The Lion and the Leopard Read online

  * * *

  Following the signing of the decree, His Grace retreated to the Painted Chamber in the Palace of Westminster, where he brooded over his loss. Richard occupied the Prince's Chamber, parallel to Edward's. Only yards away the River Thames slipped past, and sometimes early of a summer morn, when the palace was asleep and London's ships were to dock, Richard imagined he could hear the water whispering past. Often his brother and Hugh Despenser had enjoyed the royal barge or stood upon the quay talking as they idly tossed tidbits to the royal swans.

  The chamber's once-blazing fire, lighted to take the chill off the night, had burned down to scarlet embers, partially hiding the brilliant wall frescoes. The battle and biblical scenes done in backgrounds of ultramarine and vermilion, and riotous with greens, purples, blues, crimsons, whites, blacks and golds were hardly restful. Across from Richard, with a folding table between, sat Phillip Rendell. Richard's squire, Michael Hallam, kept silent watch beside the door. A flask of wine, nearly empty, had been placed upon the table. During the past hours he and Phillip had caught up with their months of separation, but repeatedly the conversation had returned to the present crisis.

  "The Despensers brought their banishment upon themselves." Richard stretched his legs toward the hearth. Phillip, who had been studying the fire's embers, swirled the last dregs of wine around in his goblet.

  "They refused access to His Grace unless a bribe was offered," Richard said, "or one of them hovered nearby like a wet-nurse after her charge. They answered petitions as they pleased, replaced good officials with corrupt, appointed justices who were ignorant of the law of the land, and used false jurors to pervert that same law."

  Phillip nodded. "And they finagled into prison any who displeased them or whose lands they coveted. A murrain on the both of them."

  "So why then do I not feel jubilant about their exile? Even if Thomas Lancaster triumphed, 'tis also best for England. And yet I cannot rejoice."

  "His Grace loves the Despensers and you love your brother. His pain is your pain."

  Richard slumped in the uncomfortable wooden-backed chair, suddenly weary to the core of his being. A plethora of unrelated images crowded his benumbed brain. Queen Isabella kneeling before her husband pleading for him to banish the Despensers... If only she loved Edward more, perhaps she could prevent his unnatural attachments... Thomas Lancaster's triumphant smile... Edward's shaking hands...

  Sometimes when events weighed heavy, Richard slipped at midnight to Westminster Abbey where he would listen to the monks recite their psalms and texts. He would relax with the rhythm of their voices and drink in the beauty of Edward the Confessor's shrine, located behind the high altar. In the dancing candle flame the bejeweled shrine atop its marble and mosaic base, decorated with images of kings and saints, emanated peace as well as beauty. The monks' voices blended with echoes from ceremonies long past and Richard felt a communion with his saintly forbear, a soaring of the spirit that left him at least momentarily refreshed.

  But tonight he knew his thoughts would be on darker things. He would be thinking about death, and about the monks who would pray at his tomb. Only for him there would be no bejeweled shrine. Edward the Confessor had been a holy man. Richard knew that he was anything but that. Nor, he feared, was his half-brother the king.

  "'Twould be so much simpler," he said aloud, "if we could choose whom we love. But we cannot."

  Phillip stared into the fire. "Or how best to love them." He refilled his cup with the last of the wine. "I have a son whom I love. And a wife that any man would desire."

  Richard was surprised at the personal turn of the conversation. Phillip usually kept such matters to himself. "But 'tis not enough?" He vaguely remembered Phillip's wife—auburn hair, a pleasant face and quiet manner. But a son, wouldn't that bring contentment? "You have what every man strives for. That and land and an occasional war to fight, isn't that what life is all about?"

  Phillip ran his hand distractedly through his hair. "I have presided over so many manor courts they invade my dreams. I have passed judgment over trespassing pigs and wandering sheep, and the amount of shillings owed me or my father-in-law for rents, pretended interest in a dozen stolen eggs and assessed just fines when Tim defames Jack's corn so that no one will purchase it. I have inspected more granaries, storehouses, cattle byres, and slaughterhouses than England has shrines. I know more about crop yields than my brother Humphrey, by the cross!"

  Richard chuckled. "You make our lives sound dull indeed."

