The Vow on the Heron Page 9

  So he rode to Winchester, and there he found his mother and Mortimer.

  ‘Fair son,’ cried Isabella, ‘how good it is to see you here.’

  ‘I am not happy with my mission,’ he answered grimly. ‘I come to hear about my uncle Kent.’

  Mortimer was there, smiling familiarly. One would have thought Mortimer the King and he, Edward, the subject.

  ‘My lord, ever zealous in your service we could not allow one to live who was trying to raise an army against you.’ ‘I do not believe that to be true.’

  ‘There was evidence. He admitted it. He had trumped up some story about a man at Corfe whom he believed to be your father.’

  Edward was silent. He looked at this man and he thought: What happened to my father? How did he die?

  His mother was watching him closely.

  ‘Mortimer has been a good servant to you, Edward.’

  ‘And to himself, my lady,’ Edward replied; and his words sent shivers of alarm through Isabella’s heart. She thought: He is growing up. He is growing up too fast.

  ‘My dear son, your grandfather always dealt speedily with traitors so I heard. It is never good to let them live to ferment trouble.’

  ‘My uncle was a fool but not a knave.’

  ‘The actions of fools and knaves can sometimes run on similar lines,’ said Isabella. ‘Oh, Edward, I know this is a shock to you, but it was necessary. Believe me. Believe me.’

  She looked so wild that he had to soothe her. ‘I know you have my good at heart,’ he assured her.

  ‘Have I not always loved you? Were you not everything to me? When you were a baby you made all that I had suffered worth while.’

  ‘I know. I know. I do not complain of you.’

  It was pointed but Mortimer shrugged it aside.

  ‘Only a boy,’ he said afterwards to Isabella. ‘The Scottish campaign taught him that and it is something he will never forget.’

  ‘What if he discovers that you set the trap for Kent? That you arranged for his downfall?’

  ‘How could he? Has he discovered how his father died?’ ‘Not yet,’ said Isabella.

  ‘Oh, my love, what has come over you? You are so fearful these days.’

  ‘I have a premonition of evil. Oh Mortimer, we should never have killed Edmund of Kent.’

  ‘Nonsense. It has shown people that they should take care before they trifle with me.’

  He drew himself to his full height. The complacent smile was always on his lips nowadays. What was wrong with the execution of Kent? Mortimer had taken charge of much of his possessions and grown the richer for it. All over the country people would be marvelling at the might of Mortimer.

  ‘Take care,’ they would say. ‘Never offend the Earl of March.’

  THE END OF MORTIMER

  IT was ten o’clock on the morning of June the fifteenth and expectancy hung over Woodstock Palace.

  Philippa was calm; her women about her declared that that was extraordinary in one so young expecting her first child. She was just seventeen years old.

  ‘If the child is a boy,’ she had told Lady Katherine Haryngton, ‘my happiness will be complete.’

  ‘It is never wise to think too much about the sex of the child, my lady,’ was the reply.

  ‘Oh do not think I should not love a girl. I should. And it is not for myself that I want a boy, but for Edward. Imagine his joy if I could bring forth a son. Everything has been perfect so far, Katherine. I would just like it all to be crowned with a boy ... a perfect boy ... a boy who looks exactly like Edward.’

  ‘We will pray for that, my lady.’

  ‘Dear Edward. He longs to be with me now and will be I know ere long. In a way I am glad that he is not here, I may suffer and that would make him unhappy. No, I want him to arrive in time to see his boy ... and not before.’

  ‘My lady, you make great demands on fate.’

  They were good friends, she and Katherine. Katherine was the wife of Sir John Haryngton of Farleton in Lancashire, herself a wife and mother and very well able to look after Philippa.

  They discussed children and the best way to bring them up during those waiting days; and then came the fifteenth, that day which Philippa was to think of in later years as one of the happiest of her life for during the morning she gave birth to a child—a boy, who was perfect in every way and even at his birth showed himself to have the long limbs of the Plantagenets and that lusty air which Katherine Haryngton declared was obvious from the first moment she saw him.

