The Traitor's Wife (6 page)

“Only two weeks,” said Piers.

“It felt like forever,” said the king.

At Westminster, there was a never-ending supply of the queen's trunks to be unpacked, each containing garments that were richer and more beautifully worked than the last. Isabella's French attendants, having seen the clothing go into the trunks, were quite indifferent to its unloading, but Eleanor and the other English ladies, none of them strangers to fine garments themselves, were rapt as each delved into a different trunk. “You must wear this to your coronation, your grace!”

“No, this!”

“Too light. This!”

Isabella, who had already planned her
tout ensemble
for the coronation and certainly needed no help from these dowdy Englishwomen, none of whom appeared to have any idea of the difference
cut
could make to a garment, watched them indulgently. “They are fine, aren't they? My father would settle for no less.” Her expression changed. “But I had no idea when they were ordered that I would appear shabby next to my lord's
brother
Gaveston.”

Eleanor laughed. “Your grace, you could appear shabby next to no one.” She stroked a mantle lined with the softest fur she had ever felt.

“Do you like it, my lady? You may have it. It suits your coloring more so than mine.”

Isabella had been displaying this generosity to all her ladies. “I have already taken so many gifts from you—that fine material, and the headdress, and this beautiful ring.” Eleanor glanced at her finger. “I can take no more.”

“You are no Gaveston, I see. Would he have shown your restraint!”

Very soon after the royal party had arrived in Westminster, Gaveston had appeared for dinner in a robe fastened with a magnificent clasp of gold and emeralds, a crucifix studded with sapphires and pearls, and a splendid ruby ring. Isabella had no sooner caught sight of these when she gasped to her ladies, “The upstart! He is wearing my father's wedding presents!”

Eleanor herself had been taken aback, but she replied, “The king regards Gaveston as his brother, your grace. What comes to the king, comes to Gav—”

“Brother! I don't see those two little boys who are the king's real brothers dripping in my father's jewels, just that creature. I shall write to my father about this impudence.” She had taken her place beside the king and sat fuming during the duration of the meal and the entertainment afterward, heedless of the fact that the minstrels had been chosen especially to suit her taste.

Gaveston had continued to wear the jewels, however, and if the queen had more to say on the subject, she had not said it to her ladies, though since then she had not missed an opportunity to disparage the handsome Gascon. Now having satisfied herself with this latest dig, she settled back in her chair, and a thoughtful look came upon her face. “You may all leave me now except Lady Despenser. I wish to speak to her in private.”

Had she offended her queen so soon? Eleanor wondered. Isabella had not shown any ill temper thus far, but Eleanor had sensed the need to remain on guard. And it was true that she was somewhat lax in matters of court etiquette. Neither her grandfather, who cared not how a man addressed him as long as he was fighting on his side, nor her uncle, who would as soon keep company with a mason as with his barons, had demanded the strict decorum that was probably de rigueur in the French court, and her rebellious mother had not been a shining example herself. The dowager queen Margaret, Isabella's aunt, had been kind enough to give her some hints, but Margaret was far less formidable than her young niece. She waited for her dressing-down, thinking it was kind of Isabella to give to her in private.

“I know I met your husband, but I cannot recall his face. Is he handsome?”

“He is thin and dark, with a beautiful smile. To me he is the handsomest man in the world—but others might say different.”

“You are deeply in love with him, I see. How sweet!” She smiled as Eleanor, blushing, looked down. “Is your sister Margaret so enamored of her husband?”

“She is very much in love with him, and he is very kind to her.”

“Whenever I discuss Gaveston with Edward, it ends in a quarrel. Tell me about him, Lady Despenser.”

Eleanor hid her blushes behind an embroidery hoop. “Edward's father brought Gaveston to his household, your grace, some years ago. They say that my uncle took a single look at him and regarded him as his brother from that day forward. Piers's father was a Gascon knight, a brave man who had served the king faithfully but who had lost most of his goods and lands. Piers was an able soldier and my grandfather wished to reward him, both for his own sake and for his father's. So he placed Gaveston in the prince's household with the sons of the great barons of the land. They were furious that the prince preferred Gaveston, with so little to call his own, over them, with all their prospects of riches and titles. And so it has been ever since.”

“And what did the king—the late king—think of all this?”

“Little enough at first, your grace. He was always preoccupied with his wars and his differences with the barons—my own father among them. When my uncle and Piers were in his company, they were usually in Scotland, and Piers always pleased my grandfather as a soldier. But then something displeased him, and my grandfather banished my uncle from court.”

“Banished! By his own father? Why, what did Edward do?”

“I have heard that he and Gaveston were poaching deer in the Bishop of Coventry's park, your grace. It was a trivial thing to them, but when the bishop found out he confronted them, and they spoke mockingly to the bishop. The bishop was furious, and he complained to the king. So my grandfather cut off my uncle's funds, and removed his household. He was forced to ask help from my mother and his other sisters. My mother was glad to help; she even offered to have the prince live with her. But my uncle thought it would be better to follow the court at a distance until my grandfather relented, which he did after a few months.”

“And then I know Gaveston was banished not so long after. After the king asked for Ponthieu. Which I understand is to be mine now, if the king ever gets around to assigning me it.”