  "If I had not the Scots and the treachery of the Despensers or Thomas Lancaster to get me away at times, I would go mad."

  "If a good crusade was being fought, or you had committed some great sin so that you could haunt every shrine from here to Jerusalem, your life, I think, would improve. Mayhap my brother could start a war with France or Spain or even the Saracens. He has alienated everyone else."

  Phillip's mouth twisted. "We have become as wedded to our land as our villeins. A hundred years from now no one will be able to tell us apart." He sighed. "I am no longer a child. Why must I still chase the dreams of children?"

  "What is it exactly that you want?"

  "To fly," Phillip whispered. "To be free and unencumbered, to go where I please when I please and not be chained to routine and society and 'shoulds' and 'musts.'"

  "I would fly, too." Richard reached across the table and rested a hand upon Phillip's shoulder. "But I think the difference between us, my friend, is that I know 'tis impossible."

  Chapter 14

  Leeds Castle

  It was in October of 1321 that a great wrong was committed against Queen Isabella. Thinking to visit her dower castle of Leeds on her way to Canterbury, she was fired upon by the wife of its castellan, Bartholomew Badlesmere. After a raving Lady Margaret denied Isabella and her retinue entrance, she ordered her archers to loose their arrows. When the shooting ended, six of Isabella's subjects sprawled dead upon the grass.

  Stunned, humiliated, frightened, Isabella retreated to Leeds Priory, and there, with her retinue and twenty canons of the Order of St. Augustine, spent the night. The priory was one of the richest in all Kent, and for hundreds of years had provided hospitality to pilgrims on their way to Thomas Becket's shrine.

  The queen's first coherent act had been to send for Richard of Sussex, who had earlier detoured to Boxley Abbey in order to view its fabled Rood of Grace. He had been miles away when Margaret Badlesmere had committed her treason.

  While awaiting Sussex, Isabella ranted that the only ecstasies her husband's bastard brother truly desired lay between the legs of some slut, not upon Christ's cross. How she hated Richard of Sussex at times, for he reminded her of what Edward Caernarvon might have been without the weaknesses...

  After the earl arrived she berated him in front of all and sundry. "While my life was being threatened you were gaping at some talking statue everyone knows is counterfeit. You have been completely remiss in your duty to me and your brother, who entrusted me to your care."

  "Madam, I had no idea—"

  Isabella stomped her slippered foot. "Your queen was nearly killed!" She began pacing the small room, paternoster of Hansa amber between her fingers. "Oh, I knew Margaret Badlesmere was a traitorous bitch, but I would not have thought her capable of this! I will have that creature's head and her husband's too, if his hand was truly in this. And you, my ever devout brother-in-law, will execute my vengeance. Do you understand?"

  Richard risked an amused glance at his squire, Michael Hallam, who stood guard at the door. Though Lady Badlesmere had committed an unpardonable act, he did not find Isabella's personal humiliation totally reprehensible.

  "We will march on Leeds tomorrow," she continued. "I'll see that bitch and everyone inside Leeds hanging from the gibbet ere nightfall."

  While contradicting her foolishness, Richard managed to keep his tone respectful "That might not be the wisest course of action, Madam. If we handle this matter properly, mayhap we could turn it int
o some sort of victory for your husband."

  "Edward? What has he to do with this? He is enjoying the Isle of Thanet with dear 'Nephew Hugh.' What a fine joke banishment has proven to be. I see less of my husband now than before. Perhaps he will take to pirating, as Hugh has done. He obviously finds any diversion preferable to governing England."

  "Nevertheless, Madam, His Grace might use this incident to good cause."

  Isabella shook her fist at Richard. "I do not want to wait on my husband. The glorious victor of Bannockburn? Jesu! My lord king is incapable of finding the front of an army, let alone leading it. Nay, I want Margaret Badlesmere's head now, and if you are too afraid I'll find someone else to do my bidding."

  Richard remained outwardly calm, though he felt like leaping upon Isabella. He misliked her implications concerning his bravery, as well as her remarks concerning Edward.

  No wonder my brother seeks solace elsewhere. A dragon would provide more pleasant companionship.

  "I can hardly be frightened of a madwoman, Madam, not when I am daily surrounded by such. But His Grace is in need of a popular cause. I am not."

