CHAPTER LXX

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."