Isabeau, A Novel of Queen Isabella and Sir Roger Mortimer (28 page)

“My lady.” Montagu bowed low and swept his hand to his waist.

“Sir William. I hope you’ll look after my son. Keep him from trouble?”

He flashed a laconic smile at me. “Oh, indeed, my lady. It is my life’s duty to safeguard my lord.”

“You were sent by King Edward?” I asked, suspicious.

“My father had served as King’s Marshal in Gascony, but he is not quite so welcome at court these days and so I have not been there much myself since I was very, very young. It was, however, not the king but my lord, Edward, who requested my service. We met briefly once when I was preparing for a tournament at Warwick. I was undefeated in foot combat that year. I taught him how to wield a sword properly. One day he shall better me.”

 I was surprised to hear such articulate detail from someone who, at first sight, looked the part of a bloodthirsty Norseman straight from a village raid.

“I am pleased, then,” I said. “Edward, we will let the bishop wait until tomorrow. I’ll not have him spoil our happy reunion.”

*****

In the largest of my rooms, the one that served as both a solar and a dining area, was a long table with chairs enough for a dozen friends. The table was so stout one could have led a horse across it. Each chair was padded on the seat and backed with black leather. Golden crowns and fleurs-de-lis colored the floor tiles and the walls of wainscoting were painted in the royal blue and white. On either side of the fireplace a pair of carved leopards thrust upward with their raking claws to hold the mantel aloft, whereon was a relief of France’s greatest king: Saint Louis.

Patrice and I changed into fresh gowns in my bedchamber. She brushed my hair, plaited it and wound it in a single coil at the back of my neck, pinning it in place. Mortimer had declined my invitation to supper, not wanting to impose himself between my son and me so soon after our reunion. When we were told the food and guests were ready, I was met with a second surprise that day as we entered the adjoining room.

“Edmund!” I exclaimed, seeing my brother-in-law the Earl of Kent before me. I almost withdrew in shock, remembering the day he had warned me of Despenser’s plans and I had fled. I never learned if his warning had been in earnest, or part of a larger plot to accuse me of a false crime.

His head stooped, Kent knelt on both knees before me and flattened his palms on the floor. “Sister
 ...
Isabella, I tried to save you, the children
 ...
but it was not enough. I could have spared you so much, if I had only known more of Despenser’s plans. Please, you must believe me.” A tremor rippled through his body. He gave a small, but distinct sob, then held his breath.

It was too much of an act and too abruptly done. “Why should I?”

He raised pink-rimmed eyes to me. “Because, I was deceived. Lord Cromwell came to me earlier that day. He told me he had overhead the king say that he was sending someone to take the children
 ...
and that your French ladies would be banished forthwith as well. Despenser sent him – I have no doubt. I was followed. I thought I would succumb to some murderer’s cold knife as I ran. But they only wanted to make sure I would go to you. They knew I would. Despenser pointed the finger of blame on me when the campaign in France failed, but it was he who failed to send more troops when I asked for them and because of that I – ”

“Yes, Edmund, I know. Because of that La Réole fell. You could not hold it.” I did not mention that, although what he said was correct, he had himself failed in many other ways. Thus far, Kent had offered nothing but his own personal grievance against Despenser. “Still, what reason have I to believe you are not here on Edward’s behalf? Declaring your innocence is not enough. I want to believe you, but I
 ...
I do not know if I
 ...
Please, it is best you go. If you have something from Edward to tell me, be done with it and go. Otherwise ...”

I wanted to believe in his honesty, that I could count him a friend as well as a brother, but there was too much in the way of circumstances standing against him.

He dropped his head again and mumbled, “I am not a spy, Isabella
 ...
and I did not betray you. I swear it on my life, on my children’s lives. But I have no proof to give, only my word. If you command me to, I shall go
 ...
although I will forever swear on the Holy Gospel that what I said is true.”

I laid both my hands on the top of his head. “Edmund, I’m so sorry, but still – it is
not
enough.”

Seemingly resigned to his banishment, Kent drew himself up and turned to depart. He had not gone two steps when Edward – who I had not known was in the room until then – grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him back.

“Mother!” Young Edward protested. “Believe him! You must, I say. I was there – at the counsel meeting at Westminster. I heard him defend your honor when Father complained of you. Even when Despenser threatened him. He said he could not call himself honorable if he did not have a care about you, the mother of his nieces and nephews. Do you need any more proof than that?”

If I had faith in only one person, it was my son.

Perhaps it was as much the shroud of humility Kent wore as my own son’s words that convinced me. “No
 ...
no, your word is enough. I believe him now.” I took a step closer to Kent, who kept his eyes downcast, and took his hand.” Forgive
me
, Edmund, for holding any blame on you all these months. It has been difficult, for me – being apart from my children.”

“Then let me help you be with them again.”

