The She-Wolf (The Accursed Kings, Book 5) Read online

  As for Queen Isabella, her lot became increasingly difficult from day to day. The Despensers plundered, despoiled and humiliated her with a patient perfection of cruelty. ‘I have nothing left of my own but my life,’ she sent word to Mortimer, ‘and I much fear they are preparing to take that from me. Hasten my brother to my defence.’

  But the King of France – ‘Is your wife with you? Have you any sons?’ – had no opinion apart from Monseigneur of Valois’s, and Valois was putting all decision off till he had seen the results of the action he had taken in Aquitaine. But suppose the Despensers assassinated the Queen meanwhile?

  ‘They won’t dare,’ Valois replied.

  Mortimer went to get news from the banker, Tolomei, through whose good offices he carried on his correspondence with the other side of the Channel. The Lombards had a better postal service than the Court, and their travellers were cleverer at concealing messages. The correspondence between Mortimer and Bishop Orleton was therefore fairly regular.

  The Bishop of Hereford had paid dearly for organizing Mortimer’s escape; but he had courage and was standing up to the King. As the first English bishop ever to be arraigned before a lay court of justice, he refused to answer his accusers, and in this he was supported by all the archbishops and bishops in the Kingdom, who saw their privileges threatened. Edward had pursued the prosecution, had Orleton found guilty and ordered the confiscation of his property. The King had also written to the Pope and demanded the Bishop’s dethronement as a rebel; it was essential that Monseigneur of Valois should make representations to John XXII to prevent this measure being taken, for its inevitable result would be to bring Orleton to the scaffold.

  As far as Henry Crouchback was concerned, the situation was somewhat confused. For Edward had made him Earl of Lancaster in March, and had returned to him both the titles and the properties of his brother, who had been beheaded, including the great castle of Kenilworth. And then, almost immediately afterwards, the King had found a letter of friendship and encouragement he had written to Orleton, and had accused Crouchback of high treason.

  ‘And your King still obstinately refuses to pay us. Since you frequently see Messeigneurs of Valois and Artois and are their friend,’ said Tolomei, ‘make sure you remind them, my lord, of those gunpowder engines with which they have been experimenting in Italy and which must be of great use in besieging towns. My nephew in Siena and the Bardi in Florence can undertake to supply them. As pieces of artillery, they are much easier to place in position than those great catapults with cross-beams, and they do more damage. Monseigneur of Valois should equip his crusade with them – if he ever undertakes it.’

  To begin with, the women had taken considerable interest in Mortimer, in this high personage with such strange ways, who was always dressed in austere and mysterious black, and who was continually biting the white scar on his lower lip. They made him repeat the story of his escape over and over again, and, as he recounted it, exquisite bosoms tended to heave beneath white and transparent linen bodices. His grave, rather hoarse voice, that had so unexpected an intonation on certain words, was calculated to touch the heart-free. On several occasions, Robert of Artois had tried to impel the English lord into arms that asked for nothing better than to open to him. He had also suggested to Mortimer that, if his tastes tended more towards the lower classes, he could procure for him women of easy virtue to distract him from his cares. But Mortimer had yielded to none of these temptations, so much so that, since he gave but little appearance of being inordinately strait-laced, people began wondering to what this apparent virtue might be due, and whether it was not that he shared the morals of his King.

  Indeed, no one guessed the truth, which was simply that the man, who had wagered his safety on a raven’s death, had staked a reversal of fortune in his favour on mere chastity. He had sworn an oath not to touch a woman before he had returned to the land of England and had recovered his titles and his power. It was a knightly oath, such as a Lancelot or an Amadis, some companion of King Arthur, might have made. But, as time went on, Roger Mortimer had to admit that he had been rather hasty in making such an oath, and that it contributed not a little to his depression.

