The Traitor's Wife (55 page)

“They are allies of Roger Mortimer. They helped him escape from the Tower. Naturally, such changes will affect your ladyship.”

“Yes, I imagine so. What will happen to us?”

“I do not know for certain, my lady. But it appears that you and your children will be held here as prisoners.”

“We have been virtually prisoners here since the Bishop of Exeter's death, so I suppose I can face that.”

Weston looked at her curiously; he had expected more than this almost nonchalant reaction. “I wish there is something I could do to help you, my lady.”

“There is only one thing anyone can do to help me, and that is to return Hugh and my son and the king safely home. And I fear that will never happen.”

William la Zouche had experienced three revelations during his mission in Wales. The first was that there were more fat, woolly sheep in the world than he had ever dreamed. The second was that Henry of Lancaster's eyesight was so bad that if Hugh le Despenser had been dressed in a white fur and put next to one of them, Henry could not have told man from mutton. The third was that when offered a few coins, the most solitary of shepherds instantly evidenced the keenest of familiarity with the features of the king, Hugh le Despenser, and Robert Baldock and had, in fact, seen them only an hour ago, or a few miles back.

With all these false leads, on November 15 they had yet to find sure signs of the king, despite the fact that the sons of Llywelyn Bren, who knew every inch of South Wales, were among the search party. “Perhaps they have fled the country altogether,” muttered Lancaster irritably as he and Zouche and the other leaders sat in a tent that night, cold and miserable. A fierce rain, mixed now and then with sleet, had begun to fall, and the wind blowing through the bare trees completed the dismal picture.

“No, they haven't,” said a voice in Welsh-accented English.

Though Zouche's eyes were much more sharp than Lancaster's, he could make out the speaker no more than his companion could. “Who said that?”

A man, dripping wet, pushed his way inside the tent. “Begging your pardon, sirs. You are looking for the king?”

“Yes,” said Zouche shortly. By now their search had progressed to the stage where they no longer had to seek out worthless informants, they came to the queen's men on their own accord.

The man stretched out his hand. “Then I've news for you.”

“Not until you do this to our satisfaction. Describe them. Use Welsh; some of us here speak it very well.”

The man tipped back his head as if to recall them better. “A tall blond man, very well made, with blue eyes. Curly beard. A slight droop to one eyelid. That's the king. Despenser. A good half-head shorter than the king, slight build, dark hair, dark eyes, sharp nose, sharp cheekbones. Short beard. Baldock. Plump little man, balding on top. Five or six others with them. All in mud-splattered clothes, all riding the finest horses money can buy.” He grinned. “One of them newly shod. I'm the blacksmith who did it.”

Llywelyn Bren's sons were grinning. Lancaster felt his spirits rise. So did Zouche, who handed the man several gold coins. Clinking them in satisfaction, he continued, “They were headed up the road toward Llantrisant.”

November 16. The rain and sleet had finally stopped, and Edward could at last see the walls of Llantrisant Castle, perched upon a hill. There they could stay while planning what to do next; there perhaps Hugh could finally be roused from the despondency into which he had sunk since hearing of the death of his father. Hugh might say that all was hopeless now, but he would see. There was hope, always hope…

And then he saw the men, armed men, suddenly appearing in front of him like some horrid phantoms from the Bannock Burn. He wheeled his horse around and saw more armed men behind him. Two hundred men, at least, against eight.

Beside Edward, Hugh sighed sharply. “I love you, Ned,” he said quietly. “God keep you in his care.”

“I love you, Hugh. God keep you.”

The king dismounted and walked toward Henry of Lancaster, holding out his sword in surrender.

At Llantrisant Castle, where the prisoners had all been taken, Lancaster briskly issued orders. He himself would take his first cousin the king to Kenilworth Castle; Henry de Leybourne and Robert de Stanegrave would take Despenser, Baldock, and Simon de Reading, a knight loyal to Despenser, to the queen at Hereford. The other four men would be released. Through them, Lancaster had learned that while at Neath Abbey, the king had had sent records and treasure to Swansea Castle. Zouche was ordered to go there to retrieve them. He was glad for this assignment, for Leybourne and Stanegrave, getting thoroughly drunk in Llantrisant Castle's great hall, seemed to be attempting to outdo each other in devising ways to make Despenser's progress to Hereford as miserable as possible. Zouche, remembering Lady Hastings as she saw her old father's head lifted in the air, had no stomach for such sport. The man's death would be a horrid one enough without such preliminaries.

