and war would all be up here, or in Wales, not in the quiet lanes of Devonshire. With luck, they would be home within five days. That was all that mattered.
The small group walked their horses out of the inn’s gates, past the barbican to the castle, and thence along St Peter Street towards the High Street and the bridge. The sun was fighting hard to escape the clutches of the clouds, but didn’t quite succeed.
As they approached St Mary-le-Port Church, it became clear that there was some kind of blockage ahead, for carts, horses and shouting men thronged the way as far as the High Street itself. Hugh dropped down and, ruffling young Peterkin’s head, lifted him on to his mother’s sadddle, out of harm’s way.
‘What’s the matter up there?’ Simon demanded of a man nearby, who merely shrugged.
‘Probably a cart’s broken a wheel. You know what this place is like.’
Simon muttered a curse under his breath, and began to cast about for a different way to the bridge. However, if there was one, he thought the other inhabitants of the city would surely have availed themselves of it rather than queue up like this.
There was a man shoving his way through now, heading back the way they had come, and Simon hailed him. ‘Friend, can you tell us what is holding us all up?’
‘The gates are closed. The Queen’s host is approaching, and all the city’s gates are barred against her.’
Sir Ralph was glad that they had given him a place to lie down inside a tent. The weather worsened during the night, and the misery of trying to sleep on wet ground was not an experience he intended to repeat. He had been forced to do that often enough in his youth.
The Queen’s men were a curious mixture. There were voices from all over the world, with the guttural tones of those from Hainault and Frisia, clear, refined French, rougher Breton, and plenty of English from different parts of the country. She had truly gathered together one of the most cosmopolitan forces ever seen on English territory.
He recognised her as soon as he saw her.
The Queen was a slim lady, perhaps nine-and-twenty years old, and her reputation as the most beautiful woman in the whole of Christendom was not to be disputed. Her dress was black, a widow’s weeds, because she had declared that her marriage was being broken by Sir Hugh le Despenser, ‘this Pharisee’, and until she was avenged on him, she would dress like a widow; however, the black clothing only served to highlight her blonde beauty, as she must surely have known. Sir Ralph bowed low as he entered her presence, remaining bent until commanded to approach.
‘Sir Ralph of Evesham. It is a long time since I have seen you. Please, don’t bow again. You will give me a crick in my neck!’
‘Your Highness is most kind to remember me,’ Sir Ralph said.
She still had that little lilt of a French accent that had proved endearing to so many when she first arrived in England fifteen years ago. Then the child bride had been lonely, installed in this strange country without friends, apart from the few who were allowed to remain in her household. But soon it became clear that the King was more interested in certain among his advisers than a young girl, and her misery was complete. It was only after the barons revolted and forced the King to agree to limits on his powers that Isabella began to come into her own, and at last her husband started to treat her as a woman and wife, not an irritating little child.
That happy time was all too short. Then Sir Hugh le Despenser flexed his own ambition and the Queen started to be sidelined. The King preferred the companionship of his friend to that of his wife. Gradually the snide remarks grew into open hostility, and Queen Isabella lost all. Her lands, her dower, even the income from her possessions, such as Bristol, were taken from her. Then, after years of wrangling, the French King grew furious at the English prevarications about the French territories, and invaded King Edward’s possessions in France.
Malicious courtiers were happy to drip poison in the King’s ear. They pointed out that the Queen was herself French. She would support a French invasion, naturally. And her lands in Devon and Cornwall would provide the perfect location for an invasion force. To prevent this, her lands were sequestered, her income confiscated, her children, all of them, taken from her and placed in the protective custody of Lady Eleanor, Sir Hugh le Despenser’s wife; the Queen’s own worst enemy.
As soon as a chance presented itself, she fled to France, and began to raise her own force to wrest the kingdom from Despenser’s control.
Queen Isabella stood and clapped her hands. A steward arrived with jug and goblets, and soon Sir Ralph was sniffing a good, strong wine that made his mouth water.
She looked to the steward and nodded. Immediately, all the servants left the tent, and there was only the Queen and Sir Ralph. Instantly he felt more endangered than before.
‘So, Sir Ralph. I am glad to know that you are here.’
‘Where are the friars?’
She waved a hand in an impatient gesture. ‘They are safe and comfortable. Doing what they were sent here to do – to haggle. They are like a farmer who seeks the best price for his bushel of wheat, dickering for a day, while other men agree a price in the morning and enjoy the use of the money in the afternoon. Your friars are quibbling over details. Nothing more.’
‘They were to negotiate with you, Your Highness.’
‘They have seen me, and now they see my negotiators. Later, I shall speak with them again, perhaps. For now, they serve me better by meeting with others while I speak with you.’
‘What would you say to me?’
‘These friars, they came from my husband?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘How is he?’
Sir Ralph considered. ‘Hale and hearty. He has the heart of a lion.’
She smiled. ‘So, he is very anxious? Worried?’
‘I…’
‘Do not answer and forswear yourself, good sir knight. It does not suit you. You will not tell me that my husband is weak and worried, I can understand. Instead, tell me, how is the good Sir Hugh? Is he still as full of bile?’
Sir Ralph knew as well as any that Sir Hugh le Despenser was the primary cause of her leaving the country. He grinned. ‘I think you would be pleased to see him,’ he said.
‘Ah,’ she said, and chuckled. ‘If only that fool were here. So! You know that my husband is attempting to demand that all those with him should be spared. He wishes for safe custody for Sir Hugh and others. Yes, of course you know. Well, I think you also know the answer as well as any.’
‘You will not permit Sir Hugh to live.’
It was not a question. Her feelings towards Sir Hugh were clear in her eyes. When she mentioned his name, it appeared to burn her lips like acid, and her face momentarily lost its beauty.
‘Allow him to live?’ she said quietly. ‘I will give no such undertaking. Good men have died in the last days. You know Bishop Stapledon? Even though I had reason to deprecate his behaviour in recent years, I admired him. Yet the London mob hacked off his head and sent it to me. I received it at Gloucester. Poor man! Many others have been dispossessed, robbed or killed, and all because of the arch-felon Despenser. No, I will not permit him to live. He is a danger to the entire realm. His greed is without bounds.’
‘I am sad to hear that,’ Sir Ralph said. ‘You know that the King will not submit without his friend’s protection.’
‘It is sad. I am desolate at it myself. Because my husband
‘Your Majesty,’ Sir Ralph said. ‘You are here to remove the King from his throne.’
‘Would you blame me?’ she said. ‘He has taken my children from me and installed my daughters in the protective care of Despenser’s wife. Poor John is in London, I think, but all the while I was here, my children were alienated from me. So – I ask you again: would you blame me?’