  Exhausted but triumphant Philippa held him in her arms—this wonder child, this fruit of her love for Edward.

  ‘God has favoured me,’ she said. ‘Never was a woman more blessed. The news must be taken to Edward without delay.’

  ‘I will send your valet, Thomas Priour, to him at once,’ said Katherine.

  ‘I would he were here. I would I could see his face.’ ‘He will be here. You will see his face.’

  ‘I long to show him our boy.’

  She did not have to wait. Edward came immediately. He had given the delighted Thomas Priour a reward of forty marks a year for bringing him the good news.

  Now he strode into his wife’s chamber, knelt by the bed and kissed her hand. There were tears on her cheeks.

  ‘I never knew there could be such happiness,’ said the Queen.

  ‘Nor I,’ replied the King, ‘and only you could give this to me.’

  They marvelled over the child. Edward had to assure himself that the reports of him were true. Yes, there he lay in his state cradle decorated with paintings of four evangelists, big for his age, long-legged and with a down of flaxen hair. A true Plantagenet.

  ‘An Edward,’ said Philippa.

  So that was the name he was given.

  * * *

  Edward was seventeen and seven months old when his son was born, and this event following so closely on the execution of his uncle which had been a great shock to him, jerked him out of his boyhood and into manhood.

  There were certain facts he had refused to face before, and this was because of his mother’s involvement. It was entirely due to her that he had not acted before. He had refused to look facts boldly in the face because he knew that if he did he would find something which would horrify him.

  He was fast realizing that he could no longer delay looking at the truth and in order to do so clearly he must forget that Isabella was his mother; he must escape from that spell she had cast on him from the days of his childhood. She had always been apart from other people; she was more beautiful than any he had ever seen; when she had ridden out with her as a boy and had heard the people’s cheers she had seemed to him like a goddess. It was only now that he was forcing himself to see her as she really was.

  The man he hated was Mortimer. For some time the Earl of March had shown that he considered himself the most important man in the kingdom. He had taken the money received from Scotland as though he were the King—only a King would not have used that money for his own personal needs—at least Edward would not. Edward had now heard the details of the Earl of Kent’s execution. Mortimer had killed him because he had wanted him out of the way. There were rumours that Mortimer had set the scene for his death by trumping up a story about Edward the Second’s still being alive.

  Mortimer was a rogue and a villain and there would be no good rule in England while he lived.

  But what concerned Edward was his mother.

  Philippa was in a state of bliss, refusing to be separated from her baby, feeding the child herself, rushing to his cradle on awaking every morning to make sure that he had survived the night. If he whimpered she was overcome with anxieties; when he smiled her happiness was overwhelming. It was fortunate that the young Prince was a lusty child and gave little cause for anxiety.

  Edward did not wish to disturb her at this time by imparting his fears to her. Yet he wished to confide in someone whom he could trust. There was one among his friends for whom he had a particular liking. This
was William de Montacute who was in his late twenties—old enough to give helpful advice, but young enough to be almost of Edward’s generation.

  Montacute had been a good friend to Edward. He had accompanied him on the humiliating Scottish campaign and had travelled with him to France wnen he had gone to pay homage to the King there. Over the last two years the friendship had ripened and is was in Montacute that he decided to confide.

  Montacute was quick to agree that Edward would never be the King in truth while Mortimer lived. He heard whispering which did not reach Edward’s ears. The people were saying that Mortimer was the King and they did not like that. They wanted the country to be rid of Mortimer and their true King to govern them.

  ‘I can speak frankly to you,’ said Edward. ‘There is my mother.’

  ‘And do I have leave to speak frankly to you, my lord?’

  ‘I see that we shall not advance very far without frankness.’

  ‘Then, my lord, all the world knows that your mother is Mortimer’s mistress. She is bewitched by him and this is why he has such power. She will deny him nothing and when he decided to murder your uncle of Kent, she agreed with him.’

  ‘I know it,’ said the King.

