Isabeau, A Novel of Queen Isabella and Sir Roger Mortimer (11 page)

“Has he called?” I said hoarsely to Patrice. There was only a small lump left in my throat and for the first time in days I felt a twinge of hunger.

Patrice shrugged, at first not understanding what I was asking, and gave me a sip of water. “The king?”

“Yes.”

She pressed her lips together, trying to conjure a politic response, but in the end all she could manage was a simple shake of her head and a light hand upon my forearm. “Do you feel better today?”

“I do. But I must look an awful sight.”

She smiled in amusement. “You should have seen yourself a few days ago. Not at all pretty. Rumors were amuck that a changeling had taken your place.”

Soon I was as restless as a child confined to the indoors for too long a winter. I still meant to go to Edward, to speak to him, but the number of days gone by and the fever had lessened my determination to go to war with him.

On the fifth evening after our arrival at York, as my ladies prepared a bath for me,
old Ida raked a comb through my twisted mess of hair with her knobby fingers. Marie offered me a cup of hot water sweetened with honey and licorice to rid me of a tickling cough. Sorting through my bedclothes, Patrice offered a litany of comment on how each of them did or did not follow the latest fashions, until I finally told her what I needed was whatever was the most comfortable.

“Did I not tell you to stay at Scarborough awhile?” Ida scolded gruffly. With each stroke of the comb she yanked harder. “You must have figured I told you to stay put just because I don’t like to get wet. You are a stubborn one. When I was a child, my older sister went out in a cold rain one night to meet with her sweetheart. Caught the ague, she did. Died from it. Just as well, though. My father would have whipped the life from her anyway. The boy
 ...
well, let me say that he did what he pleased and they – ”

I winced as she jerked at a lock of hair so fiercely my eyes watered. She paused in her lecture only long enough to apologize and pat me on the head, or rather grumble and thump me on my head. Then she went back to work unknotting the tangles, her words twisting together in a waspish buzz that I had long ago learned to tolerate. I seldom asked her advice, although she often gave it. I pressed my fingertips to my temples. Without me needing to tell her to do so, Ida set aside the comb and went to prepare my bath.

As I waited, I closed my eyes, trying to rest. As ever though, my lids had no sooner drawn shut than my thoughts carried me elsewhere like the rush of a river in full spate – churning over things I could not change, searching for things I could.

For the sake of peace,
I told myself,
let this go. Don’t anger him, Isabella. Don’t.

Marie beckoned me quietly. She
sprinkled the bathwater with chamomile and orange peel, tested it with her fingers, and then dipped her knee to indicate it was ready. I shed my robe and slipped in, letting its warmth seep into my flesh. Slowly, my aches melted away.

Soon, my children would surround me and I would take them in my arms. I would say to Young Edward how tall and strong he looked and to John, who would ask a hundred questions in the first breath, how much he had grown before I told him about Cecilia. My daughter Eleanor, sweet Ella who adored flattery, I would tell her how bright and beautiful were her eyes. And Joanna, the babe ... I would kiss her tiny forehead and tell her over and over how very much I missed her.

When the bathwater began to cool, Marie dressed me in a clean velvet robe and turned down my coverings.
But first, Ida plaited my hair
loosely to dry so that it dangled down my back like a woven rope. One by one, they drifted away to their sleeping places in adjoining chambers, until only Eleanor and Patrice remained.

Poor Eleanor. She had only half a husband, as well. Yet never so much as a frown when he spoke ill of her before others. Had she not been so abrasive she might have been worthy of pity.

Not until Eleanor spoke, did I realize I had been staring at her.

“Do you need anything else, my lady?” Several strands of her hair peaked from beneath her crooked barbette. Like all the de Clare women, she had brought a fat inheritance to her marriage. When Gilbert de Clare, the Earl of Gloucester, was killed at Bannockburn, his earldom was eventually divided amongst his three sisters, whose husbands all suddenly became very wealthy, Despenser being one of them.

I blinked at her. “Oh no, nothing. Only a good night’s rest, perhaps. You as well, Eleanor.”

Patrice closed the door softly behind Eleanor and cocked her head at me, a question framed by her pouting lips.

“Tomorrow,” I told her, “I will speak to him.”

I slid beneath my down coverings and turned toward the single window of my small bedchamber. Before Patrice blew out the candles, I saw a glimmering of frost on the inside of the window.

Winter had come to York.

10

Isabella:

York – November, 1322

YORK WAS ABUZZ WITH English barons for the upcoming session of parliament like flies on rotting fruit. Robert the Bruce had made his demands in exchange for the Great Seal, but there was no talk of ransom for Edward’s cousin, the Earl of Richmond. It seemed the Bruce wished to keep him as a pawn, although I am certain he would have preferred me. Without his cousin, however, Edward was deprived of one more ally and his enemies were increasing by the day
–
not across the border, but inside it.

