Notorious (4 page)

“K
ing Edward has given Lundy Island to Hugh Despencer!” Wolf Mortimer had just returned to Wigmore with a large troop of men he had recruited. The castle now bulged at the seams with Mortimer men-at-arms from Ludlow and Chirk. Henry de Bohun, Earl of Hereford, was there with his own army and also men recruited by Adam Orleton, the powerful Bishop of Hereford. The other Marcher barons had assembled an additional army, and the commanders were gathered in Wigmore's Great Hall.

“Christus! Lundy Island will give Despencer control of the Bristol Channel.” Roger Mortimer was outraged. “There's more.” Wolf handed his father a missive. Mortimer scanned the parchment. “The king is mobilizing troops and has ordered all royal castles in Wales to prepare for war.”

Warwick warned, “The king has done this on the advice of the Despencers. It puts the Marchers in open rebellion against the Crown instead of against the Despencers alone. It could prevent some barons from supporting your cause even though they resent the Despencers' influence.”

“Did Lynx de Warenne send men as he promised?” Wolf asked.

“He did,” Mortimer replied. “I have put your brother, Edmund, in charge of his men-at-arms and you will command his Welsh archers along with your own.”

The Earl of Hereford banged his fist on the table. “The avaricious Despencers have been planning this for some time. Now I see why the elder Despencer took over Queen Isabelle's castle at Marlborough.” De Bohun had come into his earldom of Hereford as well as the post of Constable of England on the death of his father. Though he was widowed from the king's sister, Elizabeth, he was first and foremost a Marcher baron. “I've fought my whole life to preserve de Bohun lands and castles from the Welsh, I'll be damned if I'll let the Despencers have one fucking yard of it.”

“This army they are gathering will march to Bristol. I suggest we move our forces from Wigmore to Hereford's castle of Goodrich and then stay put and let them make the first move. If they take
one
castle, we will descend upon them with fire and sword,” Roger Mortimer declared.

A deafening shout, ripe with bloodlust, erupted from the throats of the entire assemblage.

 

The king's strong force marched westward and took control of the queen's castle of Devizes, which was within a dozen miles of Marlborough Castle. At Easter the king's army arrived at Bristol and Edward and Hugh Despencer took up residence at Gloucester. From there the king issued a warning that the Marchers were not to attack the Despencers' holdings. On the last day of March, the king summoned them to Gloucester.

When the Marcher barons ignored the summons, Edward then ordered them to convene at Gloucester the second week of April.

Roger Mortimer consulted with the other Marcher barons in Hereford's castle war room. They were amused that the king had summoned them twice. “Give me suggestions for our reply.”

“Answer the summons with a legitimate reason why the Marcher barons will not attend the king,” Warwick advised.

“Tell Edward that we refuse to come into his presence while Hugh Despencer remains in his company,” Hereford suggested.

Mortimer put pen to paper immediately. “Excellent idea. It's time we made some demands of our own.”

Wolf spoke up. “Insult their pride, if they have any. Demand that Hugh Despencer be placed in Thomas of Lancaster's custody until Parliament can hear our grievances.”

Laughter reverberated around the room, as Mortimer and Hereford, the two leading Marcher barons, signed their demands with a flourish. They were all spoiling for a fight and hoped to get one by baiting Edward and his lover.

It did the trick. When the king read the insulting letter, he issued a writ confiscating all of the estates that belonged to Hugh Audley and his wife, Margaret of Gloucester, and gave them to Hugh Despencer.

The Marcher barons retaliated swiftly. On the first day of May they launched a devastating attack on Despencer lands in south Wales. By the middle of May, Mortimer and the vast Marcher army had taken back the castles of Caerphilly, Cardiff, and Newport. Then they swept across Glamorgan and Gloucestershire with fire and sword, burning newly planted crops and ravaging all the property that the greedy Despencers had accumulated. They took possession of sixty-three manors and seized thousands of sheep, hogs, oxen, cattle and five hundred horses.

Wolf Mortimer began to notice that young Guy Thomas de Beauchamp sought his company at night around the campfires. The boy was eager for advice to improve his fighting skills and it was apparent to Wolf that the young lad wanted to emulate him. Wolf was patient and explained the best tactics to employ in a castle raid, but knew the safest place for Guy Thomas was riding alongside Warwick where his father's vigilance would protect him.

Young de Beauchamp showed little fear and one afternoon as they rode toward Whitney Castle, Wolf Mortimer saw that Guy Thomas was at the head of the pack and Warwick was nowhere in sight. The men on the walls began to shoot at their attackers, using flaming arrows that had been dipped in pitch and set alight.

Wolf's mouth went dry. He crouched low in the saddle, set his spurs to his mount, and thundered across the turf in a direct path to de Beauchamp. Just as he arrived a flaming arrow thunked into Guy Thomas's saddle. It missed the lad by an inch, but set ablaze his hair that was hanging below his helmet.

Wolf, gripping his mount with his knees, plucked out the arrow with one hand, snatched up the horse's reins with the other, and rode as if the devil himself were after them. When they were a safe distance from the castle, Wolf knocked the lad from the saddle, jumped down, and rolled him on the ground to smother the sparks that still smoldered in his hair.

“You have more guts than brains!” Wolf growled.

A white-faced Guy Thomas stared up into the gray eyes of the man straddling him. “Don't tell my father.”

Wolf pulled off Guy's scorched helmet. “I won't tell him that you were reckless enough to reach the castle before the others.”

Guy Thomas grinned, gingerly touching his burned neck. “I'll tell him that—don't tell him I was too slow to dodge the arrow.”

Wolf cuffed him across the ear, then stood up and whistled for their horses. When both animals obeyed the summons, young de Beauchamp gave him a worshipful glance. “That's another trick you must teach me.”

