The Traitor's Wife (56 page)

While Arundel was being executed, none too efficiently, that seventeenth day of November, John de Gisors, who just hours before had been given the keys of the Tower of London, was walking through his new charge like a proud parent. The White Tower! St. Thomas's Tower! The Wakefield Tower! His step gradually lost its bounce, however, as he neared the Lanthorn Tower. The bishop had been clear that the first task assigned to him had to be carried out immediately. It would not be a difficult one, but it might be unpleasant, depending on the temperament of the female involved.

“Lady Despenser? I am the new constable of the Tower, as perhaps you have heard.”

“I have heard.”

“And I have orders to take you and your children into safe custody. Safer than you are in now.”

“To imprison us, you mean.”

“Well, yes.”

“So I had thought. Where are we to be housed?”

“In the tower built by the first Edward,” said Gisors, referring to what would in later years be known as the Beauchamp Tower. Relieved at her calmness, he added, “They're very comfortable lodgings, considering. You may pack some necessaries for you and your children. I'll wait as you do so.”

Eleanor nodded. Despite her apparent composure, she moved as if in a trance, picking up an object and staring at it vacantly before setting it down again. Gladys, meanwhile, scurried in and out of the room with armloads of garments, which she piled up in heaps on the floor until a manservant materialized with a chest, and then another and another. Gisors scowled. “I said some necessaries, not everything she owns.”

“My lady has six children here with her,” said Gladys coolly. “They must have warm clothing. And where are they to sleep? My lady must have a regular bed. She cannot sleep on a pallet night after night.”

“Why not?” said Gisors philosophically. But the woman was a king's granddaughter, after all; perhaps she could not sleep on a pallet night after night. “She can bring beds with her. But we'll leave all the elegant trappings behind, shall we?”

Eleanor in the meantime had left the room. When she returned after a time, she was holding only a cloak that was clearly a man's. Gisors frowned. “Is that your husband's, my lady? All of his chattels will be forfeit to the crown. You can't take that with you.”

“I can, and I will. He has had this cloak for as long as we have been married. It's not a very costly one, and I must have something of his to cherish—until he returns.”

Was the woman fool enough to think that Hugh would return? Gisors started to say as much, then bit back his comments. It was too much like striking an unarmed opponent. He said, “Very well. Stop at that. Your quarters aren't large enough for your entire wardrobe, or his.”

Gladys said, “My lady, I have done packing. Shall I get the children?”

“No.” Eleanor had gone white. “I will get them.”

In a very long time she returned, carrying a baby and trailed by five children. Christ, there were a lot of them! thought Gisors. Aside from the baby, whose sex Gisors could not determine, there were three girls and two boys, all with the same dark eyes and auburn hair and all showing their mother's eerie composure. Were they not Despenser's offspring, Gisors would have admitted them to be a handsome family. Each carried some belongings with them, including the baby, who clutched a blanket, and all watched Gisors levelly as they came to stand in front of him. “We are ready, sir,” said their mother.

“Very well.” He glanced at the cluster of servants, many of whom were in or near tears. “Say good-bye to your mistress, if you please.”

Eleanor had produced a purse and was pushing coins at each servant in turn. When it came Gladys's turn, however, she shook her head. “No, my lady, I'm staying with you.” She looked at the others. “You are young, and I don't blame you for leaving. Neither will my lady. But I'm up in years, and I've served my lady since she was thirteen. I won't leave her now.”

“My good woman,” said Gisors, “the crown will be paying your lady's expenses, and it won't pay a halfpenny more if you stay with her. There will be less to go around.”

“Aye, and I can stand to stint myself if need be.”

Eleanor's eyes were filled with tears. She whispered, “I should be telling you to go, Gladys, but I cannot. I am so glad you are staying with me.”

“Then that settles it.” Gladys patted Eleanor's hand and looked at Gisors. “I packed my own things with the others, my lord, so there is no need to delay further.”

“Well, that's something to be thankful for,” snapped Gisors.

He conducted the eight of them out of the royal apartments and into the Beauchamp Tower, where they were taken to two connecting rooms, gloomy but not as miserable as they had feared. There were fireplaces in both, and access to a garderobe, and the single window allowed them a truncated view of the Tower grounds. Eleanor roused herself enough to suggest that straws be drawn to determine which room the boys should have and which the females should have. The boys had won the room with the window, but with the smaller fire, when the chests and beds arrived. After all was arranged, Gisors, promising them that supper would be brought in an hour or so, locked them in with a great banging of keys and took his leave. Then the questions began.

