The Oath

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Fourth Thursday after the Feast of St Michael[23]

Bristol

Next morning was dry, but the clouds were hanging low in the sky, and Margaret thought they looked like dirty muslin dangling from a line. But there was nothing could spoil her mood today. They were leaving. They were going home at last!

It had been a horrible evening, with Simon quiet and introspective, and she tormented with the thought that she had brought him to this pass. It was her task, as his wife, to support him in all he did, and make him content with his lot. She knew that. It was how she had been brought up, how her mother had taught her, how people expected a woman to behave – not to carp and argue and force her husband to change his mind, no matter what the provocation. And this time, surely he might well be correct.

She made her way to the church of St Peter, a short way from the castle’s bastion, and there prayed with absolute dedication for their journey to be safe. Like many travellers, she would often beg for God’s aid when going on a long journey, but this was more serious and the dangers more clear than at any other time she had set off. And there was the feeling that she needed to beg forgiveness for insisting that they should depart. It wasn’t fair that she should have forced Simon into changing his mind about staying here in Bristol.

When she rose, making the sign of the cross, she felt a conviction that her prayers had been heard, and it gave her a warm glow. With fortune, He would watch over them as they made their way homewards.

It was with this comfort in her heart that she walked from the church and returned to the inn. Here, she found Simon already loading the last of the packs on their horses, while Hugh was testing the saddle-straps and harnesses, glowering suspiciously as usual.

‘Our room is cleared,’ Simon said, seeing her. He did not try to embrace her. His face showed that he was still greatly troubled. ‘Everything is ready.’

She smiled, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, before taking the reins and walking her mare to a series of steps to mount. Once upon her horse, she felt again as though things must now begin to improve. Peterkin loudly demanded to be allowed to walk as far as the bridge, and Margaret indulged him today. The last thing she wanted was a row before setting off. That would be a dreadful augur. She desired calmness, for herself, but also for her husband.

As Simon and Hugh helped Rob to his pony, and then the two clambered aboard their own beasts, she was reminding herself that the further they descended into Devon, the safer they would be. Men who wished for battle and war would all be up here, or in Wales, not in the quiet lanes of Devonshire. With luck, they would be home within five days. That was all that mattered.

The small group walked their horses out of the inn’s gates, past the barbican to the castle, and thence along St Peter Street towards the High Street and the bridge. The sun was fighting hard to escape the clutches of the clouds, but didn’t quite succeed.

As they approached St Mary-le-Port Church, it became clear that there was some kind of blockage ahead, for carts, horses and shouting men thronged the way as far as the High Street itself. Hugh dropped down and, ruffling young Peterkin’s head, lifted him on to his mother’s sadddle, out of harm’s way.

‘What’s the matter up there?’ Simon demanded of a man nearby, who merely shrugged.

‘Probably a cart’s broken a wheel. You know what this place is like.’

Simon muttered a curse under his breath, and began to cast about for a different way to the bridge. However, if there was one, he thought the other inhabitants of the city would surely have availed themselves of it rather than queue up like this.

There was a man shoving his way through now, heading back the way they had come, and Simon hailed him. ‘Friend, can you tell us what is holding us all up?’

‘The gates are closed. The Queen’s host is approaching, and all the city’s gates are barred against her.’

Near Gloucester

Sir Ralph was glad that they had given him a place to lie down inside a tent. The weather worsened during the night, and the misery of trying to sleep on wet ground was not an experience he intended to repeat. He had been forced to do that often enough in his youth.

The Queen’s men were a curious mixture. There were voices from all over the world, with the guttural tones of those from Hainault and Frisia, clear, refined French, rougher Breton, and plenty of English from different parts of the country. She had truly gathered together one of the most cosmopolitan forces ever seen on English territory.

He recognised her as soon as he saw her.

The Queen was a slim lady, perhaps nine-and-twenty years old, and her reputation as the most beautiful woman in the whole of Christendom was not to be disputed. Her dress was black, a widow’s weeds, because she had declared that her marriage was being broken by Sir Hugh le Despenser, ‘this Pharisee’, and until she was avenged on him, she would dress like a widow; however, the black clothing only served to highlight her blonde beauty, as she must surely have known. Sir Ralph bowed low as he entered her presence, remaining bent until commanded to approach.

‘Sir Ralph of Evesham. It is a long time since I have seen you. Please, don’t bow again. You will give me a crick in my neck!’

‘Your Highness is most kind to remember me,’ Sir Ralph said.

She still had that little lilt of a French accent that had proved endearing to so many when she first arrived in England fifteen years ago. Then the child bride had been lonely, installed in this strange country without friends, apart from the few who were allowed to remain in her household. But soon it became clear that the King was more interested in certain among his advisers than a young girl, and her misery was complete. It was only after the barons revolted and forced the King to agree to limits on his powers that Isabella began to come into her own, and at last her husband started to treat her as a woman and wife, not an irritating little child.

That happy time was all too short. Then Sir Hugh le Despenser flexed his own ambition and the Queen started to be sidelined. The King preferred the companionship of his friend to that of his wife. Gradually the snide remarks grew into open hostility, and Queen Isabella lost all. Her lands, her dower, even the income from her possessions, such as Bristol, were taken from her. Then, after years of wrangling, the French King grew furious at the English prevarications about the French territories, and invaded King Edward’s possessions in France.

Malicious courtiers were happy to drip poison in the King’s ear. They pointed out that the Queen was herself French. She would support a French invasion, naturally. And her lands in Devon and Cornwall would provide the perfect location for an invasion force. To prevent this, her lands were sequestered, her income confiscated, her children, all of them, taken from her and placed in the protective custody of Lady Eleanor, Sir Hugh le Despenser’s wife; the Queen’s own worst enemy.

