Isabeau, A Novel of Queen Isabella and Sir Roger Mortimer (14 page)

13

Isabella:

Tower of London – June, 1323

THE VIRGIN LIGHT OF morning had not yet broken when I stole up the steps of the Lanthorn Tower, one hand on the outer wall to guide me along, one holding up the hem of my skirt to keep from tripping in the darkness. Each footfall was carefully placed in silence, unhurried, even though my heart, which felt as though it was somewhere in my ears, raced wildly. I wore the garb of a servant: a wrinkled kirtle of gray linen and a plain white veil. Anyone who saw me would not have recognized me from a distance in the night; however, should a guard pass by, I kept my chin down so that the edge of my veil dangled over my face.

I followed in the shadow of Gerard d’Alspaye, who held a lantern before him. Behind me trailed Arnaud, who had earned my undying trust since Tynemouth, carrying a dozen letters as far as Hereford and returning with as many. He never inquired about their contents and never failed to travel swiftly. I had brought him along to stand sentry, for it would only take one pair of spying eyes to ruin what had been so painstakingly laid out.

At the door to the prisoner’s cell, Gerard muttered an order to a slant-eyed guard propped against his pike. The guard hobbled the few short steps to the door, dragging one leg. He drew out his clanking keys to let us in and passed a torch to Gerard in exchange for the lantern. Arnaud brushed past the guard, touched the hilt of his sword to indicate he was now in charge and banished him with a glare.

Before I went by Arnaud, my eyes lingered a moment on him, to remind him secrecy still meant everything. He nodded his understanding and closed the door softly behind me.

Awoken by the jangle of keys, Sir Roger Mortimer raised himself on his elbows. His moth-tattered blanket fell to his midriff, revealing a bare chest. He squinted at the flush of torchlight boring into his sensitive eyes. “Blessed Body of Christ ... not so close. What hour is it?”

“Just before dawn, my lord,” Gerard replied. He rammed the torch into a sconce by the door. I sought out the darkest shadows of the room and went there, more to give myself time to look upon him than to hide from him.

“Ah, Gerard. A familiar voice. But is that good or bad, given the hour? Last they roused me at this time of day was to hurl me from this louse-infested piss hole to my trial at Westminster.” Mortimer scratched at the dark scruff on his chin, nudged his blanket away and groped for his shirt, then pulled it over his head. Yawning, he put his feet on the floor and rubbed at his eyes. A smile, charming and playful, graced his lips as he stood. “Who is that with you, Gerard? A nun to see to my spiritual needs? Are they going to hang me on the Green today?”

I stepped into the light. “On the contrary, Sir Roger, I come to spare you that fate.”

Mortimer hesitated long before belief crept into his eyes. Finally, he went down on his knees before me. Even so, he held my gaze, appearing as curious to hear more, as he was doubtful he had heard me right at all. When the shock of my words had finally passed, Mortimer shot a questioning glance at Gerard. But the lieutenant, who had befriended him while at the same time keeping an oath of secrecy to me, deferred to me and stepped into the shadows.

“Then you come to tell me what I already know, my lady? That I’m to stay here until old age takes me?” Mortimer asked, a derisive grin on his lips. “Good, then. I have become quite accustomed to the place. I know every inch of it in the darkness. Why yesterday I accidentally stepped on a spider. I mourned its passing. Surely King Edward, even so long after our little squabble, would never deprive me of such familiarities?”

I gave him my hand. He took it lightly and bent his head. The heat of his breath brushed over my knuckles. Blood surged from my heart throughout my body. Before he placed a kiss upon it, I pulled my hand back and hid it in my skirt, blotting away his sweat to remove any trace of his touch.

“Despenser plots your death,” I told him abruptly. “He means to see you dead before summer is out.”

He eyed me with skepticism. “On what authority did you learn of this ‘plot’?”

“A high enough one.”

“God?” he prompted cynically. Even shut away and powerless, Mortimer wanted to know who schemed against him.

“The Earl of Pembroke, through his wife. Rather than argue with Despenser, he shared the information discreetly.” Although no surprise, the news had hurried plans along. Thankfully, Orleton had already set his devices in motion.

“Then it is so.” Mortimer sank back on his haunches and tilted his head. “I thought myself dead long ago. I suppose I should be thankful for the warning, but you see, I’m at quite a disadvantage. They’ve spared me the shackles, let me keep my head, but I have nowhere to run, nothing with which to fight but my own fists. So, my queen, I do hope there’s more to this than my being given time to reflect on my life before an assassin cuts my throat. Or will it be poison in my broth?”

I circled him within the tight confines of the cell. It was easier to stare at the back of his head than meet his gaze straight on and had always been thus for me when near him, even when I was a newly arrived bride and barely a woman.

“I do indeed come to give you time to think about your future, Sir Roger. My brother, King Charles, has agreed to receive you at his court.”

“Paris?” Mortimer spun on his knees, catching my hand as I moved by. “I ... I don’t quite follow. You arranged this on my behalf? Why?”

The warmth of his fingers singed my flesh, but this time I did not pull my hand away. “You were wronged – like Lancaster, like Harclay. England has been drowning in its own blood. I’ll have no more spilled.”

“Why did you plead for my life?” he asked abruptly.

