Epitaph for Three Women (54 page)

‘Did the Duke know of these spells used against him?’

‘The spells, my lords, would have been useless had they been known. And they were not used against him … only to procure his greater happiness.’

‘And the waxen image?’

She would confess to the lords that she longed for a child. She had been foolish. She had thought these people could help her. That was why she had asked them to make a waxen image.

‘And to burn it slowly …’

‘My lords, I knew nothing of that.’

She might be wily but she did not deceive them. All the accused were indicted of treason. The three necromancers were sent back to the Tower, and Eleanor was placed under constraint in Leeds Castle until such time as there should be a further inquiry.

Leeds Castle in the lovely county of Kent was very beautiful, standing on two islands as it did, connected by a double drawbridge, but the beauty of her surroundings meant nothing to Eleanor. She was now awaiting a summons to appear before her judges and she was afraid.

Humphrey had not been near her. In a way she understood. He dared not. By coming to her he risked his life. He was the first suspect in this plot to murder the King; and he must show that he was entirely ignorant of it.

She was alone. She must defend herself. She wondered what they would do to her. They did not believe her when she said that the image was of a baby she longed to have.

October had come; the leaves were being torn from the trees; there was a warning of winter in the chill which came off the water that lapped the castle walls. She looked from her window across that water to the profusion of trees and the bronze carpet of leaves beneath them. She wanted to go out there and ride in the woods. She wanted to be free to go and come as she pleased.

Why had she not been content with what she had, when she had been given so much?

The summons came. Once again she was to attend St Stephen’s Chapel where a special commission, on which sat the Earls of Suffolk, Stafford and Huntingdon, had been set up.

They eyed her disdainfully – a woman of no breeding, they had never been able to understand why the Duke had married her. A lusty mistress no doubt … but a Duchess, and the Duchess of Gloucester, the highest in the land … next the King!

Next the King! Ah, there was the reason.

She defended herself ably enough. She clung to the story that the image had been of the child for which she longed. She could not convince them though, for she could not explain why when it was found it had been half-melted away.

She was found guilty with the rest. The Witch of Eye was to be burned at the stake, and Bolingbroke and Southwell were to suffer the traitor’s fearsome death of hanging, drawing and quartering.

She saw them turn pale when they were sentenced … all except Margery who had come to terms with her terrible fate. After all she had come close to it before.

And now it was Eleanor’s turn. She was guilty of conspiring against the life of the King. Only her nobility acquired through marriage and her connection with royalty saved her from the terrible fate of her fellow conspirators.

She was to be imprisoned for life but before she was taken to her prison would be required to walk barefoot through the streets of London carrying a taper which she would offer at various churches as yet to be named. For three days she should do this before she was taken off to her lifelong prison.

It was a holiday in London when the executions were due to take place. People crowded into the streets not to be done out of one little bit of excitement. Some went to Smithfield to watch the witch burn. Poor Margery Jourdemayne who had confounded her accusers some ten years before at Windsor and could not repeat her success in this more serious charge. She was philosophical until the flames began to touch her feet. It was one of the hazards of a witch’s life.

And then the agony started. ‘Save me God,’ she prayed; and then protesting, ‘Oh Lord, why did you send the lady Duchess to me!’

She was old and oil had been poured on the wood to make it burn quicker, so the agony was not prolonged.

So died poor Margery Jourdemayne, the Witch of Eye-next-Westminster.

The fortunate member of the party was Thomas Southwell. He had lived in an agony of fear since he had been arrested and when his terrible sentence was pronounced against him he was in such a state of shock that he scarcely knew what was happening to him, and when his guards went to arouse him on the morning fixed for his execution they found him dead. He had died of fright.

Not so Roger Bolingbroke; he suffered the entire grisly performance and his severed head was in due course set up on London Bridge and his limbs sent to Oxford, Cambridge, Hereford and York for as far afield as these cities the people had heard of the plot which the Duchess of Gloucester had contrived with these felons to kill the King and set up her husband in his place.

She walked barefoot through the city streets carrying a candle which weighed two pounds in weight. People came out to stare at her, to call names at her. Murderess, they said.

She looked neither to the right nor to the left. From Temple Gate to St Paul’s she walked and there she set the candle on the altar. People crowded round her, plucking at her robes, reviling her.

