The Traitor's Wife (97 page)

He could do nothing but take her hand and squeeze it. For a while longer they sat together, watching the waves crash and break. Finally, William said, “I've always had my will made before I crossed the seas; I'm a man who prefers dry land. I revised it before I left on this expedition. I have asked that I be laid to rest in Tewkesbury Abbey, my sweet. Near the ancestors of my beloved wife Eleanor.”

“Where I wish to be buried.”

“Yes. They might keep us apart in life, my love. They'll never keep us apart in death. Don't worry, my love. I would do nothing to hurry it on; I fear God's wrath as you do. But there would never be another woman for me if you were taken away, not ever.”

She pressed his hand as Betsy, napping, yelped triumphantly in her sleep. William laughed. “Catching a hare, no doubt. Come, my love. Let's go to the chapel and pray that this talk of convents and burials is for naught and that we may have some years together yet.”

The Pope, as before, did not make a final decision in
Grey v. Zouche
himself, but sent it to be reheard by the Canon of Salisbury, who found in favor of Zouche. John grimly appealed again. Before the case could be reheard by the Pope's latest delegates (the Bishop of London, the Canon of London, and the Canon of Wells), the Canon of Salisbury ordered John to pay costs to William and Eleanor. In May 1333, the Pope ordered the Bishop of Coventry to hear the case.

Eleanor was not as distressed as she might have been by this delay, for she had other worries. Edward Balliol had invaded Scotland the previous August. He had met with success at Dupplin Moor, where, to Eleanor's regret, her uncle's faithful friend Donald of Mar, who had been appointed regent for the young Scottish king, had been killed. But in December, the Scots had driven the invaders out. In January, despite the reluctance of Parliament, the English king had begun to raise troops. By the time the Pope's decision reached Eleanor, that late spring of 1333, the English were besieging Berwick. With them were her sons Hugh and Edward, her stepson Alan, her half brothers, her first husband's nephews, and her old charge John of Eltham, and she worried about them all. Her concern extended itself even to John de Grey, for though she did not want to be his wife, she did not want to gain her freedom by becoming his widow. Daily, remembering Gilbert and Adam, she prayed for the safety of all of them.

Then, one warm day in late July, she woke to the sound of the church bells in Cardiff ringing. “What on earth is that about?” she asked Gladys as her old damsel entered her chamber.

“Victory, my lady. The English have defeated the Scots at a place called Halidon Hill.”

By August, her sons had come home, bearing booty and making a point of calling each other “Sir Hugh” and “Sir Edward.” Soon afterward came the trip to Roger de Northburgh, Bishop of Coventry, a man who had served her uncle, Isabella and Mortimer, and the present king in a variety of capacities and who had gotten through unscathed; it was he who had accompanied William inside Caerphilly Castle when young Hugh had surrendered it. To the bishop John, Eleanor, and William told their stories, by now without blushing or rancor, for they had been told so often. The witnesses were examined again; the proctors argued again. Then at last, in early 1334, the three parties stood before the bishop and waited for his sentence.

“I give sentence in favor of William la Zouche.”

As he had three times before, John de Grey whispered to his proctor. This time, however, he shook his head as he spoke. The proctor lifted his head. “My client wishes Lady Despenser and Lord Zouche to know that he will not appeal. He accepts the finding of this court and relinquishes all claim to Lady Despenser.”

Eleanor held the table to keep herself from falling. She listened as the bishop said some concluding words, without comprehending any of them. Then they were free to go.

She walked over to John de Grey, who had not lifted his eyes from the table before him, and touched his hand. “Sir John, I wish to apologize to you. I never meant to mislead or hurt you in any way, but I did, and I am humbly sorry.”

“I know, my lady.”

“You must marry a pretty young woman who can give you children. I hope you will do so soon, and prosper. I wish you well, Sir John.”

She pecked him on the cheek. John smiled sadly and looked at William. “May I, Lord Zouche?” William nodded, and John returned the peck. “Take care of her, Lord Zouche.”

He walked out of the bishop's chambers, and then Eleanor and William were alone. For a while they stood holding each other in silence. Then they walked hand in hand, oblivious to all around them, out of the bishop's palace and to William's lodgings at a nearby inn. “At last, my sweet,” he whispered as they lay down, “we're together forevermore.”

“Forevermore,” Eleanor echoed.

