestowed on him by the King, my lady.’
‘My lord Bishop,’ retorted the Queen, ‘you must not think I should consider it treason if you were to speak your mind.’
‘I can assure you, my lady, that my thoughts are not treasonable.’
The Bishop bowed with dignity and asked leave to retire. She saw at once that she had made a mistake. He was not with them. He had the sort of blind loyalty which told him he must support the King at all cost.
She went at once to Mortimer and told him of the interview, repeating it word for word.
‘He could be dangerous,’ agreed Mortimer. ‘And he will talk to Edward.’
‘My dear love, what can we do about it?’
Mortimer stared into the distance. ‘If he is a danger to our cause, he must be removed.’
‘How?’ whispered the Queen.
‘We must find the answer to that one, my love. It must not appear that we have a hand in it. This is too important a cause to be spoilt by a priest with a misplaced sense of duty.’
Walter Stapledon went to his chamber and shut himself in. It’s true, he thought. The Queen with Mortimer is plotting to overthrow the King. It is for that reason they wanted the Prince here; this is why they will not go back to England but make excuse after excuse to stay.
What could they be planning to do? Raise an army? Invade England? How far was the King of France involved?
And the Queen knew that he was aware of what was happening. She and Mortimer― her paramour― Guilty of disloyalty and adultery― They would stop at nothing. In the moment when he and the Queen had faced each other she knew that she had betrayed her evil schemes to him.
Walter Stapledon, he said, your life is not worth one little groat.
Perhaps even now the assassin was lurking in readiness for him.
He sent for his servant— a man whom he could trust.
‘Have you some of your garments which would not look too ill on me?’
The man stared in astonishment.
‘I will tell you something,’ said the Bishop. ‘I have to get away from the court with all speed. I need a good disguise. Can you procure something― for yourself and for me. Then, my good friend, we will make for the coast with all speed and take ship to England.’
‘If it is your wish, my lord.’
‘It is not only my wish but my need.’
* * *
Luck was with the Bishop. He and his servant reached the coast without mishap and quickly found a ship to take them to England.
He went to his lodging and there discarded his disguise and garbed in his bishop’s robes sought an audience with the King.
As might have been expected Hugh le Despenser was with him.
Edward expressed surprise and consternation at the sight of him.
‘My lord Bishop, your mission was with the Prince. Is he with you?’
‘I left the Court of France in a hurry, my lord,’ said the Bishop, ‘and disguised. Had I not done so I should never have been allowed to get away to tell you what is happening there.’
The King was puzzled but Hugh was alert.
‘Pray go on, my lord Bishop,’ he said.
‘My lord, I hesitate to say this. Nor would I if I did not firmly believe it to be truth. The Queen and Mortimer are engaged in an adulterous intrigue.’
‘Mortimer!’ cried the King. ‘Mortimer and Isabella!’
‘It is clear that she had a hand in effecting his escape. They had planned this.
They schemed to get the Prince with them and once they did were more careless than they had been before. They are gathering malcontents and their plots bode no good for you, my lord.’
‘This is wild talk, Bishop,’ said the King.
But Hugh had laid a hand on his arm. ‘It smells of truth, dear lord,’ he said.
‘As you know, I have long suspected the Queen.’
‘What good can she do?’ asked Edward.
‘Is the King of France with her?’ cried Hugh.
‘I know not. As soon as I realized that my suspicions were correct, I thought it my duty to make haste to you. I implied that I would not work with them and for that reason my life was in danger.’
‘It is monstrous!’ cried the King. ‘What can we do?’
‘We must recall the Queen and the Prince without delay,’ said Hugh.
‘Mort
imer cannot stand without them.’
‘1 wonder how far it has gone,’ mused Edward.
‘My dear lord,’ replied Hugh, ‘it is nothing which we cannot handle. The King of France will not send men to England. He might help with arms and sympathy, but he will not be able to do anything against the army we shall raise.