“Is Father ever coming back, Mama?”

“Is my doll here?”

“Will we be here long?”

To all of these questions, Eleanor could answer only, “I don't know.”

On November 24, a few miles outside Hereford, Hugh lay where they had shoved him the evening before, conscious but with closed eyes. His cell was freezing and the clothing he wore still sodden from yesterday's rain. Had he been asked whether he was cold he would have said yes, but his self-imposed starvation and the fever that was beginning to creep in on him prevented him from caring much.

Footsteps and voices near him alerted him that he was not alone. “Hugh!”

“Dear heart!”

“Rise to meet the glorious morning!”

“Oh, Hugh!”

The day before he had been roused by having a bucket of human waste dumped upon him, and in some still half-curious part of his mind he wondered whether Mortimer's men would excel themselves today. They settled, however, for prodding him in the ribs with a stick. He ignored it as long as he could. Then with the utmost difficulty he pushed himself up upon his elbow and looked at them. “Awake, Hugh? Good. Today is the day you meet your maker.”

Hugh formed the simple words with difficulty. “You people said she wanted to kill me in London.”

“True, love. But the queen frets that you might not make it there alive. So to Hereford—and to hell—you go today.”

So at least his sweet Eleanor would not have to see him die in London, his worst fear. Following the ramblings of his mind, he asked, “My wife. Have you word of her?”

“Your wife the king?”

“My wife. Eleanor.”

“Wasn't it she who was lying with the Tower constable the other day?”

“Nah, she doesn't look that high. The guards.”

“Two?”

“Both at once. She's a lonely woman, your wife.”

“So what else is new?”

Hugh dragged himself to his knees and moved a few feet away. He bowed his head. “Lord, damn me if you will but protect her and our children. Spare them.”

He collapsed to the ground and someone kicked his hand. He looked up into the eyes of a young guard, who said gruffly, “Your wife is in the Tower as a prisoner, I heard. That is all I know.”

Then the same guard yanked him up so roughly he nearly swooned. “Now move your feet! The queen hasn't all day for the likes of you.”

“Wait.” Hugh's head was spinning, and he was leaning against the guard, but he managed to force out another question. “My eldest son?”

“Your whelp still holds Caerphilly Castle. Now go on!”

Hugh's mouth twisted into a ghost of a smile as he obeyed the guard.

Leybourne and Stanegrave and their men had made Hugh's journey to Hereford as miserable as Isabella and Mortimer could have wished. Lest any dozing village miss the fine sight of Hugh le Despenser chained to a mangy horse, a drummer and a trumpeter had been put at the head of the procession to announce his arrival well in advance. This was the cue for villagers to throw anything they could find at Hugh, and at Simon de Reading as well. Hardly anyone knew who the latter was, of course, but as he too was in chains, everyone realized that he had to be associated with Hugh, and his presence made the proceedings twice as fun and provided some consolation for those whose aim was too unsure to hit Hugh himself.

But the true festivities started when the troops, trailed by an ever-increasing crowd of citizens eager to see Hugh hang, reached the outskirts of Hereford, where they were met by a contingent of the queen's men coming from the city, led by Jean de Hainault and Thomas Wake. There, to the delight of the crowd, Hugh and Simon were dragged off their horses and stripped naked, then redressed in tunics bearing their coats of arms reversed. With the help of a clerk, whose Latin was needed for the purpose, the words from the Magnificat “He has put down the mighty from their seat and hath exalted the humble” were etched into Hugh's bare shoulders. His chest bore psalm verses beginning, “Why dost thou glory in malice, thou that art mighty in iniquity?” Thus decorated, and wearing a crown of nettles, he was put back on his horse. Then, to the blare of trumpets and drums, accompanied by the howling of the spectators, he was led into the city with Simon de Reading forced to march in front of him bearing his standard reversed. As there were only so many horse droppings that could be found to throw at the captives, the enterprising were selling eggs for that purpose.

Zouche had hoped to miss these proceedings. He had retrieved the records, and the little treasure that could be found, from Swansea, and had delivered his load to the queen two days before. But having made good time to Hereford, he could not leave once the execution had been scheduled. Thus, he was standing in the market square, near the queen, Mortimer, and the Duke of Aquitaine, when Hugh and Simon, so covered in filth that they resembled scarecrows more than men, were brought there for trial.

Isabella, still clad in widow's weeds, wore a look of resignation as William Trussell stepped forth to read the charges against Hugh. Only Mortimer, making no attempt to hide his own satisfaction, saw the sparkle in her eyes.