  At last good news came from Aquitaine. The Seneschal of the King of England in Guyenne, Messire Basset, who was all the more solicitous for his authority because his name gave rise to laughter, began to take alarm at the castle that was being built at Saint-Sardos. He saw in it both the usurpation of the rights of his master, the King of England, and a personal insult. Assembling a few troops, he suddenly entered Saint-Sardos, pillaged the town, arrested the officers in charge of the work and hanged them from gallows which, since they bore lilies on escutcheons, marked the King of France’s sovereignty over the dependency. Messire Ralph Basset did not act alone in this expedition; several lords of the region had joined in with him.

  As soon as Robert of Artois heard what had happened, he called for Mortimer and took him to Charles of Valois. Monseigneur of Artois was beside himself with joy and pride; he laughed even louder than usual and gave his friends playful taps that sent them rebounding against the walls. At last the opportunity was at hand, born of his fertile brain!

  The affair was immediately discussed in the Privy Council; the usual representations were made, and the men who were guilty of the sack of Saint-Sardos were summoned to appear before the Parliament of Toulouse. Would they present themselves, plead guilty to their crime and make submission? It was very much feared that they might.

  By good fortune, one of them, and only one, Raymond Bernard de Montpezat, refused to surrender to the summons. No more was needed. The rebel was condemned by default, his property decreed to be confiscated, and Jean de Roye, who had succeeded Pierre-Hector de Galard as Grand Master of the Cross-Bowmen, was sent into Guyenne with a small escort to seize both the Lord of Montpezat and his property, and see to the dismantling of his castle. But it was the Lord of Montpezat who had the better of it, for he took the royal officer prisoner and demanded a ransom for him. King Edward had nothing to do with the matter, but the turn of events aggravated the case, and Robert of Artois exulted. For a Grand Master of Cross-Bowmen was not the man to be taken prisoner without serious consequences.

  Further protests were made, and now direct to the King of England, supported by a threat to confiscate the duchy. Early in April the Earl of Kent, half-brother to King Edward, accompanied by the Archbishop of Dublin, came to propose to Charles IV that their differences might be settled by remitting Edward’s duty to pay homage. Mortimer, who saw Kent during his visit (their relations were perfectly courteous though the circumstances were far from easy), assured him of the utter uselessness of the proposal. The young Earl of Kent was indeed perfectly aware of it, and had embarked on his mission only with reluctance. He departed with the King of France’s refusal, which had been transmitted to him with some contempt by Charles of Valois. It looked as if the war, which Robert of Artois had invented, might be on the point of breaking out.

  But, at this very moment, the new Queen, Marie of Luxemburg, died suddenly at Issoudun, having been brought to bed before her time of a stillborn child.

  War could not be made during a period of mourning; moreover, King Charles was so despondent that he was almost incapable of presiding over his Council. As a husband, fate appeared to be decidedly against him. He had been first deceived and now was a widower. Monseigneur of Valois had to lay everything else aside to set about finding the King a third wife. For the King had become anxious and ill-tempered, and indeed blamed everyone but himself for the fact that there was no heir to the throne. His father had arranged his first marriage, his uncle the second; and neither seemed to have been very successful.

  But it was not so easy now to find princesses who were prepared to marry into the family of France, which people were beginning to say was pursued by bad luck.

  Charles of Valois would have been delighted to give his nephew one of his remaining daughters, had their ages been suitable; but u
nfortunately even the eldest, the daughter who had been formerly proposed for the heir-apparent of England, was no more than ten years old. And Charles the Fair was far from being prepared to await in patience either the recovery of the comfort of his nights or the assuring of the succession.

  And Roger Mortimer had to wait until a wife had been found for the King.

  But Charles IV had another cousin-german, the daughter of Monseigneur Louis of Évreux, now dead, and sister of Philippe of Évreux, who had been married to Jeanne of Navarre, the supposed bastard of Marguerite of Burgundy. Though lacking in beauty, this Jeanne of Évreux had a good figure and, above all, was of an age to become a mother. Monseigneur of Valois, who was longing to resolve the difficulty, encouraged the whole Court to influence Charles in favour of this marriage. Three months after the death of Marie of Luxemburg, a new licence was asked of the Pope. And Robert of Artois, son-in-law to Charles of Valois, who was the King’s uncle, himself became uncle by marriage to the sovereign who was already his cousin, since Jeanne of Évreux was the daughter of his late sister Marguerite of Artois.

