The Queen's Spy Read online

  The king of France was a good-looking man with carefully curled fair hair swept back from a high forehead. His cheeks were plump and rosy, and his lips well-shaped. Today he was dressed in black velvet trimmed with miniver with a narrow circlet of gold on his head. He greeted Edmund, clasping his shoulders and kissing his cheeks.

  ‘Cousin,’ he said in a high silky voice. ‘At last you have brought me your new wife. I was saddened to miss your nuptials but my uncle …’ He shrugged his shoulders and made a distressed expression with his mouth. ‘I was summoned to his bedside, you understand?’

  Edmund bowed his head in acknowledgement of the king’s graciousness.

  ‘And this is she?’ the king regarded me with puzzled interest.

  I curtsied as low as I could possibly go. ‘Monseigneur.’

  He was wondering why Edmund had married such an insignificant and unworthy woman. It was written right across his face: no wealth, no position, no family of any note; an alliance of absolutely no value at all. Then the frown cleared and he smiled at me.

  ‘I have the answer. It is simple. It is the amour, is it not?’ He leaned down to raise me up. His hand was soft and slightly damp, not at all what I had expected. ‘This is what you and my dear cousin have: the first love, the passion of youth. Ah, how well I remember those days: the sweetness, the warmth, that first touch of the lips, the quivering of the senses. Honey and wine and soft words, is that not it?’

  I blushed. ‘Yes, monseigneur. It is as you say.’

  ‘And you will give my cousin many sons?

  ‘If God wills it, monseigneur.’

  ‘If a wife does her duty and her conscience is clear, why should there not be sons?’ His eyes slid sideways to where his wife sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap and her lashes lowered. ‘My wife,’ he said in the tone of voice one might use to say “my dog” or “my gloves”. ‘My wife has not yet performed this duty. She is suitably devout but there is clearly some defect. I watch her closely and cannot discover it, but my bishops assure me that failure in this respect is the fault of the woman.’

  He looked sourly at his queen. ‘My father had four sons.’

  ‘Monseigneur’s father was truly blessed.’

  ‘He was. My brothers produced nothing but useless girls; not one living male child between them. And now this!’

  Madame of Evreux flinched. Her failure was being touted round the court and flung in her face. I felt truly sorry for her. She and the king had not even been married a year and she had already given him a daughter but men are impatient for sons and this man was more impatient that most.

  ‘Monseigneur has many years of fruitful marriage ahead,’ I said delicately. ‘I am certain God will soon bless your union with a son.’

  ‘It is a great expense and inconvenience to rid oneself of a wife,’ he grumbled. ‘His Holiness’s favours do not come cheap as I know only too well. But a king has responsibilities.’

  I murmured something suitably reassuring.

  ‘My brother England has sons.’ This was not a question, more a statement of fact - an unwelcome fact.

  ‘Two, monseigneur.’

  ‘Why so blessed?’ He turned to Edmund. ‘I have heard strange things about my brother England.’

  ‘If you are referring to the gossip about the Lady Eleanor,’ began Edmund.

  ‘Phh! If your king should wish to lie with his niece, what business is it of mine or of anyone else? If he lies with his chamberlain, which I have also heard is true, it is nothing. A king may choose how he wishes to pleasure himself. Provided he does his duty by his wife, the rest is …’ He waved his hand as if to indicate the unimportance of a king’s activities outside the royal marriage bed.

  ‘No, it is his - how would you say? - his liking for low people: these sailors, these carpenters, men with no lineage. It is incroyable. At first I did not believe it but I have been assured that it is true. I am told he entertained a barge-master in his rooms for four days. Four days? What conversation could they have? He is an educated man. He has minstrels to play for him, he rides like a whirlwind, he is skilled at la chasse. How can he find solace with ditch-diggers and fishermen? And now they tell me he likes to swim. To swim! In the rivers with common men! Mon Dieu! To think this is a king who has been blessed with two sons while I, Charles, great-grandson of the blessed Saint Louis, I am still waiting.’