Isabella fell silent for a while, then looked straight at Eleanor. “You may find this question impertinent, but I shall ask it anyway. Do you lie with your husband?”

Eleanor, though shocked, saw no way to avoid the queen's question. “Certainly, your grace.” The opportunity to share her good news was irresistible. “Indeed, I am with child.”

“That's not here or there at the moment. When did you start lying with him?”

“On our wedding night, your grace.”

“My husband has yet to lie with me—in the full sense of the word.”

“Each man is different,” Eleanor ventured. “I was as close to fourteen as to thirteen when I married, and my husband was young himself. The king is a man of four-and-twenty, twice your age. It may be that he is—squeamish— about lying with a wife so young.”

“Is Gaveston so squeamish about his wife? He is Edward's age, even a bit older I think, and Margaret is between your age and mine.”

Eleanor knew that he was not squeamish, having been given a full description of the couple's wedding night—fuller than Eleanor in truth had cared for—by the enthusiastic bride. Forthcoming as Margaret might be with her elder sister, however, Eleanor doubted that she would be so much so with the queen, so she said simply, “I know not, your grace.”

“You do, but you don't tell. He must sleep with her.” She scowled. “I might be young, but I am as womanly as either of you two Clare girls. Am I not?” Isabella stood up and studied herself in a glass with considerable satisfaction. “My hips and bosom are not as developed as yours, I admit, but what does it matter? I am already taller than either of you.”

“I very much doubt that the king is dissatisfied with you or your person, your grace. It is your age, and nothing more. What does not bother Gaveston with Margaret may bother the king with you. In a few months the king will incline to you.” Eleanor laughed. “And recline with you.”

“This is not a joking matter, Lady Despenser!”

“I beg your pardon.” Eleanor let the queen simmer for a moment before asking, “Your grace, does he give you a reason?”

“He says that if I were to get with child so early it might injure my health.”

“There's sense to that, your grace.”

“I don't see it being an objection in your case.”

“But it was considered. Before I married Hugh, my mother sent for a midwife and had me strip stark naked in front of her. She looked me up and down like some sort of great heifer at the fair—it was mortifying. If she had not thought it would be safe for me to carry children, I would have had to live apart from Hugh after we were married, or at least in different quarters, until I turned fifteen or even sixteen. And my brother insisted that the same be done when Margaret married Gaveston.” How cruel it would have been had she not passed the midwife's test! Eleanor thought. She could not have borne the idea of not sleeping with Hugh.

“I wonder that my father did not do the same for me.”

“He must have trusted that the king would be careful.”

“He certainly is that!” Isabella snorted, albeit in a manner befitting royalty. She said with some bitterness, “I've seen him with you, you know. You are his little pet. Sometimes I think I will become just another—at best.”

“That will never be the case, your grace. You will make yourself indispensable to him, you'll see. And when you are ready for him in that other way, he will be ready for you.”

“And this Gaveston? Do you truly believe he and the king are nothing more than brothers to each other?”

“I don't know, your grace, and it would be presumptuous of me to guess, I think. I can only tell you this: The king loves Gaveston more than anyone in the world. And Gaveston for all of his ways loves the king too, I think.”

“And I should accept this?”

“Now you are asking me to be presumptuous again, your grace. I can only say that I think you would be happier if you did.”

“You're not stupid, Lady Despenser. Perhaps I will try then.”

To be told by the queen that one was not stupid was a high honor indeed. Eleanor smiled and, seeing that the queen was lost in her own thoughts, worked quietly until Isabella came out of her reverie. “Now, tell me about this Tower of London we must go to before the coronation.”

“It is a royal palace, your grace, a fine one, but it is also a storehouse for the king's jewels and records, and a prison—a state prison for traitors and the like.”

“And what do you do to traitors in your kingdom?”

Eleanor shuddered. “It is horrible, your grace. They are hung, but cut down while still alive, and then they are cut open and their insides are burnt before their eyes—unless they have been so fortunate as to lose consciousness or die beforehand. Then they cut their heads off and cut or tear their bodies into quarters. Their heads are put on display, and sometimes their quarters, too.”

“How grotesque!”

“It is so cruel, your grace. My grandfather used several men that way, and I wish he had not. If a man is to die, why can't he simply be beheaded? He's dead either way. But men seem to think it is necessary to make a great show of it. I think men can be fools sometimes.” Eleanor felt the need to move to a happier topic. “But the Tower's royal apartments are beautiful; I have visited my grandfather and uncle there many a time. There is even a menagerie there, with lions and tigers. They are fascinating to watch; you must have the king take you there. And has he told you about the camel?”

“A camel! I was not certain such beasts actually existed.”

“There is a camel at Langley, his favorite retreat. It's ill-tempered, though, and hates to have anyone ride on his humps. I tried when I was little. He shook me off and ruined my robes—spitting at me—but I finally got on and held on for dear life. My nurse scolded me for so long she lost her voice. She told me that such a hoyden would never find a husband.”

The queen laughed, and for the moment appeared no more than twelve years old. “As I have found a husband, I would like to try someday. Perhaps you can show me how to ride him.”

“It would be amusing, your grace.”

“I am glad you are here, Lady Despenser. My ladies from France are so proper and matronly, and my English ladies so dull—except for you. I am glad there is someone I can talk to freely.”