  The marriage took place on July 5. Four days earlier, Charles had decided on the confiscation of Aquitaine and Ponthieu for rebellion and failure to render homage. Pope John XXII, since he considered it his duty to intervene whenever a conflict developed between sovereigns, wrote to King Edward and pressed him to come to render homage so that at least one of the points in dispute might be resolved. But the French army was already on the march and assembling at Orléans, while a fleet was being equipped in the ports to attack the English coast.

  In the meantime, the King of England had ordered levies to be made in Aquitaine, and Messire Ralph Basset was assembling his banners; the Earl of Kent was on his way back to France, but this time by sea all the way, to take up the post of Lieutenant in the duchy, to which he had been appointed by his half-brother.

  Was war about to break out? Not at all. Monseigneur of Valois had to go to Bar-sur-Aube to meet Leopold of Hapsburg about the elections to the Holy Roman Empire, and conclude a treaty by which Hapsburg undertook not to come forward as a candidate, in return for a sum of money and various pensions and revenues in the event of Valois being elected Emperor. Roger Mortimer still had to wait.

  Finally, on August 1, in a crushing heat that boiled the knights in their armour as if in so many saucepans, Charles of Valois, stout, resplendent, a crest on his helmet and a surcoat of gold over his mail, had himself hoisted into the saddle. Among his entourage were his second son, the Count of Alençon, his nephew Philippe of Évreux, the King’s new brother-in-law, the Constable Gaucher de Châtillon, Roger Mortimer, and finally Robert of Artois who, mounted on a horse in keeping with his own size, could overlook the whole army.

  Was Monseigneur of Valois as he left for this campaign, his second in Guyenne, a campaign he had himself desired, decided on and almost invented, pleased and happy or merely satisfied? He was none of these things. His mood was peculiarly morose, because Charles IV had refused to sign his commission as the King’s Lieutenant in Aquitaine. If anyone had a right to that title, was it not Charles of Valois? And what sort of figure did he cut, when the Earl of Kent, that young whippersnapper – and his nephew into the bargain – had been appointed to the Lieutenancy by King Edward?

  One might well wonder what was passing through Charles the Fair’s mind, and what reasons he had for his intransigent obstinacy in refusing what was so clearly necessary, when he was normally incapable of making up his mind about anything at all. Indeed – and Valois had no hesitation in discussing it with his companions – was this crowned fool, this ninny, worth all the trouble one took to govern his kingdom for him? Would he one day also have to be provided with an heir?

  The old Constable Gaucher de Châtillon, who was theoretically in command of the army since Valois had no official commission, was screwing up his saurian eyes beneath his old-fashioned helm. He was rather deaf, but at seventy-four still looked well on horseback.

  Roger Mortimer had bought his arms from Tolomei. His hard, bright eyes, the colour of new steel, gleamed beneath his raised visor. Since, through his King’s fault, he was marching against his own country, he wore a surcoat of black velvet as a sign of mourning. He would never forget the date on which they were setting out; it was 1 August 1324, the Feast of St Peter ad Vincula, and it was a year to the very day since he had escaped from the Tower of London.

  6

  The Bombards

  THE RINGING OF THE tocsin surprised young Edmund, Earl of Kent, as he was lying on the flagstones of a room in the castle, trying vainly to get cool. He had half-undressed and was wearing only cloth breeches as he lay there with outspread arms, motionless and overcome by the Bordeaux summer. His favourite greyhound lay panting beside him.

