The Traitor's Wife (34 page)

H
UGH DRAPED AN ARM AROUND ELEANOR'S SHOULDER AS THEY LAY IN BED. “Did you know that William de Braose has the reversion of Gower up for sale?”

Eleanor shook her head no.

The Despensers were at York, where the court had been since the spring. With the king and Lancaster no longer at loggerheads, the long-threatened Scottish campaign was at last under way, to Eleanor's secret terror. She snuggled closer to Hugh. “For sale? Why?”

“That wastrel Braose needs the money, that's why. He's squandered all he has, they say. He's been negotiating with Hereford and with your friend Roger Mortimer of Wigmore.”

“My friend! Ugh.”

“Then you won't mind if I put a bid in?”

“I suppose not.” Although there were still hard feelings regarding Wentloog, Eleanor knew, surely no one could complain if Hugh simply bought the reversion of Gower.

“I shall mention the matter to Inge, then.” John Inge was the sheriff of Glamorgan. With Hugh having left Glamorgan to reside at court, seldom a day went by without him dictating a letter to or receiving a letter from Inge. For a few minutes Hugh settled back, obviously composing a letter in his head. Then, the letter mentally written, he gently touched Eleanor's belly. “How are we doing down here, my love?”

“Oh, it is still too early for any movement.”

“I wish you would go back to one of our manors, sweetheart. Rotherfield, maybe, or even into Wales. Or visit one of my sisters or your sister Elizabeth the Prioress.” Hugh paused almost guiltily, for he knew that Margaret and Eleanor were estranged, and knew that it was his doing mostly. But when Eleanor was Countess of Gloucester, as Hugh had every intent of making her, Margaret would no doubt come calling. “I don't like you staying this far north, with this business in Scotland.”

“I promised the queen I would keep her company while the king is away. But we are even, for I wish you would not go to Scotland.”

“Has to be done, my love. Bruce has had his way with us long enough. He took advantage of our infighting last year to seize Berwick, and he'll be unpacking his carts at Westminster if he's not stopped. So to Scotland we go.”

Once the men had departed, Isabella and her ladies remained at York, though not at the castle, which the queen found overly gloomy. It was, in any case, overrun with royal officials, for Edward had ordered the transfer of the Exchequer there. Instead, they stayed at a comfortable manor, near enough to York Castle for convenience but far enough away for there to be no demands upon the queen. Unfortunately, the manor was so tranquil that within a few weeks, Isabella had grown very bored.

“Really, Lady Despenser, it seems you are always with child!” Eleanor had just refused the queen's invitation to ride.

“Only my fifth, your grace.”

“Well, I don't understand why you cannot sit a horse. It is not as if that little mare of yours is a destrier. And you are an excellent horsewoman.”

“I promised Hugh that I would not.”

“Why? Did his mother have a riding accident?”

“Indeed, no.” Eleanor smiled. “Hugh says she was a splendid horsewoman and a hunter, better than many men, and she certainly rode when she was with child—in fact, my father-in-law swears Hugh was almost born in the saddle. But nonetheless, he has asked that I not ride while I am carrying a child. It is something he worries about.”

“Who would know, my dear? What harm would ensue?”

“No one but your grace and the rest of the ladies, and probably no harm at all. But I would not deceive Hugh.”

“You fear him?”

“No, your grace. I love him.”

The queen gave an exasperated shrug. “Then you must stay here with the little ones, I suppose.”

“Yes, your grace.”

The queen turned away. Eleanor, who very much wanted to ride, watched from a bench in the garden as the horses were led out to the queen and the other ladies, along with a pony for seven-year-old Edward, Earl of Chester. She sighed, wishing she had stayed with her own children. She and Isabella had never regained the closeness that they had lost during their trip to France, and Eleanor knew that Isabella much preferred several of her other ladies, particularly Eleanor's cousin Joan of Bar, to herself. Yet the queen had expressly asked her to join her while the men were in Scotland. Was it the ordering more than Eleanor's company the queen enjoyed?

She did not dwell on this question, though, for the queen's younger children, John and Eleanor, had been sent outside with their nurses. As both were fond of Lady Despenser, they each had to be amused for an hour or so before their nurses disappeared inside with them again. Her charges gone, Eleanor, being in the sleepy stage of pregnancy, had begun dozing in the sunlight when she heard a horse coming to her, very quickly. For a confused moment she thought that this was a last effort by the queen to induce her to break her word to her husband, but then she saw the rider's frantic face. His garb indicated that he came not from the queen's household but from the Archbishop of York, William Melton. “The queen! Where is she?”

“Out riding. Why, what is the matter?”

“Douglas plans to take her prisoner. There is no time to lose; he could be within a mile of us as we speak. Quick, where did she go?”

