The Traitor's Wife (27 page)

“Learned that from the Bruce himself,” Hugh said as his father, who had been all but dead with fear for his son's life seconds ago, hurried forward to Hugh's side.

If the king had intended to give Hugh a part in the reclaiming of lands that even the most stubborn defenders of the Countess of Gloucester had to admit would someday be his own, his unseemly fight with John de Ros in Lincoln Cathedral changed his mind. Instead, the Earl of Hereford was appointed to subdue the Welsh rebellion, along with William de Montacute; the Earl of Lancaster's younger, better-natured brother, Henry; Bartholomew Badlesmere; Roger Mortimer of Wigmore, the man whom Eleanor thought of as the odious Mortimer; and Mortimer's uncle, Roger Mortimer of Chirk. By March, Llywelyn Bren, facing certain defeat and not wishing to be the reason for a slaughter of his followers, gave himself up and was sent a prisoner to the Tower. The Countess of Gloucester, wrapped in a voluminous cloak, had been freed from Caerphilly Castle and sent safely to Cardiff.

Meanwhile, in March a charmingly written letter arrived for Eleanor, from the queen. It had been so long since Eleanor had been at court. Wouldn't she like to pay a visit to her queen for Easter? Recognizing a sugared command when she saw one, Eleanor set her servants to packing.

Hugh, who like John de Ros had been jailed for a short time and fined ten thousand pounds for his parliamentary antics, had prudently decided to stay away from court for a time, but Eleanor's children had been invited to join her. Little Edward was too young to make the trip in Eleanor's opinion and would stay in Loughborough with his nurse. He bid her good-bye with the utmost gravity, for he was the most serious child Eleanor had ever seen, the opposite of his elder brother, who was finding it hard to contain his excitement about visiting the court and his old friend Adam. Since daybreak he had been in the stables, pestering Eleanor's men with questions about when the chariot in which they were to travel would be ready. Isabel's governess, upon hearing that her three-year-old charge was to meet the queen, had been frantically trying to teach Isabel to execute a perfect curtsey, and Isabel proudly showed her grandfather her new skill over and over again before their departure.

Seven months pregnant, Eleanor settled back in the chariot cushions, feeling not for the first time a twinge of guilt as she contemplated the contrast between herself and her children, warm in their furs and lap robes, and the ragged passersby she saw as they slowly made their way toward Langley and the king. The year 1315 with its constant rains had been a miserable one for England, bringing famine in its wake as crops were ruined, and 1316 had thus far been more of the same. People were dying on the roads, yet Eleanor had noticed little change in her own standard of living, nothing that could not be dealt with by a bit more frugality on the part of her husband's and her father-in-law's stewards. Were she one of the pathetic wenches she saw standing along the road, clutching whimpering babies, what would she have thought of the cosseted lady in her chariot, who had never wanted for anything in her life? Envy? Hatred? Eleanor sighed. At least her almoner had come along on the journey, and he was staying busy.

Eleanor had not seen the king or the queen for some time, and when she arrived at Langley and was conducted to the royal couple, she was struck anew by the queen's loveliness. At age twenty, Isabella was prettier than she ever had been, and her outer radiance was matched by inner satisfaction, for as Eleanor soon learned, she was expecting another child in August. This news had had a visible effect on the king, whose usual optimism had been much taxed by the dreadful battle of the Bannock Burn and the famine that had come in the following year. He had wondered if Gaveston's death had not brought England under some sort of curse, which extended to the queen's womb, for he had visited the queen regularly since the birth of Edward, the Earl of Chester, with no results until now. His good humor was much augmented by the departure from Langley by Lancaster, who had visited for a day or so to report on the activities of the council and then taken himself off to spend Easter on his own estates, where Edward liked him best.

With the queen, and receiving the beautiful green, miniver-trimmed and -lined robes issued to a select few that Easter, were not only Eleanor, but the Countess of Hereford (Edward's slightly older sister Elizabeth), the Countess of Warwick, and the Countess of Cornwall. Eleanor thought this group a singularly ill-assorted one, as the first two countesses' husbands had destroyed the husband of the third countess, but the ladies were being perfectly polite and gracious to each other, though they seemed relieved at the arrival of Eleanor, whose husband had played no role in the Gaveston business. They all admired sturdy young Hugh, who spent only a few minutes in the grasp of the ladies before bolting to search out Adam, and Isabel, who curtseyed a full seven times before being taken off by her nurse to play with the Earl of Chester.

Once the children had left the room, Elizabeth de Burgh's runaway match to Theobald de Verdon became the chief topic of conversation among the ladies, who were working on baby clothes for the expected royal arrival, clothes that would be embroidered so beautifully that it seemed almost a pity to expose them to the depredations of a baby. “Surely she could have done better,” said the Countess of Hereford. “Who is this Theobald de Verdon?”

“He was justiciar of Ireland for a time,” said Eleanor. “He is not a mere nobody; he has lands in six counties here in England and also interests in Ireland. And I believe he is also associated with the Earl of Lancaster.”

“Hardly a recommendation,” said Margaret tartly.