  Madame of Evreux lowered her face. Edmund looked amused which I thought unwise. The king was angry and it would be sensible to remember we were his guests.

  ‘Your brother sends me letters,’ he said crossly as if this was Edmund’s fault.

  ‘He writes to me too, cousin.’

  ‘He complains that my sister will not return to his side. He asks me to send her back to him.’

  This was not news. We all knew the English king wrote letters to his brother of France, as well as letters to His Holiness, the archbishops and anyone else he thought might bring influence to bear upon his wife. People were laughing at him behind his back. A deserted husband vainly trying to reclaim his runaway wife is a figure of fun and good for kitchen gossip. Even some of Isabella’s ladies found the subject one of great amusement.

  ‘Will you do that, cousin?’ enquired Edmund. ‘Send her back? Cease to protect her?’

  The king spread out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘My sister says her life is in peril, that this man, le Despenser, has …’ he glanced over to see if his wife was listening. In a lowered voice he said, ‘has used her in some villainous way. She has not said more but swears he will harm her if she were to return.’

  ‘Do you believe her?’

  ‘She is my sister. Of course I believe her.’ The words were robust but his eyes spoke of doubts. ‘Nonetheless, it is a wife’s duty to obey her husband. And there is the matter of the boy. He should be with his father. Sons should always be with their fathers.’ He looked across at his wife whose face had sunk even lower into the front of her gown. ‘If a man is fortunate enough to have a wife who gives him sons, she should ensure they are by his side.’

  As we walked back through the endless corridors and courtyards of the palace I asked Edmund about his cousin’s first wife, the one nobody mentioned.

  ‘Ah yes, the delectable Blanche,’ mused my husband. ‘Very sweet, very enticing. Charles was besotted. I remember how I envied him. I wanted her.’

  ‘How old were you?’

  ‘Oh, twelve I think. Thirteen maybe.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘So young?’

  ‘Old enough,’ he laughed. ‘And Blanche was particularly inviting. Charles was a fool. I’m not surprised she had him by the horns.’

  ‘Who was the man?’

  ‘I don’t remember. Some equerry.’

  ‘But in the palace? Right under her husband’s nose? Didn’t anyone notice?’

  ‘Of course they did. The servants knew and somebody talked. Isabella found out and told her father.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Cousin Charles has never forgiven her.’

  ‘What happened to the wife?’

  ‘The old king threw her into a dungeon at Chateau-Gaillard.’

  ‘Sainte Vierge! Is she still there?’

  Edmund shook his head. ‘I heard Charles had her taken to Maubuisson, to be enclosed in the priory.’

  4

  Conspiracy 1326

  The queen of England’s privy chamber in the French king’s vast palace in the Cité was hidden beyond two outer chambers making it the most private place I knew. If one should wish to plot or make mischief or pass secrets from one person to another this would be an ideal spot because nobody outside could hear so much as a whisper of what was being said. When my cousin sent a note asking Edmund and me to meet him there, I knew we were going to discuss something of a serious nature.

  Feeling rather awkward in the claustrophobic little r
oom where there was hardly space to move, I sat down opposite Isabella. Edmund leaned against the wall eyeing my cousin suspiciously. They didn’t like each other which was unfortunate.

  Isabella patted the stool beside her.

  ‘Edmund, please, sit here next to me. I cannot talk to you if you stand there looking fierce.’

  Reluctantly, my husband did as he was asked.

  She smiled at him the way she did to men when she wanted something from them: a little upturn of those beautiful lips together with a widening of her dark-fringed amethyst eyes.

  ‘Edmund, I need your support in this matter, because I most assuredly cannot do it without you.’

  ‘What matter would this be?’

  Edmund knew perfectly well what Isabella was talking about. A return to England and the destruction of the Despensers had been the subject of numerous heated meetings at Poissy in the early weeks of January and gradually a plan had emerged. But the problems of such a venture were immense and I had grave doubts.

  ‘How can I possibly return to England if you are not at my side?’ she pleaded.

