The Traitor's Wife (95 page)

“You and Sir John both claim to be married to our kinswoman, Lady Despenser. Correct?”

“Yes, your grace.”

“That is in the hands of the Church,” said Edward, not without relief. “That is where it should be, and that is where it should stay. We have summoned you here because we have received reports that your men are harassing each other.”

“I beg your pardon, your grace. But my men cannot help but feel indignant that that blackguard of a knight, who I might add did almost nothing to recover his so-called wife until your grace restored Glamorgan to her, has caused my wife Eleanor so much grief and pain.”

“We shall command you both in Parliament to keep the peace between you, on pain of imprisonment. There is an appeal pending in Avignon about this matter?”

“Yes, your grace.”

“I hope that shall settle it. If it does not, we will summon both of you to appear before this council later, with the lady, to see if some agreement can be reached. In the meantime, you and your men are to do no violence to each other. You understand us?”

“Yes, your grace,” William said.

The next day, Hugh le Despenser with his twelve mainprisors appeared before the king and Parliament and was pardoned for holding Caerphilly Castle against the queen. William was summoned before the same Parliament and ordered to keep the peace with John de Grey, who was served with a writ commanding him to do the same.

Soon after this eventful Parliament for the Despenser family disbanded, the Pope ordered the case of
Grey v. Zouche
to be reheard by Robert de Welles, the prior of Southwark Abbey, and William Inge, the archdeacon of Surrey. With the hearing pending, the king summoned William, John, and Eleanor to his council in January 1332.

“I have called you here to see if this matter can be settled,” Edward said. “For the best interest of all three of you. I shall be blunt. My cousin Eleanor is a wealthy woman. If she were to grant one of you some of her more valuable lands for life, with a remainder to her heirs—”

John said, “Your grace, it is not the lady's lands I covet. It is the lady, my wife. I tried to recover her before she got her lands back. But there was her imprisonment, and the Bishop of Lincoln's intransigence—”

“I'd take her if she were a beggar,” said William.

Eleanor said, “Your grace, I married Lord Zouche with witnesses, before God. My wedding vows cannot be bought and sold in that manner.”

The king sighed. “So it's not money, as I hoped? Very well.”

“I only wish to have my wife restored to me,” said John. “She promised to marry me, and we consummated the promise. Then this smooth-tongued scoundrel came around and took her, by force and fear, I think—”

“He is mistaken!” Eleanor waved her hands frantically. “I did lie with him, your grace, I was foolish. Call me a whore, but do not call me his wife. It was Lord Zouche I married, Lord Zouche I wanted to marry all along. Only I felt so guilty doing so because of Hugh, and when Sir John came to visit—”

“You took advantage of her!” said William.

“I! You had a priest with you, ready to do your bidding, didn't you? No waiting, and why? Because you knew that she was my wife, and you were hoping that once you'd snatched her away, I'd graciously forget about her. Bloody hell I will! I'd as soon cut your throat, you villain!”

He reached for his dagger. Before he could draw it halfway, Eleanor shrieked, “No!” and threw herself in front of William. “Don't you dare harm him!”

“Gentlemen!”

One of the king's sergeant-at-arms grabbed John, and another grabbed William. John, as best he could with the burly man holding him, replaced the knife and said, “Lady Despenser, I did not mean to frighten you, please God. I only—”

“Lord Zouche, Sir John, you are both in our custody now. We will not tolerate such behavior in front of us and our council.” The members of the council, who throughout the proceedings had looked both attentive and highly entertained, nodded disapprovingly. “Take them both to the Tower.”

“The
Tower
!” wailed Eleanor.

William got a hand free to grip Eleanor's. “Don't distress yourself, my love. Just the usual family quarters, no doubt.”

As the men were led away, William de Montacute rose and walked Eleanor to his seat. “Sit here, my lady. Someone will get your son to take you away from here.”

“Thank you, Lord Montacute.” She sank down in her seat, finding as she did that she still had enough spirit to meet John Stratford's disdainful gaze at her with a magnificent stare that made the bishop blink.

“Then the king's sergeants-at-arms arrested both men and took them both to the Tower,” Joan of Bar reported to Queen Isabella a few days later at Windsor Castle. She considered it her duty to keep her friend up-to-date on the news from court, even if the dowager queen did not always show an interest in her reports.

“Are they there now?”

“No. Lord Zouche was released on mainprise. Sir John was released into the custody of William de Clinton.” Too late, Joan remembered that he had been one of Mortimer's captors. “Not exactly close custody, as they are good friends.”