  ‘Then my lord, imitate his tactics. Why should he not be arrested as he arrested Kent? Why should he not be submitted to a hasty trial and as hasty a death?’

  ‘I would not want this country to be plunged into civil war.’

  ‘Civil war, my lord! Do you think there are any men in this land who would fight for Mortimer? There is none so hated as he. Gaveston found none to stand by him. Nor did the Despensers. These favourites are hated by the people. Nay, my lord. It should be a simple matter. Arrest Mortimer. God knows there is enough against him. Lose no time. Seek the first opportunity. Bring him to trial. He will quickly be condemned and there be an end to him.’

  ‘And my mother?’

  Montacute was silent for a few moments, then he said : ‘You will find out after Mortimer is gone, what is the best way to deal with her.’

  ‘I am calling a Parliament at the end of the month. It shall be in Nottingham. Mortimer will be there. Meanwhile we will find out all we can of his evil deeds. It will not be difficult I am sure.’

  ‘Then,’ said Montacute, let us prepare for Nottingham at the end of October.’

  * * *

  Isabella knew something was wrong. Edward was too young to hide it from her. He was aware of this and avoided her. She heard rumours of those who worked for her in secret that the King was planning something.

  She warned Mortimer, but he was complacent as ever. ‘Do you doubt my ability to deal with our boy?’ he asked.

  ‘Gentle Mortimer, I believe our boy has grown up considerably in these last few weeks.’

  ‘My love, he is a father. I hear the new Prince is a lusty little fellow. It will be years before we need concern ourselves with him. But his birth has given our boy a feeling that he is at last a man. There’s nothing more than that, my love.’

  ‘He is a man, Mortimer,’ said Isabella quietly.

  When she was worried voices came to her in the night. Sometimes she would awaken and whisper: ‘You are there, Edward, are you not? Mocking me in the shadows. Is it you who are sowing evil thoughts in Edward’s mind? Do not harm Mortimer, Edward. He is my love, my life. I am bound to him as I never thought to be to any man. Do not harm Mortimer.’

  She was always afraid she would awaken Mortimer. She dreaded his derisive laughter. He was always loving though—passionately loving. Sometimes she thought: Yes, I am a Queen. He needs me as I need him.

  There was to be a Parliament at Nottingham. There was something special about this Parliament. Some of Mortimer’s spies had discovered that the King was seeing a great deal of William Montacute and one of their servants had overheard them, talking of taking Mortimer at Nottingham.

  Mortimer laughed aloud when he heard. ‘Let them try,’ he said.

  But Isabella was uneasy. ‘We could refuse to go,’ she said. ‘You could feign illness.’

  ‘Nay, my love. We’ll go. We’ll lodge in the castle there. It is the strongest fortress in the neighbourhood. We’ll take possession of it and see what happens from there.’

  Mortimer and Isabella rode to Nottingham surrounded by their retinue of knights, which grew more and more splendid every time they appeared, proclaiming as they did the wealth and might of Mortimer.

  For all his bravado Mortimer was affected by Isabella’s fears. He knew that a number of those who had supported him were now slipping away from him and it occurred to him that those who stayed with him did so because they were so involved in his schemes that they would be judged guilty even if they left.

  It was too late now for them to leave. Too late. Those words had an ominous ring.

  He had taken the precaution of reaching Nottingham before the King did and that enabled him to take possession of the castle there in the name of Queen Isabella.

  It occurred to the Queen that the King might be given the keys of the castle so she set about having the outer locks changed. ‘Every night,’ she said, ‘the keys shall be brought to me and I shall keep them under my pillow where I shall know that they are safe.’

  The castle at Nottingham was indeed a fortress. It had been said that it was impregnable and could never be taken except by famine. It was built on the summit of a rock one hundred and thirty-three feet high and even before William the Conqueror had ordered the castle to be built there had been a tower there which had been used by the Danes against Ethelred.

  Meanwhile Montacute had arrived in Nottingham, his plan being to seize Mortimer at the Parliament and then bring him to trial. By this time Mortimer was aware of what was about to happen and he knew what his fate would be if he were taken.

