Chapter 29

England

On September 24th, 1326, Queen Isabella, with an army of fifteen hundred men, landed on the coast of Suffolk. She and her followers had crossed the channel in ten fishing vessels. Their arrival was not challenged by England's eastern fleet, even though it was commanded by His Grace's younger half-brother, Thomas of Brotherton.

"'Tis a good omen, is it not?" Isabella asked her lover. When Roger Mortimer was at her side, the queen felt brave and confident, but sometimes the magnitude of their act—their treason—overwhelmed her. "If my lord husband's very kin will not come to his aid, then we cannot fail."

"The Bastard won't abandon him," said Mortimer. "But Sussex is one man against an entire country. No one else will raise a hand to save your fine husband."

Mortimer's prophecy proved accurate. When Isabella disembarked she and her followers were greeted by enormous crowds, ringing bells and blazing bonfires. Women and children strewed flowers in her path.

"We have come to avenge the execution of my dear cousin, Thomas of Lancaster," she told the cheering throngs, "and drive the accursed Despensers from power."

"The crowds love you, my dear," Mortimer observed, his black eyes mocking. "You tell them exactly what they want to hear."

"'Tis also true."

Sometimes she was unnerved by her lover's cynicism and wondered whether he had approached their liaison with the same calculation he applied to all other matters. As they penetrated into England and picked up the trail of the hated Despensers, however, Isabella forgot all her doubts to concentrate on one matter—revenge.

King Edward was in the Tower of London when he heard of his wife's invasion. He immediately sent protests to Pope John XXII, as well as to Isabella's brother, Charles the Fair. He also discussed the matter with members of the Council and leaders of Parliament, though he did not heed their advice. Edward had no intention of giving up his favorites, even if that act would abort the invasion.

"I did not break the power of the barons or Cousin Lancaster to crumble at the first hint of trouble," he told them. Instead he issued a proclamation stating that all who took part in the invasion, save for Isabella and Prince Edward, would be treated as traitors. He placed a thousand pound bounty on the head of Roger Mortimer.

Still no one rallied to his cause.

* * *

In full armor, Hugh Despenser the Elder, earl of Winchester, stood before Isabella in Bristol Castle's great hall. He was nearing seventy and showed his age, but gazing into that lined face, Isabella felt not pity but triumph—and hatred, of course. Since her arrival one month past, she'd survived on hate, which had nurtured and sustained her as food never could. Now that emotion, which was like a constant blackness robbing her brain of all coherent thought, would be sated.

Bristol's garrison had refused to stand by Hugh the Elder, who had sought refuge there, and yesterday, on October 26, 1326, the father of her most detested enemy had walked across the castle drawbridge to surrender.

Isabella could barely refrain from sharing her elation with Roger Mortimer, even by a surreptitious look. Revenge was indeed proving as sweet as she'd anticipated during her years of humiliation.

She addressed Hugh the Elder. "Do you recall your treatment of my cousin Thomas Lancaster, a man of royal blood, who was put to death because of your machinations?"

Hugh muttered something unintelligible. Most of his teeth were missing, pushing his mouth into a perpetual position of surprise. But his eyes still flashed their old arrogance, which served to start Isabella's ancient animosities churning fresh and raw.

Her voice rose. "You also treated me, your queen, in a shabby and insulting manner. You never allowed me money and you and that whoreson you spawned poisoned my husband's mind against me."

"Your Grace..."

She cut him off with an imperial wave of her hand. Leaning forward in her curule chair, which had been placed for her in the middle of Bristol's hall, she taunted, "Your lands are burning now, Sir Hugh—the lands for which you schemed and robbed and which have insured your swift descent into hell. How transitory are your possessions, near as transitory as your life."

Isabella's troops had plundered all of the Despensers' lands along their route and beyond. She had proclaimed that her supporters should take what they pleased and after splitting it between herself and Mortimer, retain a portion for themselves.

"Ah, Madam," Hugh cried. "God grant me at least an upright judge and a just sentence."

"You will receive the same treatment you gave Thomas Lancaster."

William Trussell, a local judge, read the earl of Winchester's death sentence. "You shall be drawn for treason and hanged for robbery, decapitated for your crimes against the church and your head taken to Winchester where you were earl against law and reason." Because he'd broken the laws of chivalry, Despenser was to be executed in a robe bearing his coat of arms, which would thereafter be permanently discarded.

Immediately following the verdict, Mortimer and several other lords escorted Hugh to a gallows that had been erected in Bristol's bailey. From a window inside the solar Isabella watched the execution. While Hugh was being readied, her two daughters, Eleanor and Joan, bounded in, filling the room with questions and chatter. Shutting out their voices, she absently put her arms around them. She'd been reunited with her children only yesterday but now their presence did not even register.

As a noose was slipped around Despenser's neck, Isabella's heart began a frantic hammering. She was certain something or someone would momentarily appear to rob her of her prize.

