The Queen's Spy

by Caroline Newark

  The bishop looked annoyed but there was nothing he could do in the face of a royal dismissal. He folded his hands across his ample middle, murmured gracious words and then backed out of the king’s presence. The greyhound muttered a greeting and scuttled out, his long legs tangling themselves up in his haste to be gone.

  ‘Brother,’ said Isabella seating herself firmly in front of the table and not waiting for any formalities. ‘I am far from pleased. I hear you have received another letter from my husband in which he demands my return.’

  The king turned his gaze upon his sister. Just at that moment I moved into the light and he caught sight of me.

  ‘Ah, my new cousin,’ he said, rising and coming to my side. ‘La petite amoureuse. Greetings, ma chérie. Are you well?’

  I swept to the floor which seemed the safest thing to do and whispered that I was indeed very well.

  ‘You have not answered me, brother.’ Isabella sounded irritated.

  To my relief, Monseigneur Charles returned to his sister.

  ‘Ah yes, the letter from brother England. Not the words of a happy man. He again commands your return to his side and complains bitterly of your conduct. He most particularly finds it offensive that you show favour to Lord Mortimer.’

  ‘And why should I not?’ retorted Isabella. ‘Lord Mortimer is a loyal and faithful servant to me and my son.’

  ‘Loyal and faithful servants are still servants and queens should be circumspect in how they distribute their favours. And, while we are on the subject of your son - your husband also finds it shameful that at the coronation of my beloved companion, Madame of Evreux, you permitted Lord Mortimer to carry Lord Edward’s robes. A foolish move as you must by now be aware.’

  ‘It was not foolish.’ Isabella was growing increasingly angry.

  ‘It gave rise to talk. Some of my council are not happy with the perceived closeness of Lord Mortimer to yourself and the way in which it reflects upon ourselves.’

  ‘Exactly what are you implying?’

  ‘Is there anything to imply? Is your behaviour all that it should be? You know what they say, sister. They say you lie with Lord Mortimer. They say you are his whore.’

  I had never seen Isabella so angry. Her eyes glittered and her lips turned white with fury.

  ‘How dare you! It is a foul untruth as well you know. I am as chaste now as the day I entered Paris a year ago. If you doubt my word, call back your bishop. Tell him to bring his Holy Book and I will swear to you that I have lain with no man other than my husband.’

  ‘Ah sister, if only it were that simple. You see your husband involves my bishops already. The bishop of Beauvais has received a letter in which the king of England accuses you of sharing your lodgings with Lord Mortimer. A woman caught in adultery, sister. Can there be any greater sin?’

  Beneath his smooth words lay the echoes of the distant scandal of the first wife. Monsiegneur Charles had not forgiven his sister.

  ‘I have told you, brother - it is a lie. My conscience is clear.’

  The king carried on as if Isabella had not spoken. ‘And it transpires His Holiness also has been honoured with another letter from your husband.’

  ‘As I told the Holy Father’s envoys, I have been grossly slandered.’

  ‘But it seems you are not believed.’

  Isabella gasped. ‘They doubt my word? The word of a queen?’

  ‘It seems so. And it is not just a matter of your behaviour, sister. Your husband now regards me as one who is aiding and abetting you in your defiance. He looks upon me as his enemy. So I regret very much that I must ask you to desist in whatever plans you are making. I can no longer be seen as a party to such matters.’

  ‘You are not.’

  ‘But when rumours reach my ears of plots to murder my brother England and his friend, Monsieur le Despenser, and I learn that these plots emanate from the hand of Lord Mortimer who currently resides in your lodgings, then what am I to think? I fear you have gone too far, sister.’

  ‘There is no plot.’

  ‘My spies in England tell me otherwise. They say Lord Mortimer’s men were caught in the act.’

  ‘It isn’t true.’

  ‘Witchcraft, sister. Waxen images of your husband and Monsieur le Despenser. Evil deeds done in dark corners against the teachings of Holy Church.’

  ‘It is a lie.’

  ‘The men have confessed.’

