Isabeau, A Novel of Queen Isabella and Sir Roger Mortimer (26 page)

27

Isabella :

Palace de la Cité, Paris – June, 1325

FROM DUSK THROUGH DARKEST night, I writhed beneath sheets that were slickened by my own sweat, taunted by a thousand thoughts, both exhilarating and disturbing. My body grew more fatigued with each lagging hour. Somewhere in the darkness, I heard Patrice’s muffled footsteps as she entered the adjoining outer room and stumbled to bed. Only when quiet followed did I still myself and enter into a world that was half sleep, half waking dream, so that the hours drifted by less torturously.

I rose before dawn, dressed in comfortable clothes for riding
and peered through my open window into the palace courtyard. The air was oddly lifeless, without wind or sound, as if all lay in slumber. All I could see were unmoving shapes of gray – high walls, the peaks and creases of crowded rooflines, scattered treetops – against a black draping pricked by scattered starlight. To the south, a wispy veil of clouds crept silently across the sky, dimming the heavens.

In the outer chamber adjoining mine, Patrice was stretched out like a lazing cat on her pallet, dozing heavily in a wine-induced slumber. Her wrinkled gown was twisted around her middle and bunched up past her knees, one slipper lost and one only half on. The faint light of first dawn outlined every shape in traces of silver, even Patrice’s tangled curls and the downward lines of her face. I crept past her to the outer door and nudged it open.

There, with arms crossed, was Mortimer, propped sleepily against the wall. Yawning, he glanced at Patrice in vague curiosity as he entered and went to the far side of the room. As he looked out the single window there, I closed the door behind him and slid the bar back in place.

His voice was barely above a whisper. “Your English guards, upon hearing you had no more money with which to pay them, have apparently deserted you.” He glided to me, silent as a fox kit stalking a vole. “If Bishop Stapledon had wanted to abduct you last night and carry you kicking and screaming back to England, he would have had an easy game of it.” He eased closer, still studying Patrice who had not yet stirred from her death-sleep. “I will make sure you are looked after. My business here has afforded me friends by the dozens, mutual opponents of King Edward, if you will, who would gladly do me a favor. You’ve already paid me by getting me out of the Tower.”

It was disconcerting to know even my guards had so readily abandoned me. But as for the rest, Cromwell and Boudon, I had expected them to leave once the treaty was signed. Already they had distanced themselves in anticipation of leaving France. But the remaining skeleton of servants I had been afforded, they had managed to hover even closer of late, to my increasing annoyance, mostly to inquire of their pay.

“Your part in this was Charles’ idea,” I reminded him. “Bishop Orleton saw to the details.”

“But
you
had your part in it, yes?” He inclined his head toward the door of my private chambers in suggestion, as if one more wall between us and the rest of the world would guard our secrets that much better. He came closer, his gaze unbroken, and hitched a shoulder at Patrice. “Can she be trusted?”

“Patrice? More so yet than you.”

Patrice mumbled and flopped over, her face now toward us. Her eyelashes fluttered. Drool trickled from the corner of her mouth and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. A few moments later, she was still again. Then a sound outside the door – footsteps passing by – set my heart aflutter. The outer door was barred, but there was no one there to warn us of visitors or to stop intruders. I hurried through my chamber door, letting him follow. Not until the door latch clicked into place did I turn around.

Mortimer’s mouth curled upward in a faint grin of amusement. “I suppose I’ll have to prove myself, won’t I? But you’ve allowed me in here. We’re practically alone. That says something, does it not?”

I backed a few steps away to distance myself. “You have been in Hainault a long time.”

“And elsewhere.” He crossed his arms and, restlessly aware of everything around him, rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. His eyes darted from window to wall to door as he memorized his surroundings. “Too long in Picardy with my cousin and uncle, although I had the pleasure of spending time with one of my sons. Polite company, but their rustic habits inspire nothing but boredom. I’ve also been to Cologne, Koblenz, Toulouse, Boulogne ...”

“And here – Paris?”

“Frequently, yes.”

“Then why have I not seen you until yesterday?”

He stilled his movements and looked at me sincerely. “Because, my queen, I had pressing business – the forging of important connections, the raising of troops and funds. And all of it
 ...
had everything to do with you.”

I gave him a sidelong glance. “Do not evade me. I need answers, Sir Roger. Charles protects me like a small child. If I am to be a part of this – and the one without whom it cannot proceed – I must know
everything
.”

“Very well. Your brother told me to keep my distance until the treaty was signed. To have been anywhere near you may have jeopardized it. Is that a satisfactory answer?”

Logical, yes, but why Charles guarded the answer as if it were some great secret was a quandary.

I paced before my bed where the disheveled blankets from my sleepless night lay half-strewn upon the floor. “How will we pay these troops? How many of them? Will it be enough against the army of England? What is our plan, once we are there?”

“Ah, quite uninformed, aren’t you? But far-thinking. That impresses me. To arrogantly glide over the sea and tramp upon English soil without some kind of strategy… disastrous, perhaps. Too few fighting men and we could be crushed like grapes under the press. You and I would be taken captive – not long for this world, we can be assured of that. So then how many soldiers would be enough?” He scoffed. “If I had ten thousand men and the means to fund them, I would. But men cost money. So we will make do with what we can. However, it may not take as many men as one would think.