  Seeking to ease her trembling, Isabella motioned one of her ladies to pour her wine. She worried her beads and worked her mouth. She paced. She accepted the goblet. "Why," she asked, voice cracking, "why would she fire on me, her queen?"

  Richard glanced once more at Michael Hallam. I can think of a thousand reasons.

  '"Tis obvious that Lord Badlesmere has totally thrown in his lot with the Marchers and Cousin Lancaster. They are behind this mess, I'll warrant. But if the bitch thinks Lancaster will ride to save her scrawny neck she'll have a long wait. Thomas of Lancaster might now be riding high, but he hates Badlesmere. Furthermore, he still canna make up his mind to rise from his bed in the morning, let alone start civil war."

  Isabella eyed Richard over the rim of her goblet. A lifetime of training, of hiding her emotions, had resurfaced enough for her to outwardly gain control.

  "I cannot truly believe that Lord Badlesmere would do this—he who has eaten the king's salt and broken his bread." Her tone was wistful. "Politically, he has been moderate, has he not? And his family has always supported the crown."

  "Many things are hard to understand since the Parliament of the White Bands." Richard's manner softened. "I think we have all been confused at the odd twists to events."

  Isabella sighed. "What would you have me do then?"

  "Ride on to Canterbury—complete your pilgrimage. I will post my squire with a few men here to see that the bitch Badlesmere doesn't slip away and I'll ride to my brother. Your subjects love you well. His Grace will have no trouble raising an army to avenge your humiliation. And when he is seen heading it perhaps the people will look more tolerantly on his past—indiscretions."

  Isabella nodded. Crossing to a leaded window she looked outside. It was too dark to see, but the queen was gazing into her past, to the first time she'd met Edward. At the cathedral of Boulogne. She'd been twelve and she'd thought her fiancé, with his height and fine clothes, the handsomest man in all the world. But Edward had acted coarse as a peasant and when they'd landed at Dover he'd fallen on Piers Gaveston, crying, "Brother, brother!" Then Isabella's heart had frozen. Nor had it thawed.

  "My lord Sussex?"

  "Madam?"

  "You do not believe that my husband would have manufactured an incident, do you? That he sent me to Leeds knowing I would be fired upon?"

  "Nay! His Grace would never expose his wife and the mother of his children to danger."

  Richard spoke with more conviction than he felt. Truthfully, he didn't know what Edward might do. Following the Despensers' banishment, the king had openly vowed to annihilate all those who had stood against him. Because neither his financial nor military position allowed him to destroy his enemies simultaneously, he'd sought the weakest first. Had that been Bartholomew Badlesmere? Badlesmere had long walked a tightrope between kinship alliances among the Marchers and loyalty to the crown. Leeds Castle was easily isolated from the rest of England and was surrounded by estates friendly to the king. Had Edward sent Isabella to Leeds hoping somehow to reclaim it without the expense and risk of a military campaign?

  Since the Despensers' banishment, King Edward spent an increasing amount of time brooding and scheming to accomplish his favorites' return. 'Twas impossible to know what he might think or do.

  * * *

  After much dithering on the part of King Edward, the earl of Sussex convinced him that they must crush Bartholomew Badlesmere.

  Edward issued a proclamation ordering the sheriffs of Hampshire, Surrey, and Sussex to assemble every man between sixteen and sixty before Leeds Castle by Friday, October twenty-third.

  "I will brook no delays or excuses," His Grace said, warming to the pending conflict. "I will show my barons that they cannot thwart my will."

  "Do not forget our own citizens here in London," Richard reminded him. "They love your consort, never fear. All will flock to your standard."

  Indeed they did. Mounted knights, trained bands of townspeople, yeomen, and ordinary folk assembled at Leeds. Wavering lords rallied to the king and the Marcher barons sent word to Bartholomew Badlesmere that they would not assist him.

  Thomas Lancaster didn't even bother to reply to Badlesmere's repeated pleas.

  * * *

  Leeds fell within a week. Edward Caernarvon's justice was swift and merciless. He ordered Walter Culpepper, the castellan who had obeyed Lady Badlesmere's order to fire upon Isabella, tied to the tail of a horse, dragged from the castle, and hanged from its drawbridge alongside a dozen other garrison leaders.

