The Traitor's Wife (26 page)

She made the trip with some trepidation, for although Elizabeth was three years her junior, she slightly intimidated Eleanor, who was much more comfortable with Margaret or with her sisters-in-law. When the girls had been together at Amesbury, Elizabeth was the Clare sister whom the nuns had never had to nag about neatness or punctuality. She'd baptized all of her dolls (though without the sin of using real Holy Water) at age seven. After she learned to write, she had started off each day by listing what she needed to do in a handwriting that was as perfect as a clerk's. Gaveston had aptly nicknamed her the Prioress.

Still, Eleanor was pleased to see her, and she was hurt, therefore, when Elizabeth did not appear to be quite as happy in return when Eleanor arrived after dusk on the fourth of February, having traveled rather slowly by chariot, as she always did when she was with child. Perhaps it was because Eleanor had arrived without warning, having had no time to send a messenger, and Elizabeth was not one to like the unexpected. She quickly recovered her good manners, however, especially after seeing that Eleanor was accompanied only by Gladys and a few attendants, and soon the sisters were sitting cozily by a fire together, sipping wine. Eleanor's condition, which was visible once she removed her heavy cloak, provided a natural topic of conversation, and from then they could move on smoothly to discussing their children. William, nearly four, had been left behind in Ireland in the care of his uncles, and Eleanor's three children were at Loughborough. Next, Eleanor was careful to ask Elizabeth about her charitable work, for good works had always been a feature of her sister's daily lists. She listened meekly, feeling completely frivolous, as Elizabeth modestly spoke of the friary she had founded in thanksgiving for William's birth. Eleanor gave the small priory of Wix, on one of her husband's estates, money and goods from time to time, but she could hardly match Elizabeth in this respect.

“This is where our grandfather imprisoned Ralph Monthermer after he married our mother, you know,” said Eleanor finally as the sisters' conversation lagged.

“Eleanor! What a depressing thought.”

“I am sorry; it just occurred to me. But Lord Monthermer doesn't find it depressing anymore, so you shouldn't. He regards the whole escapade as quite humorous now.”

“He was always rather light-minded.”

“Oh, I think he just makes the best of things. He was a great comfort to me when Gilbert died. And speaking of Gilbert, have you heard from Maud?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “She might have written to her father from time to time"—Maud was a daughter of the Earl of Ulster—"but he did not mention it to me. With his troubles in Ireland he scarcely has time to care whether she is pregnant or not. I understand your husband is pressing for a partition.”

“Yes, Hugh is working very hard to see that we get our shares soon. We will all owe him our gratitude when it is taken care of, for he has been very conscientious in pursuing this matter.”

“Of course, he wants to be Lord of Glamorgan.”

“Well, yes, what man would not?” Feeling rather guilty that as the eldest sister, she would surely get the best lands, Eleanor hastened to change the subject. “Tell me, how long does the king plan to have you stay here?”

“Not long, I hope.”

“Perhaps you can come back with me to Loughborough. There is no particular need for you to remain here, is there? I am sure our uncle will not mind. Or perhaps until things are settled in Ireland again you can travel with the queen's household, as Margaret does now. Or—”

“Eleanor! So many plans you are making for me in one breath! I should like to rest here a few days before I do anything, thank you; the crossing was a rough one.” Elizabeth half-suppressed a yawn.

Eleanor took the hint. “It
is
late, isn't it? I will leave you, then, to rest.”

She kissed Elizabeth on the cheek, and Elizabeth reciprocated in a friendly enough manner. Then Eleanor followed her page to the chamber that had been prepared for her, where Gladys sat yawning over a prayer book. As it was indeed late, within minutes after climbing into bed, she was fast asleep.

It was very early in the morning when she heard frantic voices outside her bed curtains. “Lady Despenser! Is your sister here with you?”

Dazed with sleep, Eleanor looked around her several times before replying, “No, why do you ask?”

“She's gone, my lady! No one has seen her since last night.”

“She is probably in the chapel, have you checked there? My sister is very punctilious in her religious observance.”

“'Twas the first place we looked, my lady.”

“I know! She has probably gone to the cathedral to pray. She has been cooped up in Ireland so long, and it is most beautiful.”

“My lady, that has been thought of also. She is not there, and no one there has seen any sign of her.”

“Good Lord! Then where can she be?”

Search parties were promptly sent out in all directions, but their mission was a short one, for by late afternoon, a squire had arrived at Bristol Castle, where he asked particularly for Eleanor. “My lady, I come from your sister. She begs your pardon if you and the others here have been worried, and she asks that she be pursued no longer.”

“What in the world has happened to her? Is she safe?”

“Quite safe, and with a protector. You see, she was married this morning to my lord, Theobald de Verdon.”

At Lincoln, Roger Damory and Hugh d'Audley gave each other sour looks, for with only one single Clare almost-heiress remaining, who would be the lucky man?