"My gentle Mortimer," she breathed. "Despenser is filled with the devil's very tricks. Watch him close."

When the executioner raised the rope, jerking Hugh the Elder ever higher in the air, Isabella gasped. Unconsciously her fingernails dug into her daughters' shoulders. The girls had grown subdued and watched the unfolding scene with open mouthed horror. Hugh dangled in the air, his armor catching the sun's rays in blinding flashes.

Five-year-old Joan screamed, "'Tis a monster! Mother, look!" Her hysterical sobbing was echoed by Eleanor, who, though three years older, was every bit as terrified.

Turning from the window, Isabella gathered her children to her breast.

"Do not cry, my darlings. 'Tis just a very bad man who was mean to Mother. He deserved his punishment."

And more.

Now there were only two men left, besides her husband, with whom to deal—Hugh the Younger and Richard of Sussex. But the Bastard was only an incidental to her obsession.

While her daughters clung to her, Isabella thought of her husband, who had escaped from Bristol with Nephew Hugh just hours before her arrival.

What will happen upon your capture?

Thinking of Edward confused her. He had been weak, cruel and thoughtless. But he'd also been kind to their children and sometimes even loving to her. After listening to Mortimer's arguments, she had resigned herself to his deposition and young Prince Edward's elevation to England's throne.

Yet Isabella could never overcome that nagging problem—what to do about a deposed monarch. Alive, her husband would prove a constant rallying point for malcontents, but at forty three Edward was in excellent health and should enjoy many vital years. Unless someone cut short his life. Isabella shivered. Sometimes she feared that the rebellion was assuming a life of its own—a ghastly life that could exist apart from herself, and over which she had no control.

I must talk to my lord Mortimer about it.

* * *

On October 2, King Edward set sail from Chepstow with Hugh the Younger and the handful of retainers who remained loyal to him. His destination was Lundy Island, the place from which Hugh had pirated during his brief banishment and which had been stocked with provisions for their arrival. With the king traveled an exchequer official, John Langton, who controlled nearly thirty-nine thousand pounds.

Ironic. At one time I had men but no money and now I have a fortune but no men to pay. 'Tis that she-wolf and her lover who have turned my people against me. When I am back in power they will pay for their sins.

But for now Edward must concentrate on more immediate matters.

Henry of Leicester, Thomas Lancaster's brother, and the Marcher lords nipped at the king's heels. Only Richard of Sussex's repeated harassment allowed him his continued freedom.

But Richard is the only one loyal to me, Edward thought as he paced the deck of the cog ship that would bear him to Lundy Island. Even the coastal winds were thwarting him. Nor had repeated prayers to St. Anne altered their course. When Edward remembered the perfidy of his two younger brothers, Edmund and Thomas, he felt a mixture of anger and sadness. Edmund had arrived from France with Isabella and they'd landed next to Thomas's manor, where they'd spent their first night back in England.

From the very outset, Edward's brothers had marched with the traitors and pillaged and plundered alongside them.

Someday I will deal with you all. You will rue the day you so betrayed me.

Contrary winds kept Edward and his men in the narrows of Bristol Channel. Finally, on the same day as Hugh the Elder's execution, they disembarked and rode west from Caerphilly. Everywhere he stopped Edward issued summonses and commissions that no one obeyed. Daily he expected to hear that the earl of Sussex had been captured or killed.

On November 16 His Grace left Neath, bound for Llantrissant in a torrential rain. As the water pounded against his helm like spoons upon a kitchen pot Edward assured himself that the rain, though miserable, would shield his band from possible enemy encounter. Riding into the slashing storm he tried unsuccessfully to penetrate the greyness. When he swiveled in his saddle he couldn't even see Simon of Reading, who was the last man in his troupe.

The road grew impassable. The destriers, hampered by armor, sank to their knees in the sucking mud. Still the rain beat upon them. Water had forced its way through junctures in Edward's hauberk; his gambeson clung to him. Where it rubbed against metal his shoulders felt raw and sore. He turned to shout a complaint to Nephew Hugh.

From the grey mass Edward glimpsed a movement, a shape like that of a man on horseback. Thinking it a trick of the atmosphere, he blinked. To his horror he saw, not one but many figures, appearing out of the rain, riding toward him with drawn swords. They seemed to glide over the ground, undaunted by the mud. Watching them suddenly appear, like some conjurer's trick, unnerved him. Might they be phantom soldiers, ghosts of the Welsh his father had killed during his many wars of subjugation?

Hugh Despenser unsheathed his sword.

"Do not!" Edward yelled above the hammering torrent. He now realized that the riders were true flesh and blood and more dangerous than a dozen phantom armies. Their lack of armor accounted for their ease of movement, the badges upon their jupons attested to their identity. Henry of Leicester and a seeming multitude of other Marcher lords bore down on them. Useless to struggle. They were outnumbered ten to one.

'Tis all over, Edward thought as Leicester rode up to accept his sword in surrender. His brain was too benumbed to know fear.

Yet.