  The dog was the first to hear the tocsin. It rose on its front legs, pointed with its nose, and laid its quivering ears back. The young Earl of Kent woke out of his doze, stretched himself, and suddenly realized that this huge clangour came from the bells of La Réole which were all wildly ringing. In an instant he was on his feet, had seized the thin cambric shirt he had thrown over a chair, and had hastily put it on.

  But already there was a sound of footsteps hurrying towards his door. Messire Ralph Basset, the Seneschal, came in, followed by some local lords, the Lord of Bergerac, the Barons of Budos and Mauvezin, and the Lord of Montpezat on whose account – at least he thought so and took pride in it – the war had broken out.

  The Seneschal Basset was a very short man indeed; and the young Earl of Kent was surprised by his lack of inches each time he saw him. Moreover, he was as round as a barrel, for he had a prodigious appetite, and was always on the verge of losing his temper, which made his neck swell and his eyes pop.

  The greyhound disliked the Seneschal and growled whenever it saw him.

  ‘Is it a fire or the French, Messire Seneschal?’ asked the Earl of Kent.

  ‘The French, the French, Monseigneur!’ cried the Seneschal, almost shocked by the question. ‘Come and look; you can already make them out.’

  The Earl of Kent bent to gaze into a tin mirror and put his fair curls straight about his ears; then he followed the Seneschal. In his white shirt, open across his chest and falling loose over his belt, with neither boots nor spurs, and his head bare, he gave a curious impression of grace and intrepidity, also perhaps of a certain lack of responsibility, among these armed barons in their iron mail.

  As he emerged from the keep, the huge clangour of the bells took him by surprise and the bright August sun dazzled him. The greyhound started howling.

  They went up to the top of the Thomasse Tower, the great round tower which had been built by Richard Cœur de Lion. Indeed, what has that ancestor of his not built? The outer fortifications of the Tower of London, Château Gaillard, the Castle of La Réole …

  The wide Garonne flowed sparkling at the foot of the almost precipitous hill, its course meandering across the great fertile plain which was bounded by the distant blue line of the Agenois hills.

  ‘I can’t make anything out,’ said the Earl of Kent, who was expecting to see the French vanguard on the outskirts of the town.

  ‘Yes, look there, Monseigneur!’ someone shouted above the noise of the tocsin. ‘By the river, upstream, towards Sainte-Bazeille!’

  Screwing up his eyes and shading them with his hand, the Earl of Kent was finally able to make out a glittering ribbon advancing parallel to the river. He was told it was the reflection of the sun on breastplates and horse-armour.

  The din of the bells was still making the air quiver. The ringers’ arms must have been exhausted. Below, the population of the town was hurrying to and fro, swarming in the streets and particularly about the Town Hall. How small men seemed when observed from the battlements of a citadel! Mere insects. Frightened peasants were crowding down the roads leading to the town, some dragging a cow along, some driving goats before them, some goading their ox-teams. Everyone was flying from the fields; an
d soon the people from the neighbouring villages would start arriving, their belongings on their backs or heaped in carts. And the whole crowd of them would have to find what lodging they could in a town already over-populated by the troops and knights of Guyenne.

  ‘We shall be unable to make any proper estimate of the numbers of the French for another two hours, and they won’t be under the walls before nightfall,’ the Seneschal said.

  ‘Oh, it’s a bad time of year for making war,’ said the Lord of Bergerac peevishly, for he had had to fly before the French advance from Sainte-Foy-la-Grande a few days earlier.

  ‘Why is it a bad time of year?’ asked the Earl of Kent, pointing to the clear sky and the smiling countryside below.

  It was rather hot, of course, but wasn’t that better than rain and mud? Had these people of Aquitaine been in the Scottish wars, they might have complained less.

  ‘Because it’s the grape harvest, Monseigneur,’ said the Lord of Montpezat. ‘The villeins will be aghast to see their vines trampled underfoot, and they’ll blame us. The Count of Valois knows very well what he’s doing; he did the same in 1294; ravaged the whole country to wear it down the more quickly.’