My first thought, as it always was until then, was to question why anyone would ever come to my aid or show me even the slightest gesture of kindness. I had been neglected, ridiculed and cowed into submission so many times by Edward, I had come to believe myself deserving of such treatment. But it would be so no more.

29

Isabella:

Vincennes – June, 1325

MORNING ... AND MORTIMER AT my door once more.

Patrice let him in, but not without a sidelong glance.

I dismissed her because I did not like her reproachful look.

“But I wasn’t going anywhere,” she countered impudently, her brow crimping in the middle.

“You were on your way to help Marie and Juliana,” I coaxed. “They are beginning work on a new tapestry this morning, remember?” Mortimer stood patiently behind her, his face impassive.

Her plump lips twisted into an unflattering scowl. She despised tasks like needlework and weaving, having no patience for them. “But I
–
”

“Tell them I’ll be there before noon, will you? I’m quite eager to see how the colors Juliana has chosen will look.”

She spun on her heel and stormed out the door, nearly slamming it behind her.

Alone now, I gestured for Mortimer to take a seat at the table. He declined, stating that he would be brief, because he did not wish to draw attention to our meeting.

“Perhaps, then, we should meet in secret, Sir Roger, if our being together openly is cause for rumor.”

“I think that would ...” he looked away, “that would be even less wise.” He turned sideways to me, as if to emphasize his hurry.

“Why so?”

“You need to ask?” He flicked away a speck of mud on his leggings, and then shifted his eyes to the ceiling.

Yes, Patrice had told me of the rumors already circulating that Mortimer and I were lovers. Untrue, of course, but why did they make him so uneasy?

“His Grace, Bishop Stapledon,” Mortimer went on, “will ask you to verify the documents as originals, and once you have approved he will give them over into your care. The treaty is an easy matter. Your son’s presence here, not so. He will demand a date for the bestowal of the titles promised him and for the ceremony of homage. He will chastise you for not having returned to England already. Recite your wifely duties to you. Remind you that your funds are discontinued. Threaten you. In short, he will say more of what he said the day before yesterday, but only after he complains profusely of having to wait to see you.”

“You have spoken to the bishop already?”

“No, I do not need to. The premise for his business here is well known.”

“And how did you learn all this?”

“How is not important.”

“Then when?”

“Before he came.”

So then, Mortimer
did
employ spies. He had probably even done so while he was in the Tower. “I will tell him I need to confer with Charles first. That plans must be made, for Charles will want to make a ceremony of it.”

He nodded. Still, he avoided looking at me. His words were almost terse. “Yes, delay
–
for as long as you can. Edward will learn everything, eventually.”

I moved around to stand before him. “Have I done something wrong?”

“Why would you think that, my lady?” Finally, he afforded me a glance. He had not moved since entering and speaking his first word.

“Because you were not so curt yesterday. And now you go beyond informing me and make yourself my advisor. You must feel I have need of guidance. Tell me
–
what have I done?”

Before he answered, I knew.

There was nothing, it seemed, that Mortimer was not aware of. No secret unsealed. No stone unturned. And if he knew of last night already
–
of my talk with my son and Kent
–
then perhaps he knew my heart, too ... which was why he did not wish to stay. He could not trust himself either anymore. Lowly, I said, “I did not tell them everything.”

Mortimer rolled his head back as he let out a sigh. “Ahhh ... I beg you, please, please, be careful to whom you speak and of what. One word ... one small, seemingly insignificant word could undo
everything
.” He rolled his fingers into fists, clenching them as hard as if he were crushing rocks.

I did not care to be chastened by him. “The Earl of Kent can be trusted.”

He opened his fists and looked down at his hands, pondering his response. “At times, perhaps.”

“I think I know him better than you.” Although in truth, I knew him to be impulsive and irresponsible. Still, I needed allies. “I remind you that Edward has too often given lands and privileges to Despenser that should have belonged to Kent. He has as much desire for revenge as anyone.”

“Of course.” He lowered his head in a slight bow, as if to excuse himself from my presence. “Can we speak later? A ride, maybe? Noon?”

I agreed and he was about to leave when he hesitated at the door. “Something else?” I asked.

He shook his head. “It can wait.”

*****

Within the hour I was holding audience with Bishop Stapledon in a meeting room off the great hall. He did exactly as Mortimer had foretold
–
every point, every protest, every demand, every censure. Knowing precisely what would gurgle from his misshapen mouth, I was shaken by none of it.

Stapledon caressed the jewel in the center of the crucifix dangling from his creased neck. “The king commands you to return home
–
with me.”

“Home? You mean to England? But I
am
home, Bishop Stapledon. Why should I leave France? Give me good reason.” I needled him, but I took pleasure in his frustration, much as he took pleasure in condescending to me.

“To remove you from evil influences, my lady. France is teeming with them. Paris is naught but a pit of vipers.”