“And the silly little cat who started this nonsense? She is not living with one of these men?”

“No. She is under orders not to bed with either of them, on pain of excommunication, poor thing. Not that I think she needs to be told to stay away from Grey, the handsome one who's years younger than she is. It's Zouche, the gray, homely one ten years her senior, whom she's in love with.” Joan giggled. “Funny, isn't it? Zouche is the gray one, not Grey.”

Isabella snorted and stared out of her window, seeing nothing but the usual view of trees and river. For well over a year now she had lived here, not exactly her son's prisoner but not quite free either. Her quarters were as comfortable as they had ever been; she was served as obsequiously as she could desire; her ladies and damsels humored her every wish. She had musicians to keep her entertained, scribes and illuminators to produce manuscripts of romances for her, chaplains to see to her spiritual needs. Joan of Bar, her dearest friend, frequently visited; so did the Countess of Pembroke. Her children Eleanor and John came too, though their visits were clearly paid out of duty. The king himself came infrequently, but dutifully sent his agents to inquire about her needs.

For months after Mortimer's death, Isabella had been closely supervised; there had been worries, never expressed to her in so many words, that she might try to kill herself. It was true that there were weeks she simply did not recall, so deep had been her anguish. Gradually, the restrictions on her had been lifted, and just the other day Edward had told her (in person for once) that she would soon be able to leave Windsor and live on any of the lands she had been given. He had been rather disappointed at her lukewarm response; clearly, he had expected a bit of gratitude. He was right to expect it, she knew. Another sort of son might have locked her up for life or forced her into a nunnery; a man like her own father might have had her burned at the stake. Instead, Edward had evidently determined to treat her as if Mortimer were but a disease from which she was slowly recovering, one that was better left unmentioned. Sometimes, she thought, she would have preferred harsh treatment; it would be less humiliating than living her life as the prodigal mother of this saintly son. At least it would have given her someone to be angry at, besides herself.

“Enough about that wretched Despenser woman,” said Isabella. “What of my daughter Eleanor? Is there any further news about her marriage?”

“No. The king has yet to conclude the agreement with the Count of Guelders. I still think she could do better, your grace. But as the negotiations with France came to nothing…”

“Aragon didn't want her either,” said the queen. “Not surprising, I suppose. They could do better for a marriage. I could have, too. Why, I regret the day I came to this miserable, gray little country. I truly do.”

Joan was well used to such diatribes. She said placidly, “Shall I summon your musicians, your grace? That always cheers you up.”

“Yes. Summon the damn musicians.”

When Hugh le Despenser had assisted his mother from the king's council chamber, the king had instructed him to see him a few days hence at Waltham Abbey, where Hugh duly arrived in early February. “We have released your mainprisors from their obligations, Hugh. You are as free as any Englishman now.”

“Thank you, your grace.”

“As you may know, your lady mother has asked permission to alienate several of her manors to you. To provide an independent living to you until you inherit her lands at her death.”

Hugh smiled. His mother gave him ample money for his wants, and he assisted her diligently in her affairs, but at his age it was humiliating to be living off her generosity while his male cousins ran their own estates. He'd not needed to bring up the idea himself; Eleanor had offered.

“And we have refused her request.”

Hugh felt slapped across the face. Making an effort to keep his voice low, he said. “I don't understand, your grace. I shall not argue with your will, but I don't understand. We are not asking for anything more than what is in our family already, only for something that would cost the crown nothing and let me live independently like other men of my age and station. But it matters not. A man who's good with a sword can make a welcome for himself anywhere, and it needn't be in England. When my mother's marital problems are settled, I shall leave the country, with your grace's permission, and start afresh elsewhere. May I leave your presence now?”

“Your mother needs her revenues right now, Hugh. She has her fine to pay for her theft, and there is the matter of her marriage litigation, which I'm sure is no small expense. And besides, any grant she might make could be invalidated if it turned out that John de Grey was her true husband.” He nodded to a clerk, who handed Hugh a paper. “Read this.”

Hugh read it. Halfway through he looked up and frowned. “This is a grant of land to me?”

“Yes. The crown is promising you two hundred marks a year in income from lands and rents.”

Two hundred marks. A trifle compared to what his father and grandfather had owned. Yet it would allow him to live independently, and he wouldn't have to learn Italian. He swallowed hard. “Thank you, your grace.”