The roads leading to York lay like trampled brown ribbons over threadbare white linen. It was not yet December, but a light snow had fallen for three days straight and turned the roads to quagmires. At first, the snowflakes melted as they tumbled to earth. In time, however, the snow began to cool the ground and pile upon itself until the hills of Yorkshire gleamed like pearls beneath feathery clouds. I would not have liked to travel over such a mess, but from the top of King’s Tower it was a hauntingly beautiful sight.

At midmorning, before going to the king’s chambers, I took a light meal of a pear spiced with cinnamon and some bread sopped in wine. The day before, Edward had turned me away, saying he would send for me later. He never did. I would not let him avoid me again.

The pair of guards flanking the door barred my entrance.

“Stand aside,” I said.

“The king is in an important meeting,” the first guard replied. The second guard, less resolute, looked down at his feet.

“No more important than the one he is to have with me. Let me pass.” I tried to move past, but was greeted by the glimmering edge of a poleax.

“I will tell him you called,” he grudgingly offered.

I placed a finger upon the heavy bottom of the poleax blade and traced its edge down to where it attached to the pole. “Then you will be too late.” And I wrapped my fingers around the haft and slammed it down on his foot. He yelped and hopped back like a wounded wolf cub. The second guard chortled and gave me a mirthful wink as I slipped by.

To my immense relief, the only member of the council in Edward’s presence was Aymer de Valence, the Earl of Pembroke. Edward stood by the window, one hand propped on his angular, jutting hip, while the fingernails of the other raked at his scant beard.

Pembroke rose from his chair, swept low in a bow and then came toward me, hands outstretched. “My queen
,
I hear you had a rough voyage from Tynemouth. I have already sent my condolences to Cecilia’s family. So very young, she was.”

He reached for my hand and bent to kiss it. I clasped both of his hands and gave them a firm squeeze. His coal-black eyes glinted with compassion. Then he stood on tiptoe to kiss me gently on the cheek. When he stepped back, for he was very short, I could see the part in his hair, still black except for a feathering of silver at the temples. A shrewd negotiator, he had dampened Lancaster’s fiery temper countless times, sparing Edward waves of rebellion.

“The days will be somber without her. But thank you for your kindness, my lord.”

“Her mother?”

“Still in Scarborough,” I told him, “grief-stricken. And not well enough to travel, as it is.”

“Ah, but you are better now?”

“Much,” I imparted with the flicker of a smile, “although I miss the children terribly.” I clung to the earl’s hands for comfort, but too soon he gave me a parting embrace and words of farewell, saying that he was overdue to write to his wife.

Then ... I was alone with Edward.

I bent my knee to him, hoping that the gesture would elicit a small greeting. Instead, he spread his fingers over the cold glass and squinted as he peered at the snowy world outside. “They leap at every opportunity to claw at my soul. They blame me for Byland Moor, thankless traitors. Even those who were loyal have turned on me
–
like fighting curs in a pit. Pembroke, as well. I was not even there. Richmond was. He should rot in Scotland for it, I say.”

Edward was not at Byland Moor because he had run from there to be with Despenser.

“Cruel words,” I said, “for one who has always stood by you, my lord.”

He spun sharply on his heel. “You, too?”

“I did not mean it like
–
”

“How did you then? You are just like the rest of them, always blaming me. Worse, maybe. You do not cloak your criticisms in policy. You come to murder my character in person. Have at it, then.”

He spread his arms wide in a sacrifice of himself, but I refrained; I had arguments other than those that parliament had been pursuing with him.

“I came to ask why my husband did not call on me during my illness, but I can see that you were deeply engrossed in important matters. Pembroke has said something in particular to upset you?”

He softened at the sympathy. “In particular, no. In general, yes. Even he thinks I should honor peace with Scotland. My father would have struck him for even letting such absurdities pass over his tongue. Pembroke treats me like an ignorant child.”

I took a window seat while he paced angrily. Finally, he stopped before me and gestured toward the door. “If that is all, you may leave now. I have ... others ... to discuss matters with.”

I had no doubt that ‘others’ meant solely Hugh Despenser. I looked at him squarely. “You should not have abandoned me at Tynemouth as you did. Our lives were in danger. You could have sent word ahead for us to come here when you crossed the border. You waited. Why?”

He snorted. “Abandoned you? Your life was never in danger.” He added a snarl to his defense. “We went over this yesterday.”

“Five days ago, Edward. I have been ill and bedridden for five days, yet you never once inquired of me. Never came to my side. Not once. Had you not a few minutes for the mother of your children?”

“Parliament does not grant cessations for visits to the sickly. Now do not correct me. The matter is dead.”

“Because you say? I say otherwise.”