  Edmund glanced at me and then back to Isabella. ‘And how can I possibly take up arms against my brother?’

  Isabella sighed. ‘Edmund, he may be your brother but he is also my husband and I want nothing more than to be reunited with him. That cannot happen while Despenser lives. I have no more desire than you to take up arms but once we have Despenser caught, everything can return to how it was before.’

  ‘I fail to see any advantage to me in your plan,’ said Edmund. ‘Give me one good reason why I should join with you.’

  There was silence for a moment, then Isabella said, ‘Suppose I promise you will have the rest of what my husband owes you? All the lands your father said should be yours. How much was it? Seven thousand marks? Ten thousand? Whatever your charter says. Suppose I were to pledge this to you if you agree to join me.’

  Edmund said nothing, his face a mask of indifference. An onlooker would have thought his inheritance was of no importance to him.

  ‘How much have you at the moment?’ persisted Isabella. ‘Two thousand? They can’t be worth much, those few paltry castles of yours.’

  ‘About a quarter of what I am owed.’

  ‘You would be rich,’ she smiled invitingly. ‘Able to take your rightful place as the son of your father. Think of it Edmund. He never meant you to be impoverished and all because my husband has been remiss in his duty.’

  ‘How will you persuade my brother to do this?’

  ‘It will be a condition of mine for the resumption of our marriage. Once Despenser is gone we shall be reconciled. My husband knows, as I do, that it is our sacred duty to live together as man and wife.’

  Edmund looked at me. ‘Is this what you want, Margaret? Do you want us to ride with the queen and Lord Mortimer knowing that my brother and Sir Hugh Despenser will raise an army to greet us? Do you wish to set yourself against an anointed king?’

  I turned to my cousin. ‘What will you do with Despenser when you catch him?’

  He inclined his head to Isabella. ‘My lady, what would you have us do with Sir Hugh Despenser?’

  She smiled, drawing back her lips to expose her small white teeth. ‘Do with him? Why, if you hand me the knife, dear Mortimer, I’ll slice him into small pieces. And before he breathes his last breath, I’ll spit in his face. I hope he burns in Hell.’

  ‘And my brother?’ enquired Edmund. ‘Your husband? What will you do with him?’

  She had a ready answer. ‘My husband will be better served by being rid of Hugh Despenser. It is folly to think otherwise. Everywhere you look England lies in ruins, brought down by Sir Hugh and his father. My sole desire is to rescue the kingdom for my husband and for my son who will one day wear the crown.’

  ‘So my brother will not be harmed?’

  Isabella’s eyes widened in horror. ‘Edmund! How can you think I would allow that? I have shared a bed with him. He is the father of my children and my dearest companion. As I told the Holy Father, it is my most cherished wish that we be reconciled. But as long as Despenser is in my husband’s company, it is impossible. He has vowed to my face to destroy me. He has brought about the destruction of our marriage and I mean to be rid of him.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Edmund. ‘Tell me what we are to do.’

  Neither of them heard my cousin’s sigh of relief but I was sitting next to him and almost felt the slight exhalation.

  He smiled at Edmund as if they were already friends. ‘The count of Hainault has promised ships.’

  ‘How many?’ enquired Edmund.

  ‘Close on one hundred and fifty.’

  I tried to imagine how large a fleet that would seem to a man on an English cliff top seeing our ships appear out of the mist. Would he light beacons and take up arms or would he run?

  ‘The count’s brother will organise the raising of troops and will take command.’

  My cousin was visibly relaxed now he had Edmund safely netted. Watching him and knowing him well, I realised how much he and Isabella had needed my help in securing my husband. Edmund’s presence would give added validity to Isabella’s claims and perhaps he could persuade his brother Norfolk to join with them.

  But Edmund was still wary. ‘What happens when we reach England? If I’m to ride with you I have to know.’

  My cousin nodded. ‘The queen will ride at the head of our procession and we have many friends who will rally to her cause. They are waiting and are impatient for our arrival.’

