DEATH OF QUEEN ISABEL
Soon after the Prince of Wales brought John of Valois as a captive, to
London, Isabel the Fair, mother of King Edward, died at Castle Rising,
in Norfolk. No great impression was produced by the news; for the royal
lady was not known, even by sight, to the generation which won and
celebrated the battles of Cressy and Poictiers; and, but for the annual
visits of the king to his mother, her existence would almost have been
forgotten. Ever since the execution of Roger de Mortimer she had lived
at Castle Rising, secluded from the world. Her comfort was, indeed,
attended to, and she was enabled to maintain a household suitable
to her state, with ladies, and knights, and esquires of honour to
attend her; and at times she was allowed to witness plays, which were
exhibited for her diversion in the court of the castle. But she was
forbidden to go abroad, or to show herself in public; and, as I have
said, but for King Edward's visits, Englishmen would have forgotten the
woman whom their fathers branded as "the she-wolf of France."
But, however that may have been, about the time when Queen Isabel was
buried with much pomp in the church of the Grey Friars, in London, I
was, one evening, seated in my chamber at Westminster, speculating on
the probability which there was of the Prince of Wales going to take
up his residence in Guienne, of which he had been created Duke, and of
my attending him to Bordeaux, when a visitor was announced, and a lady
entered. I immediately recognised Eleanor de Gubium, and I started as
I remembered how she had pledged herself, as soon as the queen was no
more, to find me out, whether in court or camp, and reveal the secret
of my birth. It is true that my curiosity had considerably diminished,
owing to the information which I had obtained from Sir John Copeland
and others, but still as I recognised this woman, whose conduct towards
me had been so mysterious, I felt something of the old eagerness to
know all.
"Lady," said I, as I rose to receive her, "you remember your promise,
and you have come to redeem it."
"In coming," replied she, "I have two objects. The first is to do an
errand; the second is to clear up a mystery. I will first do mine
errand, and then I will clear up the mystery."
"And what is your errand?" asked I.
"My errand," she answered, "is to pay the ransom of my husband, who was
your prisoner at Poictiers."
"On my faith," said I, bluntly, "it seems to me that there must be
some mistake; inasmuch as I had but one prisoner; and he was a French
squire, known as Eustace the Strong; and he was to have paid his ransom
at Bordeaux before Christmas."
"Even so," replied Eleanor; "I am the wife of him whom you call Eustace
the Strong; and, since the ransom was not paid at Bordeaux, seeing
that you were not there to receive it, I have brought the gold to
Westminster."
And as she spoke she placed on the table a bag containing the sum for
which we had covenanted.
"Verily," exclaimed I, "this is passing strange, and much am I taken by
surprise, for I never thought of again hearing of Eustace the Strong,
still less of your coming hither to pay his ransom in the character of
his wife."
"However, sir knight," said she, suddenly rousing herself to energy,
"we have more important business. You say you remember the pledge I
gave; and now I am ready to tell how you were saved from a cruel and an
obscure fate."
"And what might that fate have been?" asked I.
"A fate which, to one of your aspiring vein," replied she, "would have
been misery itself. When Edward, Lord De Ov, was executed at Winchester
for participating in the conspiracy of the Earl of Kent, Roger De Ov,
being, by the favour of Roger De Mortimer and Queen Isabel, put in
possession of the castle and baronies of his murdered brother, was all
anxiety to remove that brother's widow and son from his path, and the
path of his heirs; and my mother, who was a Frenchwoman, and one of
the queen's gentlewomen, was intrusted with the duty of conveying them
beyond sea. The widow was to have been placed in a religious house,
and the son to have been separated from her, and brought up among the
handicraftsmen of a town in Flanders, in utter unconsciousness of his
country and kindred. No chance of golden spurs had such a project been
executed. Confess, sir knight."
"None, in truth," muttered I, "but, lady, proceed. I am impatient to
hear all."
"Well," continued Eleanor, "it would have been executed but for the
interference of my father. Being a squire of the North, and attached to
the house of De Ov, he would not hear of the murdered lord's widow or
son being conveyed from the country; and so, while my mother pretended
to execute the command, he went to Adam of Greenmead and implored
him out of his loyalty to the Merleys, from whom sprang the lady, to
shelter and protect her and her son so secretly that their existence
in England should never be discovered. Briefly, then, the yeoman
consented, and, at great risk--for few dared then to defy the vengeance
of the queen, or her favourite--he received Edward Lord De Ov's widow
and orphan at his homestead, giving out that one was his daughter, the
other was his grandson; and there you remained, your identity known to
me alone, till, in an evil hour, I, galled by some taunting words of
young Roger De Ov, threatened him with producing the true heir, and,
unhappily, told enough, not only to raise his suspicions, but to set
him on your track. Hardly were you admitted as one of the prince's
pages ere he was aware of your being the injured and disinherited
kinsman; and you know the rest, and will pardon me for having, when mad
and under the influence of a temptation I could not withstand, lent
myself to aid in alluring you into his power, though I dreamt not then
that his views in regard to you were so diabolical, and I should never
have consented to his wishes being gratified."
"Lady," said I, as she concluded, "I have listened to your tale, and
it is all very much as I suspected; and, having mused long over the
circumstances, I declare on my faith, that I see not how I can avail
myself of the knowledge without ruining my prospects, such as they are.
If I understand you aright, I could not reveal my wrongs to the world
without mixing up the name of Queen Isabel with the story in a way that
would do her little credit; and how could I, favoured as I have been by
the king and his son, do aught that would bring fresh obloquy on the
memory of a woman who was mother of the one, grandmother of the other?"
"What!" exclaimed she, manifesting much surprise, "would you not risk
royal favour and a descent on the ladder of life to prove yourself the
heir of an illustrious surname and a magnificent castle and baronies on
the banks of the Wear?"
"For the surname," answered I proudly, "I am so pleased with that which
I have made for myself, that I should hardly relish exchanging it for
another; and for the castle and baronies, I have concluded, after
reflection, that with the king's favour gone, they would be further out
of my reach than they are now."
"Shame upon your indifference!" cried Eleanor with a flashing eye. "Had
my father foreseen that you would show a spirit so unworthy of a De Ov,
he would hardly have hazarded his life, and the life of another, to
save you from the fate to which you were destined. Nor suppose, for a
moment, that inaction in your case secures you safety. I, who know your
enemy right well, tell you for your comfort that he will never desist
from his efforts till your ruin is accomplished."
"But my Lord De Ov has disappeared," said I calmly; "mayhap he is dead;
and I neither war with the dead nor expect the dead to war with me."
"Delude not yourself," replied she scornfully. "Roger De Ov lives, and
lives with as strong a desire as ever to witness your ruin. He is now
prisoner in the house of the Templars at Luz; but ere long his ransom
will be paid, and he will be at freedom. And then look to yourself."
"In truth," said I, musing, "this does alter the case, and I must look
to myself."