I did not answer. Indeed, I had begged Edward to spare Mortimer’s life, reminding him it was Mortimer who had wrested Ireland from the Scots, Mortimer who had stood by him while others, even at times his own brothers, vacillated in their loyalties like grass bends one way and then another in a blustery wind, praising him in one breath and condemning him in the next.

“Your eldest sons are – ”

“My wife, Joan? What of her?”

A spark of envy kindled within my breast. “At Hampshire for now, with your youngest son, John. She was never in any great danger. I have made certain that the allowance for her care has been increased. I sent her some of my gowns, as well. As for your sons: Edmund is here, of course. Your son, Roger, is under heavy guard at Windsor. Your daughters have been dispatched to various nunneries. Your mother – ”

“Joan – she was expecting another child when I left her last.” There was a desperate longing in his voice, but I could not tell if it was because he longed for his wife, or that he regretted never having seen his youngest child.

“A girl, healthy. She named her Blanche.”

“After her sister.”

As he held my hand, I told him more about his sons and daughters, at least those I knew of, for there were twelve in all, and where they were being kept.

“I must ask you to make a choice, Sir Roger ... take a risk, rather. I can offer you your freedom, but it will put the safety of your family in jeopardy. If the gamble is too great, say so and I will withdraw my offer.”

“Ah, I see. This clemency comes from you alone. Done in secret. And the price is the peril of those I love.” He gave up my hand. “What choice do I have? Any? If I refuse my own freedom, fair queen, I will most certainly die ... and then so will they. Oddly, it’s not death I dread so much, as the waiting for it. The boredom of not knowing what is going on beyond these walls – that alone can drive a man mad. The helplessness ... the solitude ...”

He withdrew into himself for a moment, deeply. I touched his shoulder. “Gentle sir, I wish I could guarantee you their safety, but I put even myself at risk by being here.”

Feebly, he nodded, as some bleak realization took hold of him. “If you set me free I swear I shall make the trouble very worth your while.” He met my eyes with a stark sincerity and vulnerability that could have convinced me of anything at that moment. “If my murder is
imminent,
then refusing you for my family’s safety would indeed be thoughtless, wouldn’t it? My enemies may have deemed me rash in the past, but never a fool. Only ... how is my freedom to be delivered? And when?”

“Be patient, Sir Roger. You have allies. Many. Besides, already you have received and sent messages from here. I am well aware of that. So is Lord Despenser. Your letter to the Abbot of Wigmore was intercepted, which is perhaps why Despenser sees an urgent need to end your life. Care must be taken. In the meanwhile, Bishop Orleton of Hereford often inquires of you. I shall ask him to say a prayer for your wellbeing.”

At that, Mortimer gave the first hint of a smile, understanding my tiny clue that the bishop was involved. “A prayer, yes. But tell me – why this boon?”

“You were loyal to Edward for many years. In his anger, he has forgotten.”

“And you defend him even now? You contradict yourself.”

“And you speak too boldly, my lord.”

“Ah, I do. I daresay that is why I am here. I should take a lesson in humility from you. But, may I ask one thing? Tell me – how shall I return the favor?”

“Charles will speak further with you when you arrive in Paris.”

“You cannot tell me?”

“Even if I knew, it would be best not to say.”

The sound of a mouse scratching came from behind Mortimer, but he took no notice. He rubbed at the stubble on his cheeks with his knuckles. “So, I am to agree without knowing what it is I owe you?”

“You’re an honorable man. I’m a fair woman. My brother is reasonable, as well. Think on it.”

“If I inform the king you were here ... that you made me an offer?”

“You won’t. Besides, it would spare you nothing. Despenser would still have you killed for ravaging his lands and threatening his power.”

“They were not
his
lands.”

“I know that. We all do.” Everyone except Hugh Despenser. And Edward.

Sensing that too much time had passed and I should stay no longer, I took a step back. “Forget that I was ever here. When you find your way to Paris, say it was by chance. Remember – Edward would have never sent you here of his own volition. He has failed only in his judgment of whose advice he follows. Despenser is to blame for your plight ... and for England’s misery.”

“Yours as well?”

I could have launched into a tirade about my hatred of Hugh Despenser, but I answered him merely with a doleful look. Already, we were beginning to understand each other.

Gerard stood aside and took the torch from its sconce, even though it would leave the room in darkness and no daylight yet pierced the narrow window of Mortimer’s cell.

Before I reached the door, I heard a single word: “Yellow.”

I stopped short and cast a quizzical glance over my shoulder.

Mortimer’s face, his unshaven chin resting on his chest, was dark with shadows. As he raised his head, I could see only the bare outline of his strong nose and lips, the firm ridge of his brow. His eyes met mine. This time I did not look away.

“On your wedding day. I was there, did you know? It was long before we Mortimers fell from favor. A face in the crowd to you, perhaps. You didn’t know me then. Ah, but I remember. You wore a gown of yellow to match your hair. The day was bright, though January, and your hair shone, even beneath your veil. The trim was blue. Darker than your eyes, but not nearly so brilliant.”

Hardly aware I was doing so, my hand drifted up to touch a stray strand of hair. “I ... I was only a girl then. You remember more than I.” And differently. He saw a young bride beginning a new life. I saw a groom ... who saw me not at all.

“You were radiant. And frightened nearly to tears.”

So he did know. Had I been so poor at hiding it? “A long time ago. I didn’t know what it would be like – ”
As Edward’s queen. I did not know.
Hastily, I added, “What it would be like in England.”