The She Wolf of France (30 page)

And there was a quality in his voice which some
how or other recalled the tones
of the Iron King.

Charles the Fair passed his hand across his smooth brow and said: `Suppose, to give Edward satisfaction, we expelled Messire Mortimer from the kingdom?''

Then Jeanne the Lame spoke. Her voice was precise but low
-
pitched nevertheless, after the great lowings of the two Artois bulls, she 'was listened to.

`It would be a waste of time and trouble,' she said. `Do you really think our cousin will part from the man whose mistress she now is? She is devoted to him body and soul; she lives only for him. Either she will refuse to let him go, or she will go with him.'

Jeanne the Lame hated the Queen of England, not only because of the memory of Marguerite, her sister, but also because of this too great love Isabella was displaying to the whole of France. And yet Jeanne of Burgundy had no, real need to complain; her t
all Philippe loved her in every
sense of the word, in spite of the fact that her legs were not of the same length. But the grand-daughter of Saint Louis would have liked to be the only woman in the world who was loved. She hated the loves of others.

`We must come to a decision,' the Constable repeated.

He said this because it was growing late and because the women were talking much too much at this Council.

King Charles nodded approval, and then declared: `Tomorrow morning, my sister will be taken to the port of Boulogne to be there embarked and returned to her legitimate husband under escort. I will it.'

He had said `I will it' and everyone present stared at each other, for that phrase had emerged but rarely from the mouth of weak Charles.

`Cherchemont,' he added, `you will prepare the commission for the escort and I will seal it with my lesser seal.'

There was no more to be said. For Charles the Fair was stubborn, and he was the King, and he sometimes remembered it, and
the odd thing was that this usually occurred when he thought of his first wife, who had treated him so badly and whom he had loved so much.

The
Countess Mahaut alone permitted
herself to say: `A wise decision, Sire, my; son.'

And then they all separated without much in, the way of effusive goodnights.. They
all felt they had been parties
to a wicked deed. Chairs were pushed back, and everyone got to his feet to salute the departure of the King and Queen, who were the first to retire.

The Countess of Beaumont; was disappointed. She had thought her husband, Robert, would win the day. She looked across at him and he signed to her to go to their room. He had still a word to say to Monseigneur de Marigny.

The Constable with a heavy step, Jeanne of Burgundy with a limping step, Louis of
Bourbon limping too
how halt the d
escendants of Saint Louis were -
left the room. Tall Philippe followed his w
ife looking like a pointer that
has failed to flush the game.

For a moment or two Robert of Artois spoke quietly to the Bishop of Beauvais; who gently rubbed his elegant hands together.

A moment later Robert was on his way back to his, room by the cloister of the guest-house. There, was a shadow sitting between two pillars, a woman staring out into the night.

`Happy dreams, Monseigneur of Artois.'

The drawling, ironic voice belonged to the, Countess Mahaut's lady-in-waiting, Beatrice d'Hirson, who was sitting there, apparently in a reverie, and awaiting what? Robert's coming of course
; and he was well aware of it.
She got to her feet, stretched herself, stood outlined under the arch, took a step forward, then another, her hips swaying and her dress, trailing over the stone.

`What are you doing here, my fine wench?' said Robert.

She did not answer directly, but turned her face up to: the stars and said: `It's a beautiful night, and a pity to sleep alone. Sleep is slow in coming in such warm weather ...'

Robert of Artois went close to her, gazed down into her long eyes that shone so defiantly in the dark, placed his huge hand on her buttocks,- and then quickly withdrew it, shaking his fingers
as if he had burned himself.

`My pretty Beatrice,' he cried laughing, 'be off to the pond and cool your bum, before you burst into flames!'

His coarseness of speech and gesture made Beatrice tremble.

She had long been awaiting an opportunity to seduce the giant. For she knew that from then on Monseigneur Robert would be at the mercy of the Countess Mahaut, and she, Beatrice, would at long last have at least satisfied a desire. But it was not to be tonight.

Robert had more important things to do. He went to his apartments and entered the bedroom of the Countess, his wife. She sat up in bed. She was naked, for she always slept thus in summer. Robert, with the very same hand with which a moment before he had stroked Beatrice's bottom, automatically caressed a breast that indeed belonged to him by marriage; but it was merely a way of saying goodnight. The Countess of Beaumont was far from being excited by this caress, but she was amused by it; she was always amused by her giant of a husband and by wondering what was going on in his mind. Robert of Artois subsided into a chair. He stretched out his huge legs, raised them from time to time, and let them fall back, heels together.

`Aren't you coming to bed, Robert?'

`No, my dear, no. I'm even going to leave you for Paris shortly, as soon as these monks have stopped singing in their church.'

The Countess smiled.

`My dear, don't you think my sister of Hainaut might give Isabella asylum for a while to give her time to assemble her forces?'

`I was thinking that, my beautiful countess, I was thinking just that.'

Madame of Beaumont was reassured; her husband was bound to win.

It was not so much Isabella's service that got Robert of A
rtois to horse that night as hi
s hatred of Mahaut. The bitch wanted to oppose him, harm those he protected and recover her influence with the King, did she? She'd see who had the last word.

He went and shook his valet, Lormet, awake.

`Go and get three horses saddled. And warn my equerry and a sergeant-at-arms.'

`What about me?' asked Lormet.

`No, not you, you can go back to sleep.'

This was pure kindness on Robert's part. The years were beginning to weigh heavily on his old companion in misdeeds, who was at once bodyguard, strangler and nurse. Lormet was beginning to be short of breath and the mists of early morning did him no good. He grumbled; Since he wasn't needed what was
the good of waking him? But he would have grumbled still more if he had had to go with them.

The horses were soon saddled; the equerry was yawning and the sergeant-at-arms getting into his equipment.

