Isabella: Braveheart of France (14 page)

At the time, she had been shocked by Marguerite’s behaviour and had been glad of her punishment. Now she was no longer as sure of what was right, and there was no king of either France or England to remind her. A bed as large as this was cold in winter, and in summer with the sheets kicked back and the sweat trickling down her breastbone she longs for a man’s caresses and his kisses on her face.

It no longer seems important if that man is Edward.

Sometimes she thinks of Mortimer. Why Mortimer? She does not even find him pleasant. Perhaps it is the way he looks at her. Edward has never looked at her like that.

She hears her father’s reprimand in the darkness. He looks disappointed, disgusted even. When she closes her eyes she sees Marguerite, her head shaved, lying filthy in some dungeon. She sees her assassins dragging her feet first from her cell, her face mottled and blue.

Is that what you want, Isabella? Because you are a queen, and if you persist in this way of thinking, one day that could happen to you. How can you think this way when you have a new daughter in the nursery?

She is almost asleep when the door opens. When her ladies see who it is they scamper from the room in their nightgowns. The king removes his robe and climbs into the bed. He is cold as a marble statue but she lets him warm himself on her, though she thinks she will scream at the touch of his cold hands.

The branches of trees move in the moonlight beyond the dull glass like ghosts and there are enough of those. He shivers in her arms. It reminds her of those long nights after Bannockburn.

His hands creep beneath her nightgown. It is like being fondled by the dead, but she resists the urge to push him away and hopes that he warms soon. She has hungered for his touch, but in her dreams his hands were not so chill.

***

It is clear that something must be done about Lancaster, though he has lost much of the support he once enjoyed from his fellow earls. As the summer wears on the king spends many afternoons closeted with Pembroke. One day he summons Isabella. “Pembroke says the only way forward is for you to go to Lancaster,” he tells her.

“Go to Kenilworth? Should he not come here, your grace?”

“He should. He won’t. Pembroke and Mortimer think it is important that we have the peace. Bruce has taken Berwick. He must be attended to, and for that we must have a truce of sorts. They think you are the one who can arrange it.”

“Me, your grace?”

He takes her by the shoulders and kisses her cheek. “He is still your uncle. And these barons defer to your gentle words more than they will the threat of my sword. If I cannot do this by force of arms, then I will do it by your sweetness.”

She has waited a long time to hear these words from him. She has wanted him to long for her. Relying on her seems to do as well.

***

Every journey the queen makes requires as much planning and marshalling - according to Edward - as it does to raise an army against the Scots. Her household and much of her furniture must go with her, all packed in boxes and stacked onto carts and covered with waxed canvas to keep the rain out. Sumpter horses carry the rest.

There are not cushions enough in the world to make the journey from London to Kenilworth any easier. It goes on for days, jarring her spine with every mile as they bump over roads better suited to goats. Finally she peers from the litter, sees flocks of sheep on wild moors, a burned and ransacked priory. Her uncle is a brutal landlord.

She craves rest but her uncle is all business. He seems amused that Edward has sent his niece to negotiate with him. He slouches in a chair, and asks her what favours she requires of him.

She does not let him see her fatigue. She is, after all, Queen of England, and royalty may bend, but it does not break.

***

The daughter of France wins England her peace. One hot summer’s day she watches from the banks while Edward and Lancaster meet on the bridge at Loughborough and once again share the kiss of peace.

A charade, for she knew her husband would rather have run a sharp blade across his throat as kiss him. But it was politics, and it was necessary.

“But I still have to obey his ordinances. He can still tell me what I can do and whom I can take as advisors!” he shouts at her afterwards, when they are alone.

“Not Lancaster. He has agreed to relinquish his place as an Ordainer. He doesn’t want it anyway. He is as bored with government as you are.”

“You have bribed him?”

“We have compensated him for the loss of an important post.”

“So who will be Ordainer in his place?”

“Pembroke.”

Edward sucks his teeth. “That might work.”

She takes his arm. “Pembroke has no great love for Lancaster. Nor Mortimer. Surrey hates him heartily. You can play these barons off one against the other until you get what you want.”

A moment of reflection. “You’ve done well.”

“I understand politics.”

He wraps his arms around her and kisses her, taking her breath away. It is not passion but it is enthusiasm, at least. It has all been worth it, to watch Lancaster ride away, outplayed if he but knew it. It was worth it to see her husband beam at her, the peace done.

“I am going to have his head,” he says.

Two months later the rebellions in Ireland are over. Mortimer is recalled in triumph. There is just the small matter of the Scots and then they can turn their attention to their real enemy, the Lord of Kenilworth Castle.

Chapter 25

Restless, she roams the palace. In the Great Hall, the Dispenser’s clerks snore on the Chancery, other servants sleep where they can on the benches. She sees lights in the King’s Painted Chamber, hears a man laughing.

She had forgotten what there is to learn from the common folk. Stand at a door of a stable or a kitchen and you may learn how a whole country is thinking. No one can speak their mind like a steward with his private opinion of the King of England.

They say he goes to it with every stable boy and every young buck at the court, and where will that get him when all knows it is a sin in the eyes of the lord and one day the devil will stick a red hot poker up his nether parts for all damnation.