I
N DECEMBER 1334, ELEANOR AND WILLIAM RODE TO SHAFTESBURY ABBEY, where they were greeted by Sister Joan le Despenser. But the greeting between Eleanor and Joan was a short one, for it was Lady Hastings Eleanor had come to see. “Is she better, Joan?” Eleanor asked hopefully.

“No, Mama. She is much worse. Her children and Aunt Aline are already here. I will take you to her room.”

Bella was asleep when Eleanor came softly into the room, where Bella's sister and children sat on a bench that had been carried there for their convenience. She bent over Bella and kissed her cheek.

Three months before, Gladys, Eleanor's mainstay for so long, had fallen ill. Eleanor would hear of no one nursing her but herself. For weeks they had switched places, Gladys lying in Eleanor's great bed, Eleanor sleeping on a trundle bed, until Eleanor had woken in the middle of the night to find Gladys still and cold, having died in her sleep. She had thought, as she watched as Gladys at her damsel's own request was buried in the Lady Chapel at Tewkesbury, that she would never stop crying. And then the news had arrived that an ailing Lady Hastings had decided to be nursed at Shaftesbury Abbey.

“Nelly? Is that really you?”

“Yes, Bella.”

Bella smiled. “I was afraid you would not come—in time that is. The priest has shriven me already.”

Eleanor sat on the bed and took Bella's cold hand, shocked at the change in her sister-in-law's appearance she could detect under the layers of blankets that covered her. Always petite, she was now little more than bones, and the thick dark hair that Eleanor knew had been Bella's secret pride had lost all of its glisten. She did not trust herself to speak, so she simply stroked the hand until Bella herself finally spoke again, in such a low voice that Eleanor had to lean over to hear her. “It is odd, Nelly, but I am really quite content to die. There are so many I love whom I hope I shall see. My husbands. My son Thomas. Papa and my mother. My little sister Margaret. My brothers. And yet there are so many others I love here on earth. My son Hugh and my daughter and their children. Nicholas. Aline. And you. I will miss you so much, Nelly.”

“And I you, Bella. We have known each other since we were mere girls, and been through such strange times together.”

“I remember when you married Hugh, how pretty you were in your green gown. But I was jealous, my dear, because the great King Edward was at Hugh's wedding, and had not come to mine. And I did not think I would like you much, because you were the daughter of such a great earl. I thought you would treat me as an inferior. So I was not happy at first when Hugh married you.”

“Why, Bella, I never would have known it.”

“I kept it to myself.”

Eleanor laughed. “Bella, if that is the best you can do for a deathbed confession, you will be in heaven straightaway.”

“Oh, I have worse. I lay with Ralph twice before we were married.”

“Only twice, dear? Lord Monthermer could have charmed a nun away from her vows, Bella. It is only fortunate that he never got my aunt Mary alone.”

“Did Joan tell you I took vows two days before?”

Eleanor glanced at Bella's left hand and saw that she wore the ring of a nun. “No, she did not.”

“It was something I had long thought of doing, since about the time Papa and Hugh died. But I was too selfish; I wanted to be with my children and their children. But now I have done so, and I am very happy.” She smiled, and Eleanor thought she was about to drift off when she added, “But I am not the most married nun in Shaftesbury, it seems. One of the older nuns had four husbands!” Eleanor laughed, and Bella sighed. “I loved all my husbands, Nelly—even my first, though I was but a girl when he died. What shall happen if we all meet in heaven? I tried to ask the priest, but he only muttered something in Latin.”

Eleanor sometimes wondered this herself about Hugh and William. She told Bella what she had often told herself: “Worry not, Bella dear. God will work it all out.”

Bella smiled faintly, and Eleanor saw that she was fast losing strength and life. She helped Bella settle more comfortably against the pillows and, seeing her shiver, put the blankets around her more snugly. Then she kissed her sister-in-law on the forehead and stood up, hoping that Bella could not see the tears streaming down her face. “I am going to leave you with your children now, my sweet. I will come again when you have rested a bit.”

She took herself outside and waited, William's arm around her, for the inevitable news to come out of Bella's chamber. Very soon, it did. Lady Hastings, a weeping sister said, had lost consciousness and slipped away painlessly, surrounded by at least some of those she had loved. And that, thought Eleanor, was the very least her sister-in-law had deserved.

It had been a mistake, Edward le Despenser realized, to set out from Essendine in Rutland with the sky looking so gloomy. But it was, after all, January, when gloomy skies could be expected, and having been a landowner for only two months, he still took a boyish delight in riding between the manors that had reverted to him in November.