Douglas, who had pursued the king and his knights to Dunbar Castle so hotly that none could stop to make water. “It is easier for me to show than explain. Help me into your saddle.”

The man needed no persuasion and within seconds Eleanor was seated behind him, holding on and crying, “Left! There! At the lake!” and such until they had arrived at a clearing, where the queen and her ladies were spreading a picnic lunch. The ladies froze at the sight of the horseman, then his passenger. “And what on earth does this mean?” demanded the queen.

The rider made no effort to observe the formalities. “Your grace, you are in the gravest danger. Douglas of the Scots has gotten word that you are here, and there is a scheme afoot to capture you and take you hostage. We must get you back to York Castle, and from there to Nottingham.”

“But—”

“There is no time for argument or questioning, I tell you! Your lady here was wise; she got astride my horse immediately and brought me to you. Follow her example, I beg of you. Do you wish to be hung in a cage for all to gawk at, as the first Edward did with Bruce's women?”

The queen did not. Without another word, she let her wide-eyed page help her to her horse, and in moments, the ladies were galloping away.

While the queen and her household were fleeing to Nottingham via water, the king and his men had been besieging Berwick Castle.

Edward had high hopes for this venture, and this time the support of Lancaster and his troops, along with those of Pembroke, Hereford, Hugh the younger, Audley, and Damory. The Scots put up a fierce resistance, but without James Douglas, who had elected to ignore Berwick in favor of pursuing the Queen of England. Only the timely capture of a Scottish spy, who had confessed under threat of torture, had saved the queen from capture, but the Scots were very much in England still, and the Archbishop of York, having seen to the queen's escape, gamely set out to fight them. The best fighting men were in Berwick with the king; the archbishop, a man of humble birth, had no knightly training. His talents were administrative, for he had risen as a royal official in the first Edward's reign, and ecclesiastical, for he took his duties as archbishop seriously and had done much to help the poor in his diocese. Above all, he was a Yorkshireman, and even if the queen had not been placed in distress, he would have wanted to come to the aid of his countrymen, whose lands were being devastated by the Scots. He and the chancellor of England, the Bishop of Ely, gathered a thoroughly unmilitary force—monks, priests, clerks, friars, and any man who could handle a weapon, any sort of weapon—and, acting on the information they had been given by the spy, attempted to take the Scots by surprise. The Scots, seeing instantly as the ragtag group advanced what they were dealing with, set brush on fire and formed a schiltron, terrifying many into fleeing instantly. Most of those who stayed were killed or taken captive, though the archbishop and the bishop escaped.

This news, and the news of the attempt on the queen, reached the king at Berwick two days later. “It seems we have no choice but to raise the siege,” Lancaster said coolly.

“Raise the siege!” The king turned to stare at his cousin. “After we have brought our best men here, our siege engines, our sappers? To turn tail and run?”

“Not an entirely unfamiliar scenario for you, your grace,” Lancaster sneered.

“But one for you,” put in Hugh the younger. “While the king was risking his life at the Bannock Burn, where were you, Sir Thomas? Safely tucked away on your estates.”

“I sent my men.”

“Oh yes, your men. They might not lack for courage, but do you, Sir Thomas?”

“Why I countenanced this creature as your chamberlain I have no idea,” said Lancaster. “But I've an idea why he leaps to defend you; you promised him Berwick Castle, didn't you? And the town to Damory here. My God, Ned, when will you leave off bestowing gifts on these wastrels?”

Only Gaveston had had the privilege of calling the king “Ned” in public. Hugh, intimate that he had become, still used the name only in private, and seldom outside the king's bed curtains. The king returned, “What I give or do not give is not the issue, Sir Thomas, it is why you are so intent on abandoning this fight! Are you in league with the Scots?”

“That is a vile accusation. I'll stay for no more of this.”

“Go, then; you are always odious to my sight.” He added, “When this wretched business is over, we will turn our hands to other matters. For I have not yet forgotten the wrong that was done to my dear brother Piers.”

Lancaster rose from the jointed table around which they had all been conferring and strode out of the tent. Soon, the sounds of his own troops readying to leave camp could be heard. “The treacherous snake,” breathed Hugh, poking his head out of the tent. “He is actually leaving!”

“Leave him to be damned,” said the king.

But the loss of Lancaster's men left a gap in the English ranks that could not be filled, and the king abandoned the siege. The Scots themselves withdrew into their own territory, despite the English army's efforts to prevent this. In the end, the king returned moodily to York, where Hugh wrote to John Inge, “The earl acted in such a way that the king took himself off with all his army, to the great shame and grievous damage of us all. Wherefore we very much doubt if matters will end so happily for our side as is necessary.”