“You mistake harmless earthworms for snakes, your grace. I shall not leave here with you, nor will I with anyone anytime soon.”

He bit his lower lip before responding. “When then? My lord king looks forward to the pleasure of your company again. He says to remind you that your other children are wondering when they will see you again.”

A well-aimed arrow to my heart. Doubtless he had kept that in his armory of bribes until I showed absolute reluctance to quit France. I could not, however, let on to Stapledon that my children were the weakness to my resolve. I parried. “Tell my husband that I will consider returning on two conditions: One, that Lord Hugh Despenser is banished from court forever and the king is to sever all correspondences and ties to him, and two, that all my lands and allowances be returned immediately and never again taken from me.”

“He will not agree to such strict conditions, my lady. Mostly, he will not allow you to set the conditions of your return.”

“I care not if he ‘allows’ it. Tell him. But be precise. I have given in to much
–
too
much. I am a wife who has tired of mistreatment, not a mindless, misbehaving child to be scolded into better table manners. I will not compromise on those two things.” Then I folded my hands on my lap and looked away from him, toward the single window, to indicate I had no more to say on the matter.

As I waited for him to go, he stopped, inspected the impressive set of antlers hanging on the wall above the hearth, the remnant of some long ago hunt, and said with his back still turned, “The king knows of Mortimer’s arrival in Paris. I caution you, my lady, to keep from him. He is a traitor and a villain.”

I said nothing to him. Whether I was with Mortimer or not, Edward would assume we were lovers.

Let him.

Let him seethe with envy. Let him, in his hypocrisy, turn to his beloved Hugh and then call me the ‘unfaithful’ one.

God will be my judge, not him.

 “My lady?” A young page poked his head timidly inside the room. A hand appeared, then a leg. He squeezed between the door and its frame. “I am to tell you your horse is ready, to the rear of the palace ...” He scratched at his ragged mop of brown hair with dirty fingernails, thinking hard. “Beyond the garden, near the pond. No, no ... near the palace, beyond the pool? Or was it beyond the
–
”

“Thank you, I will find it,” I said, sparing him further confusion.

*****

At the garden’s edge, I stood by the reflecting pool, far from the palace. Trickles of perspiration ran down my breastbone. I lifted my face and let the sun pour its light upon me. It must be well past noon, I thought, and Patrice would be angry with me for not keeping my word to join her. I felt little remorse for my absence, however. Patrice’s moods were becoming quite insufferable and I found myself growing increasingly intolerant of them.

A frog croaked nearby and plopped into the water. I looked toward the sound, beyond a cluster of purple and yellow irises, to see a pair of shiny, bulging eyes peeping at me above the silver-blue surface. Drifting clouds reflected in the water, rippled by fishtails. Damselflies danced above. Beyond the pool lay the forest of Vincennes: the elms, the beeches, the woodland wildflowers.

And there, on the path into the woods, stood Mortimer, waiting.

Stooping, I plucked a violet from the grass and strolled unhurriedly around the edge of the pool, until at last I neared him. At his feet was a basket brimming with fruit: mulberries and strawberries, peaches and even a pomegranate. He inclined his head toward the trail leading into the woods. Beside him, two horses were tethered to the lower branches of a small tree and were stripping its tender leaves away.

“The bishop, I noticed,” he said, “is keenly aware of your every move. He is watching us from a window this very moment.”

I turned and peered past him at the palace, squinting in the midday brightness. I thought I saw a figure standing at one of the open windows, but it could have been a servant going about his duties or someone admiring the garden from above. Since Stapledon’s warning earlier about his knowledge of Mortimer’s presence, it was fair enough to believe what Mortimer said. No doubt it was precisely why Edward had sent him
–
to spy on me. I gave Mortimer my hand and joined him on the trail.

We were soon on our horses, his basket of fruit balanced on his horse’s withers. The cool shade of the trees revived us as we delved deep into the woods, taking side trails so we could not be easily seen or found, until finally the trail thinned so much that we came down from our saddles. We tied our horses to a dead bush and sat down beside a gurgling brook only half a stride across.

He collected mulberries in his palm and gave them to me. “I was ... perhaps, too harsh this morning.”

“When you scolded me, you mean?” I teased.

“I only meant”
–
he turned sideways on his elbow, the pomegranate in one hand, his legs stretched out so that the toes of his boots dangled over the brook
–
“to caution you to trust sparingly. I spoke to Kent this morning. He bears a grudge against Despenser for having robbed him of various privileges. He swears Norfolk is of the same vein. But Kent, he is the sort ... shall we say, there are sharper-minded men than him? As for important duties
–
be parsimonious in granting him those. He will make a mess of things without even trying. My lady, you gambled by bringing him into the fold. For now, his heart is loyal to you. There are those, however, who would think nothing of sacrificing you as an example ... or for their own ambitions.”