“Rumor will feed a frenzy for us about where and when we’ll arrive, leaving Edward to guess, running to and fro for nothing, wearing himself into a state of carelessness, doubting after awhile that we’ll ever bother. Then, surprise and swiftness will serve us.
That
is our plan.”

He gazed at me severely and, satisfied I had no protests thus far, he continued, “As for payment – my relatives and my wife’s will provide some. Your brother has arranged means to allot more from his own personal treasury, but slyly done so it cannot be traced directly to him. The rest will come from the Count of Hainault.”

“Mercenaries?”

“The count can ‘loan’ you the men, temporarily, yes. As an escort, if you wish to use that pretense. I assure you – they are the best fighting men on the continent. I would not have sought them out otherwise. The finest horses, the best arms. They are capable soldiers, disciplined. But yes, they are hired soldiers: ‘mercenaries’. His brother, John of Hainault, has volunteered to lead them. But once on English soil, they will not much be welcomed without an English presence beside them. Take no offense, but for as much as you are loved by the people, you are
still
French. Your son, Lord Edward, if he were with us, why the people would flock to him like starving mice to a newly filled tithe barn. Still, he is far too young to lead an army, should any conflict arise. My lady,” he said, switching abruptly from calm contemplation to fiery insistence, his lower lip drawn taut against his teeth. The glint of old battle memories sparkled from the darkness of his eyes. “I defeated the Irish pagans – with more success and certainty than any man before or since.”

“By yourself? Really?” I jested, trying to lighten his mood.

He flashed a quick scowl at me. “You know what I mean. I am the one to lead your army. I did not become Lieutenant of Ireland because I knew how to please Edward privately, as Gaveston did. I was meant for it. Men heed my word. They follow my sword. They trust in me because I know my enemy and I know how to defeat them.”

“I know your credentials, Sir Roger. You don’t need to convince me of your abilities on the battlefield. And you need not hint at my husband’s indiscretions. I’m well aware of them.”

“Then we are agreed?”

“To what?”

“That I am to lead the invasion that will oust Lord Despenser and bring the king to terms.”

“Were we ever in disagreement on that point, Sir Roger? You were chosen long ago by my brother. You need neither beg nor boast. We have both been slighted by Lord Despenser. You are doing this as much out of revenge as I am, so it was not some undying, chivalric desire to serve as my champion that brought you to me.”

“What is a knight then, if he has no cause to serve? Perhaps that ‘cause’ is you, my lady? But as you wish: I’ll plead no more. Let us say, that at this moment, we serve each other. Fair?”

“Fair, Sir Roger. I must wonder about the Count of Hainault, though. How is he served by any of this? He has no argument with Edward or Despenser.”

“Argument, no. That is not to say he cannot be served by giving us aid.”

“Come now, I know of very few who would shower a displaced queen with such great sums out of pure munificence. Hainault, at least, requires some recompense.”

“That has not been entirely settled, but if you must know – and I tell you this with all delicacy – the count is interested in joining one of his daughters in marriage to one of your sons, preferably your oldest, Lord Edward. He has four fine daughters. Pleasing to look upon, healthy, well-mannered, educated.”

I stopped pacing and stood with hands on hips to glare at him. “Healthy, pleasing? You talk as if they are dairy cows to be added to the herd. So you have already negotiated on my behalf then?”

He clasped his hands together before him. “I would never presume to do so. The count offered it as a means to settle a debt. Payment for a service.”

“Still, you assume much. Bartering to settle a debt is a poor way to determine one’s mate.”

“Yet, it is done all the time. My own wife’s family is very wealthy and of late, given my forced exile, I’ve found it a convenience.”

Was that how he viewed her: a convenience
 ...
a commodity?

“You can decline,” he said.

I nodded. “I can. Young Edward’s marriage is one not lightly entered into. Once done, there is no undoing it, so whomever he decides to wed shall be not only a sound decision politically, but one that pleases him personally. Besides, you say the count’s daughters are pretty? How am I to know you are even a good judge?”

“When we go to Hainault, later
 ...
if we do go there, you can see them with your own eyes. Besides, if I were to say the woman before me is the fairest I have ever beheld, does that not make me a proper judge?”

“Spare me your flatter – ”

“An honest observation, not empty flattery, my lady. Do you always make a habit of rejecting compliments or are you truly so humble?” Until then, he had not moved from his place by the door, as if he were either guarding it or half listening for voices outside. He came near to me, stopping one slight, but chasmal step away. “Your husband is a blind and ungrateful fool – forgive me for saying it aloud. Any man who would spurn you has neither eyes nor a heart. Were you mine I would worship the sun for shedding its light upon your beauty. I would bless the night for bringing you to my bed. And I would rise each and every day and ask how I, Roger, could give you, Isabella, happiness.”

His words portrayed a vision that was so vivid, so irresistible to my lonely spirit that in that moment, I was moved beyond restraint. I reached out and touched the smooth, shaven part of his cheek, trailed my finger over his ear, down his neck, the fine, ragged ridge of a battle scar slowing my fingers.

I feared he might pull away, chide me for my boldness, reject me, but he made no move other than to turn his mouth toward my open palm and warm it with his breath. My hand wandered downward, over the sweat-dampened cloth of his tunic, sensing the heat of his body beneath my fingertips.