‘Mortimer,’ she murmured. ‘This is part of the vision perhaps.’
‘Nay, nay,’ he said. ‘Since I first saw you it has happened often in my dreams― now comes the reality.’
‘I― the Queen,’ she began.
‘My Queen,’ he said, ‘my Queen for evermore.’
He was a practised lover. He had known many women, she guessed that.
And what had she known? Reluctant Edward! How she hated Edward, more so now she knew what it was to lie with a real man.
‘Mortimer, Mortimer,’ she moaned, ‘my dearest Mortimer from the first moment I knew it was you―’
His answer was in his fervent lovemaking. They lay side by side, fingers entwined.
‘There is so much we should talk of,’ she said.
But there was no time for talk. They must make love again and again.
Nothing else would satisfy him― or her.
How she wished that she could hold back time! How was she going to live without Mortimer after this? She was a passionate woman who had been stifling her real emotions for too long. Now they were breaking forth. It was a flood which was bursting the banks; it was flowing over her resolutions, her ambitions, everything. There was nothing in her life just now but her need of Mortimer.
It was more than consummation of their love. It was the beginning of a new life for her. Mortimer was going to be more than her lover. That was something they both knew instinctively; and she would never forget that although he was aware of this yet he must cast it all aside that they might first shake this fierce desire which possessed them both.
‘Have you any doubt,’ murmured Mortimer, ‘that you and I were made for each other?’
‘None,’ she answered. ‘Oh my dear one, how thankful I am that I have found you.’
But they must part. How frustrating that was. If only they could have lain together through the night and talked in between bouts of lovemaking. What bliss that would have been.
‘Yes, at least we have had this. Let us not forget that,’ said Mortimer.
‘And when shall we be together again?’ cried Isabella. ‘Alspaye will know what has happened.’
‘1 believe we can trust Alspaye.’
‘And the guards? We cannot drug them every night.’
‘Nay, but we must find a means.’
‘How? Where? In the garden? In your cell? No, gentle Mortimer, my love, we must find a means for I cannot endure to be away from you. You have shown me what I have missed. Oh Mortimer, why were you not the son of the King of England?’
‘My Queen, my Queen! I could never have believed there was such a woman. I would I could carry you off to my Marcher country. There I would hold you against all who came to take you from me.’
‘One day, Mortimer― One day. I swear to it. I swear. Oh there is so much to say. But you are here. We must free you― That is the first thing. We must free you from the Tower.’
‘When can I be with you again?’
‘We must go carefully. There is so much at stake.’
‘But I must see you soon. How can I stay away from you after this?
Knowing that we are both in this Tower together and these thick walls divide us―’
‘I shall arrange something. Dear Mortimer, you must dress now. You must go back to your dungeon. Alspaye cannot wait much longer. The guards will be awakening from their sleep. Dear Mortimer, your life is the most precious thing on earth to me. It must be preserved― for the future. One day, my love― one day―’
He saw that she was right. They dressed hastily. One last embrace and Alspaye came in to conduct him to his dungeon.
She was being driven mad. She had seen him in the garden but what could they do there but touch hands? She could stand close to him, feel the strength of his body. It maddened her, and he shared her feelings. They had wakened such massive floods of passion in each other that it was almost impossible to restrain them.
‘What can we do?’ cried Mortimer in despair.
It was not easy to arrange another night even with Alspaye’s connivance. He had of course guessed the state of affairs and understood the Queen’s emotion.
Poor woman, had she not been married to Edward all these years?
There was one night when it was arranged that a few doors should be unlocked and the guards drunk again and this time when the lovers had slaked their passion to a certain degree, Isabella insisted that the first thing that must be done was to arrange Mortimer’s escape from the Tower.
‘I will go to the Marcher country and you will join me there,’ he said. ‘We will raise an army against the King.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘not the Marcher country. That could be unsafe. You must go to France.’
‘And you?’
‘I would find some means of joining you there. My brother would help us.
And we would come against Edward and the Despensers. I will get my son with me and I shall be fighting to put him on the throne. You and I, gentle Mortimer, will rule for him until he is of age.’
‘If this could but be achieved―’
‘Why should it not? The people love me―’ She paused. They had loved her because they said she was not only beautiful but virtuous; she had allowed herself to be humiliated by Edward and had still borne him children. When they knew that Mortimer was her paramour would they love her just the same? But of course they would. She would charm them with her beauty and she would only be giving them her son— so like his grandfather— in place of their dissolute King.
‘Yes,’ she went on, ‘the people would be on my side. They hate the Despensers. They want them banished. We should have the people with us.’
‘It shall be,’ cried Mortimer. ‘Oh, my Queen, you have brought love such as I never dreamed of into my life and with it hope.’
She had never been so excited. Everything she had always wanted was coming to her. She had always known that hers was a sensuous and passionate nature and she marvelled that she had been able to suppress her natural desires so long. But then she had needed a Mortimer to arouse them. And here he was and with him came the possibility that the dreams she had long cherished were about to come true.
What she had wanted was a strong man to stand beside her. Here he was without the slightest doubt. And this man, who was to have her complete trust and who was to stand beside her no matter what happened to them, must inevitably be her lover.
Life had never seemed so promising.
Now she must give herself to the task with her unbounded energy. It would help to take her mind from the yearnings of her body.
And that task was to free Mortimer from the Tower.
She rode out of the Tower. She was leaving the palace for a few days. It was better so in case there should have been talk. Moreover she had work to do. She was going to see Adam of Orlton, the Bishop of Hereford.
It was never easy for the Queen to go anywhere without taking with her a large company so it was fortunate that Adam was at this time in London and she could ride out as though merely taking the air.
The Bishop received her warmly. He was in disgrace with the King but the Queen had never been unfriendly towards him. He was against the Despensers and none could be more so than she was. She believed that she could rely on Adam’s help.
He himself would have been in the Tower if it had not been that he was a churchman and under the protection of Canterbury and York so she could be sure of his sympathy.
‘My lord Bishop,’ she said, ‘I have matters of great moment to discuss with you. I need your help.’
‘My lady,’ replied the Bishop, ‘if it is in my power to give it, that help is yours.’