As soon as a chance presented itself, she fled to France, and began to raise her own force to wrest the kingdom from Despenser’s control.

Queen Isabella stood and clapped her hands. A steward arrived with jug and goblets, and soon Sir Ralph was sniffing a good, strong wine that made his mouth water.

She looked to the steward and nodded. Immediately, all the servants left the tent, and there was only the Queen and Sir Ralph. Instantly he felt more endangered than before.

‘So, Sir Ralph. I am glad to know that you are here.’

‘Where are the friars?’

She waved a hand in an impatient gesture. ‘They are safe and comfortable. Doing what they were sent here to do – to haggle. They are like a farmer who seeks the best price for his bushel of wheat, dickering for a day, while other men agree a price in the morning and enjoy the use of the money in the afternoon. Your friars are quibbling over details. Nothing more.’

‘They were to negotiate with you, Your Highness.’

‘They have seen me, and now they see my negotiators. Later, I shall speak with them again, perhaps. For now, they serve me better by meeting with others while I speak with you.’

‘What would you say to me?’

‘These friars, they came from my husband?’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘How is he?’

Sir Ralph considered. ‘Hale and hearty. He has the heart of a lion.’

She smiled. ‘So, he is very anxious? Worried?’

‘I…’

‘Do not answer and forswear yourself, good sir knight. It does not suit you. You will not tell me that my husband is weak and worried, I can understand. Instead, tell me, how is the good Sir Hugh? Is he still as full of bile?’

Sir Ralph knew as well as any that Sir Hugh le Despenser was the primary cause of her leaving the country. He grinned. ‘I think you would be pleased to see him,’ he said.

‘Ah,’ she said, and chuckled. ‘If only that fool were here. So! You know that my husband is attempting to demand that all those with him should be spared. He wishes for safe custody for Sir Hugh and others. Yes, of course you know. Well, I think you also know the answer as well as any.’

‘You will not permit Sir Hugh to live.’

It was not a question. Her feelings towards Sir Hugh were clear in her eyes. When she mentioned his name, it appeared to burn her lips like acid, and her face momentarily lost its beauty.

‘Allow him to live?’ she said quietly. ‘I will give no such undertaking. Good men have died in the last days. You know Bishop Stapledon? Even though I had reason to deprecate his behaviour in recent years, I admired him. Yet the London mob hacked off his head and sent it to me. I received it at Gloucester. Poor man! Many others have been dispossessed, robbed or killed, and all because of the arch-felon Despenser. No, I will not permit him to live. He is a danger to the entire realm. His greed is without bounds.’

‘I am sad to hear that,’ Sir Ralph said. ‘You know that the King will not submit without his friend’s protection.’

‘It is sad. I am desolate at it myself. Because my husband will submit. He cannot survive – there is nowhere for him to go. The kingdom will not support him, for all know that I only came to remove Despenser and return to my husband’s side.’

‘Your Majesty,’ Sir Ralph said. ‘You are here to remove the King from his throne.’

‘Would you blame me?’ she said. ‘He has taken my children from me and installed my daughters in the protective care of Despenser’s wife. Poor John is in London, I think, but all the while I was here, my children were alienated from me. So – I ask you again: would you blame me?’

‘He is the King, Your Majesty. Blame matters nothing. It is clear that you wish to end his reign.’

‘And if I do?’ she asked coquettishly. She turned from him and walked towards the middle of the tent. As she spoke, her voice was quieter, and he was forced to approach her again. ‘If I do, and place a Regent in charge of the kingdom until my son should be old enough to take the crown for himself, what would be so wrong about that? I love my son, Sir Ralph. I love him dearly, and would do all I may to protect his inheritance.’

‘The King has been anointed by God,’ Sir Ralph said with a shrug. ‘When he is dead, I will serve his son as I have him: loyally.’

‘Ah, but you will not hasten that moment?’

Sir Ralph felt the blood wash from his face. There was a tingling sensation in his belly at what he thought he had heard. ‘You suggest I should kill my King?’ he said with a hushed horror.

She spun round to face him, alarm in her eyes. ‘Kill him? Kill my husband? No, no, never!’ she said emphatically. ‘I wish only to see him surrender so that we can protect the nation and prevent any more bloodshed. Did you think I could ask such a thing as murder?’

‘My lady, I am truly sorry,’ he said, kneeling again. ‘I misunderstood. It was my error, and I am deeply sorry for it.’

‘Do not abase yourself,’ she said, and there was a tinge of exhaustion in her voice now. ‘I am not so surprised that any would think that I could plot such a happening. But what? Would it help me to have my husband killed? No! My son would hate me, and I would hate myself. I gave myself to my husband. I would not commit petit treason against him. Not for anything. But what should I do? Despenser is a devil who has bewitched my husband, and now I must force him to leave the King’s side. Is this reasonable? Why should I have to do this?’

‘My lady, perhaps if you were to permit him to escape to Ireland, insist that his exile be permanent, then Sir Hugh might flee.’

‘You do not know the man, do you?’ she said sadly. ‘Come, you shall have to leave soon to take your charges back to the King. Finish your wine and be gone. And Godspeed, Sir Ralph. I hope we may meet again in calmer times.’

‘I too, my lady. Your Highness,’ he said, backing from the room, bowing as he left.

Outside, he took a deep breath, and wondered what the woman would do. Well, it was none of his concern. He had other matters to deal with. He could see Bernard sitting on a portable trough, and bent his steps towards him, but all the way he was considering the Queen and her words. It was troubling to see her in such clear distress. And all knew who had driven her to this final act of despair.

He could almost pity Sir Hugh le Despenser, for when the Queen captured him, his end would not be good.