“First, I'll have to teach you to stay alive, you young fool!”

 

By the end of May the Marcher barons had taken back all that belonged to them and more besides. King Edward and Hugh Despencer fled back to London. As they traveled east they were met with jeering crowds and surly, disapproving Londoners. It was a marked contrast with the cheers that Queen Isabelle evoked when she rode out. The people loved their beautiful young queen as much as they hated the Despencers.

On Hugh's advice they moved into the impregnable Tower of London for safekeeping and the king ordered Isabelle to her own apartments in the Tower. In mid-June the king put the tower of London into the queen's custody. It was a wily move, since Edward and Hugh knew that the people would never attack the fortress if it were in Isabelle's keeping.

The Marcher barons, flush with victory, rode north to meet again with Lancaster at his magnificent castle of Pontefract. They held a private parliament and the earl reconfirmed his alliance with the Marchers. At the end of June they issued a condemnation of the Despencers and vowed to have them disinherited.

“I propose we give the king a month to rid himself of his favorites. If he does not banish the Despencers, I intend to take my army to London and expel them by force,” Mortimer declared.

“We must make it clear that our threat is directed at the Despencers and not the king's person, or we could be charged with treason,” Warwick warned.

Wolf Mortimer made a suggestion. “If our forces wear livery bearing the royal arms it will show our loyalty to the Crown.”

His father agreed. “Spread the word. We march in one month.”

“Though Lancaster's castle of Pontefract is renowned for its lavish hospitality, I don't believe Thomas will be overjoyed to host
all
the Marcher barons for a month,” Guy de Beauchamp pointed out. “I shall spend the time at my own castle and offer Warwick's hospitality to any who wish it until we march south.”

Roger Mortimer grinned. “I accept your generous offer.”

“Could I billet my men at Warwick?” Hereford asked. “We have our own campaign tents.”

Warwick nodded. “I shall send a message to my wife, telling her to expect us.”

Wolf stepped forward. “I volunteer to deliver the message, my lord earl.” He smiled inwardly. He had spoken to Brianna in a dream last night and forewarned her that he would visit Warwick.

 

The early July day was warm and Brianna had spent the morning visiting Warwick's ailing inhabitants and dispensing her herbal curatives. In the afternoon she had taken Venus on a five-mile ride along the lush banks of the River Avon. On her way back she decided that her horse deserved a swim before she returned her to the stables.

She slipped down from Venus at a place where the rushes grew tall and the water was fairly shallow. A small skiff that she and her brother used for fishing was moored to a willow and it rocked gently as a pair of waterfowl glided by.

Brianna unsaddled Venus and watched her palfrey wander downriver a short distance, then watched her walk to the water's edge and dip her head for a drink. Brianna sat down in the skiff and removed her boots and hose. Her eyes followed an iridescent dragonfly as it hovered above a bright yellow kingcup, then swooped down to the water.

Brianna loved the River Avon and the cool water lured her. She gave in to temptation almost immediately. She removed her dress and, wearing only her shift, waded in until the water was breast high. She laughed when the ducks quacked a protest at being disturbed and paddled off.

As Wolf Mortimer approached the castle he purposely focused his thoughts on Brianna. His mind searched about for where she would be on this warm afternoon. His keen intuition told him that she was outside the castle walls, and when Shadow loped off toward the river, Wolf knew where he would find her.

He slid from the saddle, tethered his horse, and walked down toward the water. As he moved silently through the rushes, seeking his quarry, his senses became drenched with her.

Brianna heard a rustle and glanced toward the riverbank. She saw nothing and thought it may have been a bird or a small animal. When she heard the rustle again she raised her eyes and scanned the rushes to see what was disturbing them. She shivered slightly as she experienced the sensation that someone was watching her.

Her first emotion was not fear; it was anger. “You sniveling coward, sneaking about to spy on me. Show yourself instantly!”

She watched the rushes move apart and saw two bright golden eyes staring at her; then the creature raised its head and gazed at her over the rushes.

She laughed with relief. “Shadow! How on earth did you get here?” Brianna suddenly stiffened.
If Shadow is here, Wolf Mortimer cannot be far behind. How prophetic that last night I dreamed the arrogant devil would return to Warwick.

“You skulking swine! I know exactly who it is, so you might as well stop hiding.” She waited for a drawn-out minute, her gaze riveted on the rushes, but they remained absolutely still. “Where the devil are you, Wolf Mortimer?”

“I'm behind you.”

Brianna gasped. The low murmur was directly in her ear. She spun about, startled and furious. Her foot slipped out from under her and she made a desperate grab for him so that she would not fall beneath the water.

Wolf's strong hands clasped her beneath her armpits and kept her head from going beneath the surface, and then he set her firmly back on her feet.

Her breasts rose and fell with indignation at being handled in such an undignified manner. She stared, mesmerized, at the rippling muscles of his chest and arms. “You are naked!”

“You noticed,” he said dryly and waded toward the riverbank. He climbed out, careless of his nudity, yet fully aware that she was staring at his bare buttocks. He was a man who enjoyed being naked. He was totally at ease without his clothes, never feeling threatened or vulnerable as others did when they were bare. It was the animal side of him. It felt natural, and like most animals he was well furred. He flung his long, black, wet hair over his shoulder and picked up his linen shirt.

“No need to thank me, Mistress de Beauchamp.”

“It was
your
bloody fault! You sneaked up on purpose, just to startle me and amuse yourself.”

“Alas, I was doomed to disappointment. It wasn't the least amusing to see you flail about because you were afraid of getting your face wet.”

“Afraid? Afraid of getting wet? You must be jesting! I am an accomplished swimmer, Welshman.”

“That sounds suspiciously like bravado. Can you swim across the river?”

Her chin went up. “Of course I can.”