`To horse,' said Robert; this is going to be something of a ride.'

Sitting well down in the saddle, he kept to a walking pace as he left the abbey by the farm and the outbuildings. Then, as soon as they reached the expanse of sand that stretched lonely and brightly gleaming amid. the white birch trees under the night, a real l
andscape of fairies, he spurred
his horse into a gallop. They went by Dammartin, Mitry, Aulnay and Saint-Ouen, a four
hour gallop with a
few breaks to breathe their horses and one halt at an inn, which was open at night to serve market-gardeners' wagoners.

Dawn was not yet breaking when they reached the Palace of the Cite. The guard allowed the King's first councillor to pass in. Robert went straight; up to the Queen's apartments, stepping over the sleeping servants in the corridors, crossed the women's room, while they squawked like frightened hens and cried: `Madame, Madame l' But the giant had already passed on.

Roger Mortimer was in bed with, the Queen. A nigh
t-light was burning in a corner
of the room,

`And it's so that they may sleep in each other's arms that I've galloped through the night, and fast enough to take the skin off my arse!' Robert thought.

As soon as they had got over the first moment of
surprise and the candles
had been lit, all embarrassment was forgotten in the urgency of the moment.

Robert informed the two lovers as quickly as he could of what had been decided at Chaalis and was being plotted against them. As he listened and asked questions, Mortimer was dressing in front of Robert of Artois with that complete naturalness which is usual among soldiers. Nor did the presence
of
his mistress appear to embarrass him they were obviously quite used to living together.

`My advice to you, my friends, is to leave at once,' Robert said, `and to go to the territory of the Empire where you will be out of danger. You must both go, and take young Edward with you, and perhaps Cromwell, Alspaye and Maltravers, but not too many, so as not to slow you down. You should make for Hainaut, and I'll send a courier on ahead of you. The good Count Guillaume and his brother Jean are both great and loyal lords, feared
by their enemies, loved by their friends, of great good sense and
of perfect honour. The Countess, my wife, will write to her sister
on your behalf. It's the best refuge you can find at the moment.

Our friend Kent, whom I shall warn, will join you by way of
Ponthieu,
to assemble the knights you have gathered there. And the rest is in God's hands. I'll see that Tolomei continues to send

you funds;
anyway, he can do nothing else
now. Increase the numbers of your troops, do your best, and fight! Oh, if the Kingdom of France were not so important, and I could afford to leave my aunt's wickedness a free hand, I'd willingly go with you.'

`Turn your back, Cousin, I'm going to dress,' said Isabella.

'What Cousin no rewards Does that rascal Roger want to keep everything to himself?' said Robert, as he, obeyed. `The lucky dog!'

For once, his broad jokes did no
t seem shocking; indeed, there w
as something very reassuring about his ability to joke in a crisis. Though he was considered so wicked, he was capable of kindness; and his indecency of speech was sometimes merely a mask for a certain modesty of sentiment,

`I owe you my life, Robert,' Isabella said.

`One good turn deserves another, Cousin one good turn deserves another! You never can tell!' he called over his shoulder.

He saw a bowl of fruit laid out on a table ready for the lovers; he seized a peach, took a great
bite out of it, and the golden
juice poured down his chin:

There' was a hurrying to and fro in the corridors, equerries were running to the stables, messengers going off to the English lords who lodged in the town, and the w
omen were quickly packing light
travelling-trunks with what they needed; there was a great bustle and stir in all this part of the palace.

`Don't go by Senlis,' said Robert, his mouth full of his twelfth peach. `Our good Sire Charles is too close to it and might have you followed. Go by Beauvais and Amiens.'

Their' good-byes were hasty; dawn was just beginning to light up the steeple of the Sainte-Chapelle and the escort was waiting in the courtyard. Isabella went to the window; for a moment she w
as overwhelmed by emotion at
the sight of the garden, the river and the nearness of the rumpled bed in which she had known the happiest time of her life. Fifteen months had passed since that first morning when she had breathed, on this very spot, that marvellous scent which spring broadcasts when one is in love. Roger Mortimer put his hand on her shoulder and the Queen's lips bent towards it.

Soon the horses' hooves were ringing out in the streets of the Cite, then on the Pont-au-Change and towards the north.

Monseigneur Robert of Artois went to his house. By the time the King heard of his sister's flight, she would have been out of reach for some time; and Mahaut would have to be bled and purged so as not to be choked by a flux of blood. `Ah, my good bitch!' he thought. Now Robert could sleep, as heavily as an ox, tills the bells rang out at noon.

PART FOUR

THE CRUEL INVASION

1. Harwich

THE SEAGULLS were crying and circling the ships' masts,
searching for refuse thrown overboard. The fleet was approaching the port of Harwich, with its wooden mole and line of low houses, on the estuary into which flow the Orwell and the Stour.

Two of the smaller ships had already gone alongside and disembarked a company of archers to ensure that all was quiet in the neighbourhood; the coast did not appear, to be guarded. There had been some slight confusion on the quay where the inhabitants, who had gathered to watch so many sail lying offshore, had fled when they saw the soldiers landing; but they had soon been reassured and the crowd gathered again.

The Queen's ship, wearing the long pennant embroidered with the lilies of France and the leopards of England at the peak, was steady on her course. Eighteen ships from Holland were following her. The crews, under the orders of the, master mariners, were taking in sail; the long oars appeared along the ships' sides, like wing-feathers suddenly deployed, to assist in working the ships into port.

Standing, on the sterncastle, the Queen of England, surrounded by her son Prince Edward, the Earl of Kent, Roger Mortimer, Messire Jean de Hainaut and several other English and Dutch lords, watched the working of the ships and the shores of her kingdom growing ever nearer.