The Follies of the King - Plaidy Jean - Страница 51

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influence of the Church.

Isabella often visited the Tower and stayed in the apartments where her

daughter Joanna had been born. She was in constant communication with Adam.

In spite of what was happening in the north Edward could have changed the

whole course of his life at that time. His enemies were either dead or

imprisoned. The chief of these were Thomas of Lancaster who was dead and the Mortimers who were in the Tower, though with his usual lack of vision he

underestimated Roger de Mortimer the younger. Edward could have had him

executed and given the traitor’s death instead of which, in his usual dilatory manner, he allowed him to remain a prisoner in the Tower.

Poor Edward, thought Isabella. He would never learn from his mistakes.

One would have thought that having seen the country brought almost to civil war through Gaveston and then through the Despensers, he would have

recognized the signs of danger.

But it seemed he could not. The small success which had brightened his

career of failure had blinded him to facts. He recalled the Despensers.

Alas, there was no one now to stop him. He was no longer merely the King

in name. Lancaster was dead and it was he, Edward, who now gave the orders.

The Despensers responded with alacrity, and it was not long before they

were flaunting their authority as blatantly as they had ever done.

It was they who ordered a friend of Harclay’s to call on him at his castle and when he arrived, to arrest him in the name of the King. Thus this brave soldier, who would have served the King if he had not seen the hopelessness of such service, after a brief trial suffered the agonies of the traitor’s death.

It was with the Despensers’ help that Edward obtained a thirteen-year truce with Bruce and congratulated themselves on having won the peace, forgetting that it was the state of Bruce’s health— the dreaded disease of leprosy was now apparent to all? which had been the main reason for his agreement.

Then it was a return to the old ways. The Despensers must be placated at all costs. The King was beside himself with joy to have his dear Hugh back with him. He was never, never to go away again, declared Edward.

The Queen had taken up temporary residence in the Tower. She liked, she

said, to be near her good friends the people of London. In truth, now that the Despensers had returned, she was getting impatient for action and she wished to have secret conferences with her good friend, Adam of Orlton.

A gloomy place, the Tower of London. Strange that it should contain a

prison and a palace. Here many prisoners had lain in despair. At night, the fanciful believed they could hear the moans of those long dead. It was said that on the winding staircases and in the cold dank rooms ghostly figures appeared, men and women who would never rest until they had restitution from those who had given them a life of hell-on-earth in these dark walls. There was no place in the country which was so haunted.

William the Conqueror had ordered it to be built and Gundulf, the Bishop of Rochester, had designed it. It had stood a symbol of the Conqueror’s power to a conquered people. Of course it had been added to since then and was no longer the bleak fortress it had been in the days of William. It had been surrounded twenty years after the first fortress had been erected with an embattled stone wall and a deep ditch. Then that inveterate builder Henry the Third, the King’s grandfather, had built the Lion Tower and added to the improvements to the White Tower. The moat had been enlarged by Edward’s father. It seemed that every King must make his mark on the Tower of London. Not the present one

though, thought the Queen grimly; Edward was too indolent. The Tower to him was just a strong fortress to which he could retire when his subjects were in revolt against him.

There was a melancholy about the place but there was something which

excited her too. From the narrow windows she could look out on the river and see the good merchants going about their business and it comforted her to

realize that they were her friends.

There was no reason why anyone should speculate because of her presence

there. It was after all one of the most important of the royal residences. Young Edward was in the good hands of Richard de Bury who had been appointed his tutor and guardian; the other children were at Pleshy in Essex in the household of the Earl of Hereford who was their guardian. She was not exactly a doting mother and made no pretence of being. It was true that she kept a firm hand on young Edward and saw him frequently. She was eager that he should feel dc.

pendent on her and she was careful to do everything to win his devotion.

From her window she could see one of the small gardens of the Tower shut

in by tall pales and one day there appeared there a tall dark, somewhat

emaciated, man in the company of Gerard de Alspaye whom she knew as the

sub-lieutenant of the Tower. There was something about the manner in which he held himself which attracted her attention. She thought: He is obviously a prisoner but he walks like a king.

She watched for him and saw him on another occasion and on impulse she

sent for Alspaye and asked him who the distinguished-looking prisoner was.

Alspaye looked confused and she guessed that it was against orders that the prisoner had been given an airing.

‘You need have no fear,’ she said. ‘I’ll swear this man is one of the King’s prisoners, and I know that you made sure no harm could come of his taking the air.’

‘That is so, my lady. He has just become bereaved. His uncle who shared his dungeon has died.’

‘Of what did he die?’

‘The rigours of prison, my lady. Lack of food. The dungeon is airless,

without one window; the walls run with damp; it is stifling in summer and

bitterly cold in winter.’

‘What was the crime of these men?’

‘They were captured in battle.’

‘By the King?’ She could not keep the note of contempt from her voice but

Alspaye did not seem to notice.

‘In the Marcher country, my lady.’

‘Then he is?’

‘Roger de Mortimer, my lady, Earl of Wigmore, and his uncle recently dead

was the Lord of Chirk.’

‘I have heard much of these Mortimers,’ she said. ‘I can remember the

surprise when they were taken.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘I should like to speak with this man. Do you take him into the garden again soon?’

‘I would take him there when you wished, my lady.’

‘Walk there with him tomorrow and I will join you. Do not let him know

that I have mentioned this. Let it be as if by accident.’

‘It shall be as you wish, my lady.’

She was filled with an unaccountable excitement. Ideas flashed into her head and were discarded almost before they came. Roger de Mortimer, one of the

great Marcher barons! She had heard Edward talk of the Mortimers with

something like fear in his voice. Yes, he had certainly regarded the Mortimers with awe. The uncle and the nephew. They lived as kings in their territory.

Edward had said it was a mistake to allow those not royal to hold such power.

And now, one of them was dead and the other, this emaciated prisoner, still held himself like a conqueror.

The next morning she took a ride through the streets of London— always a

heartening experience. She had taken great pains with her appearance. It was gratifying to hear the shout for Isabella the Fair. Whatever happened, she thought, the people of London would be on my side.

In the afternoon she went to the garden. True to his word Alspaye was there with Roger de Mortimer.

The Queen stood looking at them, her eyebrows raised as though in surprise.

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