But first let us not make it known that we are aware of their villainy. Let us get the Queen and the Prince back. When they are here it will be necessary to restrict the Queen. I doubt the poison has seeped very far into the Prince’s mind.
We must be thankful to my lord Bishop for his loyalty.’
‘My dear Bishop,’ said the King, ‘it shall not be forgotten.’
‘I seek not rewards for my loyalty, my lord,’ said the Bishop with dignity.
‘I know it well,’ replied Edward warmly. ‘I thank God that I have many good friends in my realm on whom I can depend and who will serve me no matter who comes against me.’
On the advice of both Hugh and the Bishop the King that day wrote to the King of France telling him that now that the matter of homage was settled he would be glad of the return of his Queen and son.
The King of France sent for his sister and when she came, he embraced her coolly and said: ‘It is time you went back to England.’
Isabella looked as distressed as she felt.
‘It grieves me to think of returning,’ she said. ‘It has been so wonderful for me to be here in my native country. Life is so different here. If you but knew, brother, what I have had to endure.’
Charles tapped the letter in his hand. ‘Edward reminds me that it is time you returned. You should make your preparations.’
She hesitated. She wanted to tell him of their plans. How so much was going in their favour yet how they needed time.
‘If you do not go,’ went on the King, ‘Edward will think I hold you against your will.’
‘Does he say that?’
‘No. He implies that the reluctance is on your part.’
‘How right he is! Oh Charles, you do not know how I have suffered through those Despensers.’
‘You have mentioned it now and then sister,’ replied Charles with increasing coolness.
Oh God help me, thought Isabella. He is going to send me back.
‘You want me to leave do you?’ she asked bluntly.
‘My dear sister, you have been long here. Your business is settled. It is natural that you should return to your husband.’
‘You mock me. My husband! You know what he is.’
‘You and your son should return to your home.’
‘He asks that you send us, does he? In what terms?’
‘He asks why there is the delay in your returning and mentions that you have been away long enough.’
‘Charles, I am afraid.’
‘You Isabella― afraid! I know you are many things but I am surprised to find you afraid.’
‘They will kill me if I go back,’ she said quietly.
‘Kill you? My sister. They would have to answer to me if they did. I do not think they would wish that.’
‘Charles, it would not seem like murder. But it would be. The Despensers hate me. You know what it was like before I came. I was almost their prisoner.
That is what they wish. Oh, they will not cut off my head. Nor will they give me a dose of poison which immediately removes me― but they will kill me nevertheless. They will imprison me and slowly they will take my life away from me.’
‘Isabella, you over-excite yourself.’
‘Would you not be over-excited brother if you were faced with murderers?
Let me stay here, only a little longer I promise you. I will make plans― but I cannot go back to Edward and the Despensers yet.’
She had fallen to her knees and raised her eyes supplicatingly to his. She was very beautiful and she was his sister and they were the only two left of their father’s children. Charles himself felt none too secure with the Templars curse hanging over him.
He raised her and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
‘Do not be so dramatic, Isabella. Certainly, you may stay a little longer. I will write something to Edward. But you must not get up to mischief. Do you understand?’
‘Mischief?’
‘There are rumours. I have heard that you are over-friendly with Roger de Mortimer.’
‘What calumnies! Of course I am friendly with the English here in France.’
‘You have gathered a good many about you.’
‘Indeed why should they not speak with me? They are unhappy about the King even as I am.’
‘I would not wish my court to be the plotting ground.’
‘Dear Charles! You are going to be my good brother. I promise you that I shall make my plans for departure and as soon as I can bring myself to do so I shall leave.’
‘And when you go take your malcontents with you.’
‘And you will write to Edward.’
‘And tell him that your departure has been temporarily postponed but that within a few weeks you will be making your plans to leave.’
* * *
The King of France was frowning over a letter he had received from the King of England. A few weeks had passed since he had told Isabella she might remain a little longer, but so far she had said nothing about her departure.