  How wise he had been never to travel anywhere without his armed knights! There were one hundred and eighty of them—a little army, who would defend their master with their lives for what would they have if they lost him?

  He would not emerge from the castle. He dared not. It was well fortified. It was well stocked. They could lay siege to it if they wished but they would not find it easy to take Mortimer.

  The Queen was in despair. ‘Who would have thought that it would have come to this?’ she cried. ‘I must speak to my son.’

  ‘My dear,’ replied Mortimer, ‘it is too late to speak to him. He will never listen to us again. He is no longer our boy. He believes himself to be a man and a king.’

  ‘Then woe betide us,’ mourned the Queen. ‘I hear that he is making enquiries about his father’s death. Oh, I knew it would come.’

  ‘Rest assured I shall find a way out of this. This is not the end of Mortimer. I have not come so far to go the way Kent went.’

  ‘Oh Mortimer, Mortimer,’ mourned Isabella, ‘do not talk so.’

  ‘Isabella! ‘ admonished Mortimer. ‘What has happened to you? Where is my brave Queen who was once ready to face the world?’

  ‘It was before ...’ she murmured.

  He did not ask her to go on. He knew. Before the murder of Edward. Before she had those dreams when he came to her in the dead of the night.

  ‘Now,’ he said briskly, ‘we must think carefully. We cannot afford to make a mistake now.’

  He sent for Sir William Eland, the governor of the castle. ‘You understand,’ he said, ‘that we are now a fortress. Our enemies are in the town of Nottingham. A man in my position is certain to have enemies. I have reason to believe that Sir William Montacute is one of these. He may try to enter the castle, he is to be kept out at all cost.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ said Sir William Eland.

  ‘I need hardly remind you,’ went on Mortimer, ‘that it would be dangerous to disobey my orders.’

  ‘I understand, my lord.’

  ‘Then all is well. We will remain in the castle. Let our enemies come. They cannot get in. The keys are to be delivered to Queen Isabella every night. Is that clear?’

  ‘It
is perfectly clear, my lord.’

  Mortimer dismissed the governor and went to Isabella. ‘We are perfectly safe here,’ he said. ‘All the passes of the castle are manned by my friends. They will never desert me because they have been my supporters for too long. Moreover they are certain that soon I shall outwit this little band who come to take me. Once you have talked to the King you will win him to our side. Have you not always done so?’

  Isabella agreed that this was so, but she sensed change in the air. Her voices were coming to her very frequently now.

  ‘We are safe while we are together,’ said Mortimer. ‘The King would never harm you.’

  She was not sure. The King had changed. He was no longer the boy but the man.

  * * *

  The King had arrived in Nottingham. Montacute was already there and he acquainted Edward with what had happened. Mortimer, sensing what they were about, had taken possession of the castle and there was no way into him. He had skilfully arranged that all the gates were securely guarded by men whom he trusted, people whose fortunes would rise or fall with him. The keys had been changed and were in his mother’s possession. Every night she slept with them under her pillows.

  ‘What of the governor of the castle?’

  ‘He feigns to be a friend of Mortimer, but we could sound him.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Sir William Eland.’

  ‘He has always been a good and loyal knight.’

  ‘He is doubtless afraid of Mortimer as so many have been. They know him as ruthless and brutal and for so long he has had his way. It is said that the only way to keep alive is to be on good terms with Mortimer. I shall find means of sounding him.’

  That was not necessary. Sir William Eland came to them.

  He was the King’s man, he said. It was an unusual situation for the Queen Mother and her son were on separate sides whereas previously they had been together. He hated Mortimer. Who did not hate Mortimer? Who did not deplore his influence with the Queen Mother? And now that it seemed that there were two sides he would take that of his King to whom he had sworn allegiance.

  ‘So, my lord,’ he said, ‘I come to tell you of a way into the castle which is known to very few people. There is a passage which is under the moat and comes up in the keep. It was made by a Saxon prince during the Danish invasions. You could enter through this hole and thus take possession of the castle.’