The kitchen girls giggle and tell him to keep his voice down but this only encourages him, and he tells them he has heard that Edward’s twizzle is shaped like a pig’s, all corkscrew shaped when it comes out, and it has seen more back entries than a Turk and sucked more cocks than a Jerusalem whore when a new Crusade comes to town.

Once she might have been shocked. Now she is merely curious. What is in Edward’s heart?

***

She finds Mortimer idling in the hall. Her cheeks flush when she sees him. “Lord Mortimer,” she says, as casually as she can. “What are you doing lurking in a draughty hallway?”

“I am waiting to see the king.”

“Then do so. Announce yourself.”

“I am afraid I have to see Sir Hugh first.”

“The Despenser boy? Why?”

Mortimer looks surprised that she should ask the question. “No one sees the king without first seeing...the Despenser boy.”

Really? Why does she not know of this? A few weeks away from court and everything changes. “You are well returned from Ireland? I have heard of your triumphs.”

“I have heard of yours. You won England a great peace.”

“I am glad you think so.”

“They say your presence on the councils has made the barons more reasonable men. Edward is fortunate to have such a one as you. You are his greatest adviser.”

She flushes to the roots of her hair at this compliment.

“You are to be congratulated on the birth of another daughter. She is well?”

“The rudest of health.”

“And the princes?”

“They grow taller every day.”

“And you, your grace. Look at you! You grow more beautiful with each passing year.”

Now this last remark is unexpected. She blinks, wondering if she has actually heard him correctly. His eyes bore into her and there is no mistaking the message in them.

He must be mad.

A secretary appears, his approach disguised by the carpets. “My Lord Despenser will see you now,” he says to Mortimer, and the scourge of Ireland bows meekly and follows him.

She stares after him, trying not to appear disconcerted in front of her ladies who appear suddenly from one of the apartments. She grapples with the news.
My husband’s general has just tried to seduce his queen and now the King has a new favourite.

These days it is difficult to keep up.

Chapter 26

Three years later

Mortimer has asked to see her. She hopes there are to be no more declarations about her beauty. She hardly feels beautiful now. She feels heavy and bloated with the new baby, and she is not long from her confinement.

He is ushered in by Lady Vescy, who disapproves of him. Mortimer has eyes for one of her demoiselles, at least when his wife is not at court. But today he spares no glances for anyone; he appears to be a man in a hurry. He asks if they may speak in private.

She walks to the end of the passage and stands by the window, overlooking the gardens.

“An unexpected pleasure. Should I be alarmed?”

“I wished to see you because it is easier than seeing the King. You do not have Lord Despenser standing guard over your every word.”

“You make much of nothing.”

“Do I, your grace? Your husband’s new chamberlain leads Edward like a cat after straw. It is Gaveston all over again.”

“You sound like my uncle Lancaster.”

“What make you of young Hugh, Your Grace?”

“He is good with figures. The Exchequer is much healthier since he took over the role of chamberlain. I shall admit his greed outweighs his charm.”

“You underestimate him.”

“Lord Mortimer, you would say that about any man who has the king’s ear over you.”

“He uses Edward for his own ends. You know that he is building an empire in the west country by every means he can. He steals and cheats and uses the king’s men and the king’s name to do it. And Edward allows it.”

“Why do you come to me with this?”

“Because you have Edward’s ear. Tell him he must listen to his Marcher lords or there will be war.”

Another rebellion. It was becoming habitual with these mighty lords. Would there never be peace in this blighted country? Yet Mortimer was not unjust in his accusations. Why did Edward continue to provoke them?

“This sounds very much like a threat.”

“He is not only a threat to me but he is a threat to you also.”

“Once perhaps, when I was young, but Edward needs me now.”

The look on his face: it is twisted between jealousy and pity. “There are rumours told about the king.”

“There are always rumours about the king. If he is wise, a man would not listen to them.”

“The young Despenser has stolen d’Amory’s inheritance and the king let him to do it. Is this just?”

“They say that many years ago your grandfather killed Despenser’s ancestor in some baronial feud. Is it true?”

“You think that is why I go against the king in this?”

“I think my husband has suffered enough at the hands of his magnates. He is the king, and his lords should obey him.”

“He has confiscated Gower from John Mowbray and given it to his new favourite! It is against the law.”

“On the contrary, as I understand it, Mowbray did not first ask for the king’s licence.”

“That is mere form. It is commonly never done!”

“So you agree: my husband was within his rights to confiscate the lands. He is then at liberty to give them to whomever he pleases. Or is it rather you do not wish one of the Despensers for a neighbour?”

Her ladies are staring, startled by the sound of their raised voices. How dare he! But then there are many things that Mortimer might dare, if given the opportunity. She likes that about him.

He takes a breath and bows. “Your grace, I defer to your greater wisdom in the matter. I shall pray that all goes well with the birth of the royal child.”

“Thank you, Lord Mortimer. Shall I announce you to the king?”

“Would that you could,” he says and strides away, through the ladies, several of whom eye him speculatively. Even Lady de Vescy.

The man is insufferable.

He had not told her she was beautiful this time.

***