  ‘Men will confess to anything as you well know.’

  ’And there is also the question of our lands in the Aquitaine.’

  Isabella’s eyes narrowed. ‘My son is the duke of Aquitaine. Gascony is his by right and you know it.’

  ‘Some would disagree.’

  They were face to face like the angry children they had once been.

  ‘If you think you can steal my son’s birthright you will regret it, Charles. You should pay heed to the fate of our two brothers: dead before their time and no sons to follow them. What do you think lies ahead for you?’ She leaned across the table and caught his arm. ‘If anything happens to you, God forbid that it should, who do you think will step into your boots? Long-nosed Philip? He’s no Capet.’

  ‘My wife is with child.’

  ‘Mewling daughters!’ spat Isabella, letting go of his arm. ‘That’s all you’ll get from her. It’s all you’re good for. Believe me, our father will have only one true heir and that will be my son.’

  Monseigneur Charles went white to the tips of his ears and hurriedly made the sign of the cross. ‘You witch! Don’t you dare ill-wish the child in my wife’s belly.’

  ‘I have no need,’ said Isabella, rising to her feet. ‘Your seed is already damned. Everybody knows you will never gain a living son. The Grand Master’s curse pursued both our brothers into their graves and it will hunt you down too. There is nowhere to hide, Charles. Your bishops cannot help you. No-one can help you. The curse will follow you until the day you die.’

  The king slumped back into his seat and closed his eyes. Isabella looked contemptuously at him. ‘Weakling,’ she muttered under her breath. Then, signalling for me to follow, she turned on her heel and swept out of the room.

  It was more than ten years since the burning of the Grand Master of the Templar Knights, yet the echoes of his dying words still haunted Isabella’s family. Cursed out of the flames unto the thirteenth generation; the Iron King dead within the year; Louis, the heir, cut down eighteen months later, his posthumous son living just five days; Philip, the next heir, dying in agony before six years passed and still no sons. Girl babies lived, boy babies died.

  No wonder Monseigneur Charles was terrified of what lay ahead.

  ‘She threatened him,’ I said to Edmund once we were alone. ‘She threatened all of them. She said the crown of France would one day belong to her son and that he was the only true heir of his grandfather.’

  ‘Christ’s blood!’ said Edmund. ‘She must be mad. I’d not kick up that hornets’ nest for all the gold in Christendom.’

  ‘Then let us pray Madame of Evreux presents him with a living son.’

  5

  Hainault 1326

  We rode out of darkness into an uncertain dawn. A pale sky in the east together with the faint sound of distant bells heralded the start of a new day.

  The warning had come in the middle of the night when our household was asleep. It was the earl of Richmond, dusty and dishevelled. Usually a scrupulously tidy man, tonight the hair beneath his black velvet cap was uncombed, his clothing all awry as if thrown on in haste. He had ridden through the streets of the Cité as fast as he could.

  ‘You must be gone before daylight,’ he said to Edmund. ‘The Great Council has turned against you. Yesterday evening the queen’s brother signed documents for the arrest of the queen and Lord Mortimer. They will undoubtedly come for you too. The three of you are to be
sent under escort to Boulogne and thence to England.’

  I put a hand over my mouth in horror.

  ‘And Cousin Charles?’ said my husband.

  ‘At Chaalis with the members of his council. His Holiness has threatened him with excommunication if he continues to harbour the queen and Lord Mortimer. Count Robert rode to warn us. He couldn’t go directly to the queen for fear of implicating himself so he came to me. He says the guards will come in the morning.’

  ‘And Isabella?’

  ‘The queen, her son and Lord Mortimer are leaving as we speak. They will meet you at Meru on the road to Beauvais.’

  Edmund turned to me. ‘One maid, one small bundle, and your travelling clothes. If we are riding fast we can’t have our saddlebags cluttered up with your fripperies.’

  He fired off orders for horses and men.

  ‘Are you not taking your household?’ asked the earl.

  ‘I’ll send them to Poissy. They can wait there until my cousin’s men follow, thinking we are with them.’

  ‘And you?’