This was the worst of all. She had been able to endure confinement in Leeds Castle but to be thus humiliated for one of her pride was punishment indeed.

She had still two more penances to perform and with only one day in between to bathe her aching feet blistered from walking barefoot over the dirty cobbled streets, she must start again. This was a Saturday and she must parade from the Swan in Thames Street to Christchurch and on the next day, Sunday, from St Paul’s to St Peter’s in Cornhill.

How they scorned her! How they loved to see the once mighty fallen low! Not so long ago when she rode through these streets, these people would have called out ‘Long live the noble Duchess’ and hope that she would throw a coin at them.

Now they were against her. They called her Murderess. They believed she had tried to kill their beloved King.

And after this, what was there but imprisonment for the rest of her life?

And Humphrey? Would he come to her?

She had arrived at St Peter’s in Cornhill. The penance was over. Now they were ready to pass her into the hands of her gaoler. Sir Thomas Stanley had been chosen for this role and he was waiting to take her to Chester Castle while they decided where she should finally be incarcerated.

So had the mighty fallen. Here was an end to her ambitious hopes. The King would be married soon. He would produce a son. There would be no crown for Eleanor.

Humphrey was old and tired. Everything had gone wrong. Eleanor’s ambitious folly had ruined their life together. He saw little of her. She had been sent to Kenilworth Castle and remained a prisoner there; and now there was talk of sending her to the Isle of Man.

He missed her; and he had tried soon after the sentence to bring about her freedom. Noble ladies, he declared, should be tried by their peers in the spirit of Magna Carta. It would have been possible to buy her freedom, surely. But he was out of favour. The King was growing up. Henry was horrified that there should have been this plot against him; moreover he refused to believe that his Uncle Humphrey was not involved with his wife.

‘I shall never trust my uncle again,’ he was reported to have said; and Humphrey knew his nephew well enough to realise that once such an idea came into Henry’s mind it would stay there.

Instead of furthering their ambitions Eleanor had blighted them forever. Everywhere he was baulked. The King was to marry and not the princess of Humphrey’s choice. Once Humphrey’s great enemy had been the Cardinal. He was still an enemy but he had been superseded in that respect by William de la Pole, the Earl of Suffolk. As Humphrey fell in the King’s favour so Suffolk rose.

Suffolk had become very friendly with the Duke of Orléans who had been imprisoned in England since Agincourt; it was Suffolk who had arranged his release; and now listening to his advice was supporting the idea of a marriage between the King and Margaret of Anjou.

Humphrey wished for a marriage with the daughter of the Count of Armagnac but ever since Eleanor’s trial young Henry remained suspicious of everything his uncle said and did.

Henry was emerging as a King who found it difficult to make up his own mind about anything. He was going to be weak, that much was evident. Such a King set the minds of ambitious men afire for power. Suffolk was just such a man. He was in close amity with the Cardinal, but that was safe for the Cardinal was an old man and had been ailing for some time. Suffolk’s great enemy was Gloucester; and, since Gloucester’s position had been considerably weakened through suspicion of being concerned with his wife in a plot to get rid of the King, he presented no great threat.

Gloucester was very much aware of this. He no longer had Eleanor to bolster up his confidence and give him that solace which it seemed she alone could give him. It was not that he was an old man but the life he had led had taken such a toll of his health, and there were times when a listlessness came over him and he did not greatly care about Suffolk’s successes.

It was Suffolk who was sent to France to bring home the King’s bride; it was Suffolk who was promoted to a marquisate; it was Suffolk who was in high favour with the new Queen. He was ready to take his place as chief adviser to the King as soon as the Cardinal died – which could not be long. And there was one whom he was determined to destroy – and that was Gloucester. Moreover fate seemed to be on his side.

Oh Eleanor, he thought, you wanted too much for us. We should have been content with what we had. Now you have lost that … and it seems I am likely to do the same.

Henry had made it clear that he had no wish to see him. He did not trust his uncle and felt very uneasy in his presence. He had strengthened his bodyguards.

‘I have my enemies,’ he said, and everyone knew he was thinking of Gloucester.

However Humphrey still remained protector of the country; and this was a situation which could not be allowed to continue.

Parliament was meeting at Bury St Edmunds, and Humphrey had decided he would appear there and ask for the release of his wife. If he could take her away he would go and live with her in retirement.