Theobald de Verdon, facing the possibility of abduction charges, journeyed from Alton to Lincoln, where he maintained in front of the king's council that he had been betrothed to Lady Elizabeth de Burgh, whom he had met during his own recent stay in Ireland. The lady would have waited for the king's license, he explained gallantly, but being uncertain of her future in England, had reluctantly agreed to walk outside Bristol Castle late at night, where Theobald was waiting with a snow-white palfrey and a wedding ring, and elope with him. As nothing indicated that the lady had been taken by force or violence, the king let the matter drop, settling for collecting the usual fine imposed on the impetuous who wed without license. Theobald, a widower with three little girls, went back to his bride and daughters in the best of spirits.

There were other matters, in any case, bedeviling those at Lincoln. Though as the leading adherent of the Ordinances, Lancaster might have been expected to be at Parliament, nearly half of February had come and gone before he put in an appearance there. Trouble, however, had not waited for the Earl's arrival. In late January, under the leadership of one Llywelyn Bren, the Welsh in Glamorgan, upset at the actions of the royal administrator who had been given custody of the land after Gilbert de Clare's death, had surprised the sheriff of Glamorgan while he was holding a lordship court at the gates of Caerphilly Castle. They had killed a number of the officials attending the court. Though they could penetrate no farther into the castle, the surrounding area had been devastated, and the Countess of Gloucester, who had been living in the castle, was trapped there. “With a midwife, I trust,” Hugh had said when he heard the news.

Had the countess not been playing her tricks, Glamorgan would have been his. And the countess was winning for now. Hugh had gone before Parliament and pointed out, in his politest voice, that Maud had been claiming pregnancy for over a year and a half, twice the time any other woman took to bear a child; that any child born eleven months after his father's death would be presumed illegitimate; that Maud had not been seen in public in months. Surely she could not be with child?

He was met with the response that the countess's pregnancy was well known in the parts where she was living. (By a bunch of mad Welshmen, Hugh thought, but did not utter aloud.) That he should have obtained a writ from chancery to have the countess's belly inspected by discreet knights and matrons to see if she were indeed with child, and that Hugh's negligence in this regard should redound to his loss and prejudice. That the king had nominated certain men, well versed in civil and canon law, to advise him on the matter, and that they could not reach a final decision because of the case's difficulty and rarity. Because of this, no action would be taken now, but Hugh and Eleanor could bring the matter again before the king and his council at the Easter term.

“I will have a man examine the woman's belly if Parliament wishes,” said Hugh testily. “Llywelyn Bren!”

As Parliament dragged on, Hugh grew tenser and more irritable each day, alarming his father, for however many Hugh's faults were, ill temper was generally not one of them. These days, however, he brooded over the situation in Glamorgan and muttered dark threats about what he would like to do with Llywelyn Bren, and darker ones about what he would like to do with the Countess of Gloucester. “Hugh!” his father reproved him after a particularly scabrous tirade. “Your mother would turn in her grave to hear a son of hers speak so.”

Hugh snorted as father and son made their way from their lodgings to Lincoln Cathedral, where Parliament had been holding its meetings. “Mother would have scratched the bitch's eyes out by now, Father.”

“That may be so, but can you at least hold your tongue as we approach the cathedral? It is a house of the Lord.”

“I'm fed up with this nonsense! Most of all, I'm fed up with this king of ours. How can he let this drag on like this? He's well content enough, I suppose, with those pretty boys Damory and Audley to keep him happy—”

“Hugh, for God's sake curb your tongue!”

“Let the king curb his!”

“Hugh!” The elder Despenser decided, desperately, that it was time to change the subject. “Did I tell what happened to Berenger?”

Ingelram Berenger was one of Hugh the elder's closest friends. The younger Hugh looked at him as something of a father. He softened when his name was mentioned. “No, what?”

“John de Ros tried to have him arrested.” Hugh chuckled; he had not taken the episode very seriously. “Some land dispute. Ingelram sent his men packing, I'll tell you. He said— Hugh?”

Hugh had stormed ahead of him and entered the cathedral, where the king was standing chatting affably with Montacute, Damory, and Audley. (The King's Three Lapdogs, Hugh privately called them.) Edward smiled at him, but Hugh ignored him, looking around until he found the man he sought. “Lord Ros. Might I have a word with you?”

“Certainly.”

“What do you mean, arresting my father's man Ingelram Berenger? What gives you the right?”

“It is my dispute with him, Despenser, and none of your concern.”

“It is precisely my concern, when you meddle with my father or his men. Now tell me. What makes you fancy you have the right to arrest him?”

Hugh the elder caught up. “Hugh—”

“Leave me, please, Father. I intend to have this blackguard talk to me. Tell me!”

Ros snorted. “Despenser, just because your marriage to that little redhead of yours hasn't brought you the land you hoped for gives you no right to manage my affairs. She must be good in bed, with that hair. Let that be some consolation to you.”

Hugh struck Ros across the face, drawing blood. Though the men were closely matched in terms of height, weight, and age, Hugh was by far the better fighter on his feet, having had practice in his pirate days, and he was taking months of frustrations out on his opponent besides. Ros was at last able to knock Hugh to the ground, but Hugh quickly got to his feet and began to lunge toward Ros again. The better swordsman of the two, Ros pulled his weapon and rushed toward Hugh, who had no time to draw his own. It seemed that Hugh was doomed; then, at the last possible minute, he leapt aside. As Ros's sword swished at the empty air, the king's sergeants at arms ran forward and put both young men under arrest.