  We’ll go to Beauvais. Then north to Ponthieu.’

  The old man looked relieved. ‘I’ve sent men to rouse Lord de Ros and the others from their lodgings. They’ll join you on the road.’ He clasped Edmund tightly. ‘Bon chance, mon ami. May the saints keep you under their protection.’

  ‘Will you not come with us?’

  He smiled. ‘No-one will harm me, I’m considered a friend. I even have a little influence in some quarters. I’ll be of more use to her grace if I remain here but beyond that …’ He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

  We crossed the bridge in single file and rode beneath the walls of the Chatelet, a small group of men with two women dressed in sombre travelling clothes. My face was hidden by my hood while the men had swords and daggers concealed beneath their cloaks. We wound our way through the dark streets of Paris and, with a handful of coins, had the city gate opened.

  ‘My master’s wife has a fancy to visit her sister in Poissy,’ grumbled one of Edmund’s men to the gatekeeper. ‘The Good Lord alone knows why we have to leave at this hour.’

  Hopefully the man would remember the conversation.

  We rode fast, not stopping for food or drink. Towards mid-day Sir John Maltravers joined us. We paused to attend to our needs but before long Edmund ordered us back into the saddle.

  It was evening when we rode into Meru and I saw the welcome sight of a wayside inn. As we dismounted, my cousin was in the yard clapping Maltravers on the back and calling a greeting to Edmund.

  ‘Where is Isabella?’ I said. I didn’t say “the queen” in case someone overheard.

  ‘Inside, resting. It was a hard ride for her.’

  It had been a hard ride for me too but my cousin was not concerned with my wellbeing. I wasn’t necessary to him now that I had brought him Edmund.

  The plan was to stay the night and press on next day for Beauvais. There, my cousin would strike out for Hainault with Maltravers, leaving the rest of us to make our way north to Amiens. Once across the border into Ponthieu we’d be safe and would wait there while my cousin arranged safe conducts for us to enter Hainault.

  The inn, for all its size, was a poor place, ill-lit and ill-furnished. Edmund went up to inspect our rooms while my cousin talked to the landlord. We must have made an odd party because a prosperous-looking merchant was staring at us. He was one of a group of three eating at a table near the door. The younger man was likely his son as the resemblance was pronounced. The third, an older man, was perhaps his steward. The merchant seemed somewhat the worse for drink.

  As we turned to leave he rose and came unsteadily across the floor. ‘I beg your pardon for the intrusion, monsieur, but haven’t we met?’

  My cousin cast a quick glance at the man. ‘No. Sorry. I don’t know you.’

  ‘Valenciennes? Last summer?’

  ‘No.’

  The man scratched his chin in puzzlement.

  ‘I could have sworn. I said to my son … are you sure? Your face is familiar.’

  ‘I was in Rouen last summer.’

  ‘Oh well then, it can’t have been you.’ He looked at my cousin curiously. ‘But he was very like you, monsieur. Perhaps your brother? Or your cousin?’

  ‘I have no cousins and my brother was in Rouen with me. You are mistaken and now if you will excuse me, my goodwife and I …’

  ‘Oh, to be sure.’ He shook his head. ‘I would have wagered a week’s money. But if you’re certain.’

  ‘I am.’

  The man still looked bewildered. ‘And the voice. Your accent. But as you said, monsieur, you were in Rouen so it couldn’t have been you.’

  ‘No, it couldn’t.’

  ‘Then all I can do, monsieur, is apologise for my presumption.’

  My cousin inclined his head. ‘Where are you headed, you and your son?’

  ‘Oh, Paris. Where else? And you?’

  ‘My wife and I go back to Rouen. Now I must bid you goodnight.’

  Together we climbed the stairs in silence. When we reached the top, my cousin grasped me by the arm. ‘Say nothing to the others.’

  ‘Did he know you?’

  ‘Yes. I met him at a friend’s house in Valenciennes. Once his head is less befuddled with drink he’ll remember my name.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  He looked at me as if I were stupid.