“She has written me, did she not write you, Margaret? She said that she was quite happy and that she was enjoying being stepmother to Theobald's little girls.”

“Yes, she wrote me. Someone to manage, of course Elizabeth would be happy.” Margaret glanced at the queen. “Was the king upset by the match, your grace?”

“Upset, aside from the loss of the license fee? Should he have been?”

“I would think so, because he surely planned to marry my sister and me to Roger Damory and Hugh d'Audley, or I am sadly mistaken.”

“I have heard nothing of any plans to marry you to anyone, Countess.”

“Oh, he is probably waiting until he decides to partition the lands, which I think will never happen as long as that blockheaded woman continues to claim she is pregnant.”

“Hugh is doing all he can to speed it,” put in Eleanor loyally.

“Is that what you call his antics at Lincoln?”

“He was sorely provoked,” said Eleanor in an injured tone.

“Well, I give notice that I will not mind if the king does choose to marry me to one of those men. I am tired of being a widow, especially of a man no one will name in front of me.” She glanced at the Countesses of Warwick and Hereford, who each took great interest in the work in their hands. “I am wasting my youth here.”

Eleanor was rather shocked by this speech, but the queen was not, Margaret having been in the habit of making similar ones every few days. Instead, she said, “Well, now that you have two to choose from, which would you prefer?”

“Audley,” said Margaret with the air of one who had thought about the question minutely. “He is more handsome, and I think rather more agreeable.”

“I shall put in a word with the king,” said the queen dryly.

Margaret looked rather maliciously at the Countess of Warwick, who was no longer a girl, being in her thirties. “And perhaps you may marry Damory, Countess, now that you are free. I daresay the king would make it worth your while.”

To everyone's shock, Alice burst into tears and fled from the room. Eleanor gasped. “Margaret! How could you be so cruel? Whatever a scoundrel Warwick might have been, he was her husband, and she has been widowed but eight months. How dare you?”

Margaret only shrugged, but the Countess of Hereford laughed. “It is not what you think, Lady Despenser. Lady Alice is not mourning for Warwick. She is very much in love with the knight who escorted her here, Sir William la Zouche, but she cannot let him know it, of course, so she is frightened that he will marry someone else.” She glanced at Margaret. “Perhaps you, Countess.”

“I! I know of no Sir William la Zouche.”

“He is a younger son of a branch of the Mortimer family. He acquired land from his uncle Zouche, and so he assumed the name. He was in Warwick's household, I believe.”

The queen was frowning at her sister-in-law. “Elizabeth, how do you know of all this?”

“Oh, I was in the great hall when Zouche brought her here, and any ninny could see that she was in love with him, the way her eyes filled with tears when he bid her good-bye. She and I are friends, so I asked her. She has been in love with him some time, all quite chaste though, I assure you. Why, I don't know. He's not what you would call handsome, he's quite taciturn, and he has the charisma of a sumpter horse. But there you have it.”

The queen beckoned to a page. “Fetch the Countess of Warwick here immediately.”

The countess returned promptly, her cheeks pink and her eyelashes damp. She curtseyed deeply. “Your grace, I do beg your pardon.”

“Countess, my sister-in-law tells me that you are in love with a knight in your husband's household, that indeed, you have been in love with him for some time, and that you wish to marry him.”

“Your grace, my own mother was in the same situation! It can happen even to a lady of the greatest virtue—”

“Hush, Lady Despenser,” the queen said, not unkindly. “Countess, I am told that he is unaware of the feelings you have for him.”

“Indeed he is, your grace! Sir William did nothing to encourage me. He is the kindest, bravest, most chivalrous kn—”

“I gather,” said the queen. “Now take this glass, and look at yourself. Do you really think he would not care to be your husband, would that he could?”

Alice dutifully looked in the mirror, as the ladies studied her in turn. Alice's hair was still gold, and with some help, it could have been even more so. Her eyes were the color of cornflowers, and the several children she had borne Warwick had not adversely affected her figure. Whenever an artist illustrated a romance, he drew a heroine who looked much like Alice, and Alice knew this as well as anyone else. “I—hope he would, your grace.”

“How could he not? Now, Countess, instead of bursting into tears whenever someone mentions marriage, you must let your Sir William la What's-his-name—”

“
Zouche
,” said Alice firmly.

“You must let him know you care for him. When he comes to fetch you, as I will make sure he does, you must smile at him like this.” The queen demonstrated. “You must send for him as often as possible, with questions about your estates.”

“Indeed, your grace, I have many questions about my estates. I am not sure my steward is as able as he used to be.”

“Then you must ask Sir William to set him straight. And each time he comes, you must smile at him as I have demonstrated. Just enough to remind him that he is a man and you are a woman, in case he needs reminding. And then you must ask him about himself, for men love to talk about themselves. Even Edward does.”

“He was in the Scottish wars with the first Edward. I will ask him about that.”

“Indeed, you must. Now. In August you will have been widowed for a full year, and then you must take off that dreary black dress of yours immediately and wear light blue, say, to match your eyes. And you will wear that whenever you send for Sir William, which by then should be quite often. And I tell you, it will work.”