Very dear and beloved brother, wrote Edward, ‘We have received and well considered your letters― It seems that you have been told, dearest brother, by persons whom you consider worthy of credit that our companion, the Queen of England, dare not return to us, being in peril of her life, as she apprehends from Hugh le Despenser. Certes, dearest brother, it cannot be that she can have fear of him, or any other man in our realm. If either Hugh or any other living being in our dominions would wish to do her ill, and it came to our knowledge, we would chastise him in a manner which would be an example to all others― We also entreat you, dearly beloved brother, that you would be pleased to deliver up to us Edward our beloved eldest son, your nephew― We pray you to suffer him to come to us with all speed for we have often sent for him and we greatly wish to see him and speak with him, and every day we long for his return― Charles’s brow was wrinkled. The letter was genuine enough and although he despised Edward as an incompetent ruler, he could not believe he was capable of plotting the murder of his wife. Whereas he could believe of his sister that she was concerned in some mischief.
And whatever it was, he wanted no part in it. He felt weak in health, lacking in vitality; he doubted he would ever get a son and heir. The curse of the Templars sat heavily upon him and he was not going to look for trouble outside his realm.
Isabella would have to take her problems elsewhere.
By the same messenger there were letters for Isabella and young Edward.
Isabella, with Mortimer beside her, read hers aloud.
‘Lady, Oftentimes have we sent to you, both before and after the homage, of our great desire to have you with us, and of our grief at heart at your long absence; and as we understand that you do us great mischief by this, we will that you come to us with all speed and without further excuses.
Before the homage was performed you made the advancement of that business an excuse and now that we have sent by the honourable father, the Bishop of Winchester, our safe conduct to you “you will not come for fear and doubt of Hugh le Despenser” whereat we cannot marvel too much― And, Certes, lady, we know for truth, and so know you, that he has always procured from us all the he could for you, nor to you have either evil or villainy been done since you entered into our comradeship― and we are much displeased, now the homage has been made to our dearest brother, the King of France, and we have much fair prospect of amity, that you, whom we have sent to make the peace, should be the cause (which God forfend) of increasing the breach between us by things which are feigned and contrary to the truth. Wherefore we charge you as urgently as we can, that ceasing from all pretences, delays and false excuses, you will come to
us with all the haste you can. Our Bishop has reported to us that our brother, the King of France has told you in his presence “that, by the tenor of your safe conduct, you would not be delayed or molested in coming to us as a wife should to her lord”― Also we require of you that our dear son Edward return to us with all possible speed for we much desire to see him and speak with him― Isabella finished reading and looked in dismay at Mortimer, who said: ‘It is clear that he is becoming anxious.’
‘He will have written to my brother,’ replied Isabella. ‘My dear love, soon it will be impossible for us to remain in France.’
‘And it is equally impossible for you to return to England. We must gather together an army. We must be certain of a good reception when we do return to England. If only we had a few more months.’
‘My brother cannot force me to go.’
‘I fear he can. And he doubtless will if Edward continues to demand your return.’
‘There must be a way,’ cried Isabella. ‘We have come so far we cannot throw everything away now. Moreover in spite of Edward’s protestations, I would not give much for my chances with the Despensers if I returned to England.’
‘Let us not show panic. Let us see what is the effect of the letters Edward will have sent to your brother.’
‘There is something else,’ cried Isabella. ‘He will have written to my son.’
There was silence. ‘I must go to Edward and see what his father has written.
The boy is asking direct questions.’
‘He will not wish to leave you,’ Mortimer assured her. ‘You have cast a spell over him as you have over us all.’
‘It is true that he loves me well, but he is clever. He thinks often of when he will be King.’
‘There is no harm in that. The sooner he is, the better.’
‘Still, Stapledon instilled some filial feeling in him. A curse on that man!
These letters are the direct result of his escape and reporting to the King.’
‘It is done. Let us go on from where we now stand.’
‘You are right, my love. I will go at once to young Edward.’
The young Prince was at that moment reading the letter from his father.