  ‘Don’t ask foolish questions. You don’t want to know the answers.’

  That night Isabella and I shared a bed of sorts while the maids lay on straw near the door. Edmund and young Edward were in the next room with my cousin. I didn’t ask where the other men slept but I heard my cousin detail a watch for the night in case we’d been followed. As I tossed and turned I tried not to think about the plump merchant and his fresh-faced son sleeping peacefully in their bed; or the French king’s men-at-arms in their black cloaks with their hats pulled low, galloping through the night in pursuit of the English queen.

  Next morning my cousin said casually to the landlord. ‘I hear there are robbers on the roads near Gisors. Let’s hope they don’t trouble you. I should bolt your doors and shutters well tonight.’

  The man grovelled and thanked the lord for his warning.

  ‘When our friends upstairs rouse themselves from their slumbers, you might tell them we’ve decided to go to Rouen after all. The fat one was laying a bet I’d change my mind.’

  ‘Friends upstairs?’ said Edmund as we rode out of the inn yard.

  My cousin drew his finger across his throat. ‘Shutters open, table upset, bedding strewn about, empty purses lying on the floor, coins missing. The fat merchant was boasting last night of what good business he’d done. Clearly the work of robbers and thieves. I shouldn’t wonder if the landlord takes better care of his customers in future. It doesn’t do to get a bad reputation.’

  I said nothing. But the thought of what my cousin had ordered done made me want to weep.

  We waited a month in the safety of Ponthieu while Isabella raised money from her tenants and before we left I gave Edmund my news.

  He dropped his gaze to my belly. ‘Now?’

  I smiled at his ignorance of women and babies. ‘Not now but by the time winter comes I shall be as plump as a goose. You can display me at the Christmas feast.’

  Edmund was quiet for a moment. ‘Our son will be born in England?’

  ‘Yes. But are you certain I have a son in here?’

  ‘I shall be just as happy with a daughter. I’m not like Cousin Charles. All I want is for you to be safe, sweetheart, and for the child to be healthy.’

  From Ponthieu we travelled slowly east through Vermandois to Cambrai in Hainault.

  ‘It won’t be long before we are back in England,’ I said, vainly trying to make conversation
with the thirteen year-old boy riding at my side.

  Lord Edward had grown this past year but he was still a quiet boy, self-contained, well-mannered, and a complete mystery to me.

  ‘Yes, Lady Margaret.’ He shot a glance at the folds of my skirts. ‘I suppose I should call you “Aunt” but I have thought of you for many years as “Lady Margaret”.’

  ‘Lord Edward, you may call me whatever you want.’

  He gave me a quick smile, still not meeting my eyes. ‘Thank you.’ He looked away seemingly intrigued at the sight of an expanse of deserted meadow. ‘My lady mother tells me I am to meet my betrothed in Hainault. She says she has chosen a suitable bride and I shall be pleased with her choice.’

  ‘I am certain your lady mother has chosen wisely. She will have considered the matter most carefully. She has your best interests at heart.’

  ‘Was it the same for you, Lady Margaret?’ he enquired politely. ‘Were you chosen for my uncle in this way?’

  I was surprised he didn’t know, considering how loud Isabella had been in her objections to my marriage.

  ‘No. It was different for me. Lord Edmund chose me himself.’

  ‘I would have liked to choose for myself, but my mother says I am too young. She says it is better to allow those older and wiser to arrange such matters.’

  ‘I am sure she is right.’

  ‘What if I dislike the lady she has chosen? And what if the match does not meet with the approval of my father?’

  He rolled the leather of his reins around in his hand. Hunching his shoulders slightly, he lowered his head. ‘My father is not pleased with me. He has forbidden me to bind myself to a marriage without his consent. But what can I do?’

  What indeed? A boy torn between warring parents. He loved them both but couldn’t please them both. As far as he was able he would have to decide to whom he owed his loyalty and act accordingly.

  ‘Her grace will not have chosen a lady who would be displeasing to you. She will have taken the greatest of care. She is the kindest of women and no mother wishes her child to be unhappy.’