“And I say I have more important things to attend to than your unceasing, abysmal whining. Good God, woman, remove your pointed tongue from my ear. It bleeds. And be gone. Back to your gaggle of women. Talk to them of your never-ending troubles. Perhaps they will care ... or at least pretend to.”

“Was it so long ago that you used to speak to me of your troubles, Edward? Did it not soothe you when I listened as you railed against Lancaster, Mortimer and Badlesmere?” I had given so much of myself, believing it was what he needed
–
comfort enough to put him in a better mood and grant him a clearer outlook. But it had not been enough and I was only beginning to understand why ... or who. I stood to face him. “What has so come between us that you cannot give a care as to where I am or whether I live or die? How have I fallen in your eyes? No, no, spare me that. I know. You know. And there is nothing I can say or do that is right anymore. Not as long as ... as he ...”

I had to stop myself before I leapt from the precipice. I turned for the door.

“
He
?!” Edward shouted. He stomped at me, grabbed my arm and yanked me around so fast I might have fallen had he not had a hold of me. “Bloody God, wife. Say his name. Say it. Say it! Who is
he
?”

“Despenser,” I gulped. The sound of his name in my mouth made me want to vomit. “Despenser is between us. Despenser has taken my place.” When I said it, at last, I saw it in my head. I saw them
–
together.

His fingers pinched my arm until I felt a blood blister forming. I could not raise my eyes to meet his. “What? You would deny a king the one advisor who dares speak the truth to him? The only friend who would defend him to the death? How does that put him between us?”

I shook my head. “Those things do not. You know ... what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. Say your mind, wife. How?” His hands flew up and pressed smartly against my cheekbones, forcing me to look at him. He leaned close, his breath hot upon my face. “How has he put you away from me in any way you have not managed to do yourself?
How
has he taken your place?”

I tried to shake my head again, but he locked his palms tighter against my face. His fingernails pricked at my temples. As he dug them deeper the words shot out of my mouth with a force of resentment I could not halt had it meant saving all the souls on earth. “
In our bed
.”

I whimpered as he pinched my face tighter. Why had I said it? Why? I had never found them together, not in that way. But ... there were so many pieces that fit so perfectly together. So many times that I had seen Edward kiss Despenser upon the cheek and how it lingered and how he had whispered into his ear and a smile of affection played upon Despenser’s lips. I had heard more
–
of late meetings, followed by early ones when Despenser was never seen to leave his chambers, long hunting trips, occasions when neither of them could be found. A royal household was always abuzz with gossip. The private moments of the king were no exception.

Edward laughed wickedly. He let go of me. Still laughing, he slapped me hard.

I had half turned my face away before his palm struck me. But the blow thrust me back a step. The burn of it brought tears to my eyes. I blinked them away before I met his wrathful gaze again.

He pulled in three sharp breaths, the anger in him boiling over with each gasp. “Your women have poisoned your head with too many lies. And now you are wracked with delusions. I am of a mind to replace every one of them. Consider it a purging of evil forces that you arrived here less a few. Be as a good wife should. Say only kind things of your husband, will you? It is a sin to lie, Isabella. And treason to lie about your king.”

Treason? Was that what he called the truth?

“No, Edward.” I taunted him to strike me again, hoping he would draw blood so I could outwardly bear some evidence of his mistreatment of me. “It is you who lie, even to yourself.”

I hardly cared any more what he thought of me. I hoped he never wanted me near him again. Nothing would have pleased me more. By him, God had given me four fine children. Giving my body to Edward for the purpose of bearing them
–
hardly for his pleasure, but wholly for his own arrogant posterity
–
had been a vile deed for us both. For years I believed the fault of not making my husband love me was entirely mine. The task, however, was impossible from the outset. At best, I had indifference from him. The worst always happened when I believed he could ever care, when I hoped ...

Edward swept his arm across the table and overturned a full flagon of wine. He yanked the tapestries from the wall, toppled unlit candles, sent a bowl of apples rolling and flailed maps and documents onto the floor.

It was a show meant to put fright into me, but after a few minutes of his tirade I realized Edward was too cowardly to become violent with me. They said he shied from battle because the sight of blood made him queasy. I believed it. He could not even beat his wife properly. He uttered no curses or threats, but kept his eyes from me as he kicked at a chair and hurled the same candlestick for the fourth time. He did not even see me leave.

Head down, I rushed through the corridor and bumped into someone’s chest.

“In a hurry?”

Hugh Despenser. In his eyes was a look of disgust one might make having stepped in a pile of cow dung. A look that he gave everyone near enough to him to draw his attention. Everyone except for Edward.

I felt a sting along the back of my hand. The jewels studding the front of his shirt had scraped it and a fine red line of blood sprang forth. I pulled my hand into my sleeve and brushed past him without a word. I had turned two corners and was halfway down a flight of stairs before I stopped. By now Edward was telling Despenser of my jealous rant. But why was Despenser with him again?