  ‘Will the king and Sir Hugh Despenser not also be waiting?’ I asked, thinking of the man on the cliff top.

  ‘They’ve been expecting me for two years,’ laughed my cousin. ‘I hear Despenser is scurrying up and down the coast ordering beacons and lookouts, garrisoning every port with his men and panicking each time he sees an unknown sail. Not that it will do him any good. Once we land there’ll be nowhere for him to hide.’

  I touched his arm. ‘What will you do with Lady Eleanor?’

  ‘I don’t make war on women,’ he said shortly. ‘Unlike Despenser and the king I prefer to pick my fights with grown men, not women and young girls.’

  Isabella was like a cat eyeing a bowl of cream. ‘You may give her to me.’

  My cousin smiled. ‘Of course. A gift for your grace. How could it be otherwise? Whatever you desire, my lady, shall be yours.’

  There was nothing in it. They were perfectly ordinary words for a lord to say to his queen but something in the way he spoke made me glance up. The look exchanged between the two of them was far from ordinary. On the part of Isabella it was intense, almost a yearning; and from my cousin, an unguarded expression I’d seen once before in the early days at Wigmore when he’d looked at his wife.

  Edmund and I sat in our bed with the curtains drawn, huddled together like a pair of conspirators.

  ‘Is your cousin involved?’

  Edmund shook his head. ‘Cousin Charles has declined to help. He’d dearly love to invade England but knows such a move would be dangerous for him. Yesterday he could talk of nothing but the injustice of my brother having a son like young Edward when all he has is one puny daughter.’

  ‘I don’t understand any of this,’ I said. ‘Her brother refuses to help so Isabella turns to the count of Hainault. But why? Why would the count agree to help when the French king will not? Where is the advantage?’

  Edmund was as mystified as I was. ‘I don’t know. It’s not as if Isabella has money to offer. My brother was once on good terms with the count; there was even talk of a marriage alliance. But the count favoured Cousin Charles in all things so my brother went looking elsewhere. And when the count welcomed your cousin to his court, my brother was furious. He thought the count was his friend and, as you know, considered Lord Mortimer his worst enemy.’

  It was like
a ray of sunshine breaking out from behind a cloud.

  ‘Edmund! We’ve been blind! It’s obvious why the count is anxious to help. Don’t you see?’

  He shook his head. ‘I see nothing.’

  ‘Isabella plans to marry her son, your nephew young Edward, to the count’s daughter.’

  ‘That’s impossible. My brother would never agree.’

  ‘Your brother isn’t here. Isabella will do it without his agreement. That way she won’t have to pay for ships or men or armaments. And think of the advantages to the count - a daughter who will one day be queen of England, a queen who will encourage her husband to favour Hainault in every way. It’s a deal which suits them both.’

  I could see how foolish Edmund’s brother had been and how my cousin and Isabella had taken advantage of his foolishness. To send the boy to his mother, unwed and with no way of ensuring his return, had been the height of folly. And in that selfsame moment I realised that it wasn’t Isabella who was enticing my cousin to do what she wanted, but he who was playing her as skilfully as a minstrel plays the strings of his lute. This had been my cousin’s plan right from the beginning.

  It remained cold and as we entered the long slow weeks of Lent I learned my cousin had begun secret talks with a party of Scottish envoys found hovering around the French king’s court. Whatever they were discussing I doubted it would be to our advantage. The price for any of Bruce’s promises would not be a scant handful of oatmeal.

  But worse was to come. Edmund’s brother, angered by his refusal to return to England, confiscated his property. Everything Edmund possessed was forfeit and we were virtually penniless. The earl of Richmond and John, Lord Cromwell received further orders to return home and were informed that if they did not do so, they too would lose everything.

  But returning home was not without its perils. A letter, smuggled out with a silk merchant, said that Lord Beaumont - one of Isabella’s supporters who had returned in the autumn rather than risk losing his lands - had been arrested and imprisoned. The lands he’d been so anxious to save had been confiscated.