  Then, leading a triumphant army, His Grace returned to London. Lady Badlesmere and her family rode with him and upon arrival were packed off to London's Tower. Appealing again to Thomas Lancaster and Roger Mortimer, Badlesmere tried unsuccessfully to raise a force against the king.

  King Edward's magnates were astonished by their sovereign's uncharacteristic brutality at Leeds. This was the first application of martial law to internal discord, and the implications uneased them. Opposition to a monarch might no longer culminate in the chance to at least be heard in a court of law; rather it might result in the immediate loss of one's head. Baronial strength was now so divided that Edward believed he could obtain enough support to do as he pleased, and he moved swiftly. Now he was certain it was just a matter of time before he would once again gaze into the face of his beloved "Nephew Hugh."

  Chapter 15

  Fordwich, Kent

  After issuing warrants for the arrests of Bartholomew Badlesmere and the leading Marcher barons, King Edward travelled west, accompanied by many of the lords who'd rallied to his side at Leeds. Richard of Sussex remained behind to oversee Badlesmere's lands, currently in the hands of royal keepers. He was also appointed constable of Dover Castle and travelled to nearby Chilham Castle, where he set up primary residence. Chilham was Badlesmere's birthplace and had been granted to him by King Edward in 1312. But Badlesmere was an outlaw now and all his property forfeit.

  Richard enjoyed Chilham, not only because of its peaceful atmosphere, but for its proximity to Phillip Rendell. Phillip's quiet companionship provided a calming influence, and these days Richard was in need of calming. On December 8, 1321, his brother had ruled that the decree banishing the Despensers was invalid and officially recalled his favorites to England.

  "Treachery!" the Marcher lords cried, and, led by Roger Mortimer, hurried north to seek support from Thomas Lancaster. Lancaster accused the Despensers of piracy and the king of supporting them and gave his royal cousin until December 20 to respond to his accusations.

  Edward, however, was done with negotiating. Sensing that their sovereign's star was in the ascendancy, several of his former Marcher enemies rode to Cirencester, where His Grace resided, and officially submitted to him. Lancaster's own knights and bannerets, increasingly upset over Thomas's treatment of England's rightful sovereign, also began deserting him. Well plea
sed with events, Edward made plans for Christmas, and afterward, for a final confrontation with Lancaster.

  Angry and hurt over his brother's broken promises, Richard vowed to stay as far removed from politics as possible. He spent most afternoons and evenings at Fordwich Castle, where spiced malmsey and laughter flowed freely and their king's machinations could temporarily be forgotten.

  With his knowledge of everything from alchemy and philosophy to travel, Hugh d'Arderne was an interesting conversationalist; the burgeoning relationship between Michael Hallam and the lady Eleanora provided Richard secret amusement, and little Tom was an enjoyable substitute for the royal princes, whom he missed.

  Only Maria Rendell caused Richard a measure of disquiet. She had grown into a true beauty, with a lushness of face and form that made a man think of bed sport, though her innocence, not to mention her obvious love for her husband, were obvious.

  Easy enough, he told himself, not to dwell on her. Surrounded as he was by servants, courtiers, and sycophants who desired his company only for their own material gain, Richard knew how dearly bought was true friendship. He only trusted two men, Michael Hallam and Phillip Rendell, with his life and his love. Increasingly, he reminded himself that no woman, no matter how desirable, was worth the price of a friendship.

  * * *

  On the afternoon of December 21, Maria bundled up little Tom and rode to Fordwich town. Phillip was trying to finish their son's Christmas gift, a set of wooden weapons, and found it impossible with Tom relentlessly trailing him.

  Hoping to please her husband, Maria had suggested the excursion. "Today is the feast day of Tom's namesake. I thought I would surprise him with a visit to Fordwich's quay and then to the George and Dragon for a tart."

  Phillip rewarded her with a smile which caused Maria to leave Fordwich Castle in an ebullient mood. Sometimes her husband seemed so withdrawn, which made her strive all the harder to earn his love. Since Richard of Sussex's frequent visits, she fancied that Phillip was becoming even more distant. She worried that Sussex was once again usurping her position.