He was deep in thought when one of his men roused him. “Despenser wants to see you, sir.”

“Me?” Zouche doubted that he had ever spoken more than a few words to the king's favorite.

“He asked for you by name, sir.”

Zouche shrugged and followed the man to the guardhouse where Despenser, Baldock, and Reading had been taken, the king having been given a comfortable chamber with a fire. Zouche, watching him as he was led there, had thought of the time he'd happened across his young son sleepwalking.

Despenser's cell was unlit, the only light coming from the lantern William himself bore. He sat in a corner wrapped in a blanket. A plate of untouched food sat near him. Zouche stumbled over it in the dark. Irritated, he asked, “Isn't this food good enough for you? It's likely to be the best you'll get from here on.”

“Give it to the rats. I've taken my last meal. I only wish it had been a memorable one.”

Zouche frowned. “You're planning on starving yourself to death? It won't happen that quickly.”

Despenser shrugged. “One does what one can, but it is inefficient, I'll grant you that.” He looked at William almost sardonically. “I've treasure hidden in places no one but me knows about. Leave me alone with that sword of yours for a few minutes, and it's yours. You can retrieve it a bit at a time, not too much so as to look suspicious.”

“Queen Isabella wants you alive.”

“And she mustn't be disappointed, our dear queen. Or what about this proposal? You kill me now, quick and clean. You'd probably enjoy doing it, and you can tell the queen I tried to overpower you.”

“Give it up, Despenser. You'll be delivered to the queen alive. I don't need your bribes, and you don't need a mortal sin on your head. You've enough already.”

“So what's one more?” As William watched, though, Hugh's bravado seemed to leave him. His tone was almost wistful as he asked, “So you won't put me out of this life, Zouche?”

“No, Despenser. Is that why you wanted to see me?”

“Actually, no. My wife did you a small favor once, Zouche. I'd like you to return it. Don't look so distressed. It's a very small one, and won't get you in trouble with our precious queen.”

“I've never met your wife, Despenser. How could she have done me a favor?”

“Did your late wife never confide in you? When she was considering marriage to you, my wife was one of the queen's ladies who encouraged her.”

William smiled, remembering now the conversation he had had on his wedding night. It was a sad smile, for his happy marriage had been a short one. Pretty, gentle Alice had died nearly two years before, leaving him with a son, Alan, now nine years old. “That was no small favor, then. So what I can do for her?”

“This.” Hampered by his shackles, he was fiddling with a ring on his left hand. “It's for my wife; it was her present to me when she was but a girl, and I'd like her to have it. I'd be thankful if you gave it to her. I don't see much point in asking the queen to do me the honor.”

“Where is she?”

“She was staying in the Tower with the king's younger son when we left in October.”

William hesitated. “You know what happened in London after you left?”

“Yes, Zouche. A message got through to us. I suppose she and my children are still there; I haven't heard. They're better off with me dead. I know that much.”

He pulled the ring off and gazed at it sadly, then dropped it in Zouche's outstretched hand. “With my love. Thank you.”

“I've no place to put it for now than on my own hand.”

“I understand.”

William slid the ring onto a right finger with some distaste, for the ring was still warm from Hugh's hand. He wondered whether Despenser's wife would feel relief or regret at his execution. “What's she like, your wife?”

Despenser smiled wryly. “What are you doing, Zouche, going to market? Can't you wait until they carve me up? She's too good for you.” His voice changed. “Too good for me, too.” He drew his blanket back around him and settled into his corner. Then he rallied one last time. “Tell her not to marry the first handsome young buck who comes her way, Zouche, will you? A man has his pride.”

The day after the king and Hugh were captured, yet another captive, the Earl of Arundel, was brought to the queen at Hereford. Little could be really said against him except that he had acted as one of Thomas of Lancaster's judges, had acquired some of the Mortimers' seized estates, and had married his son to Despenser's oldest daughter, but these facts, particularly the last, were quite adequate for the queen to order that he and two of his men be beheaded straightaway.