‘I too fear that the castle itself cannot survive long with the city in Mortimer’s hands,’ Sir Ralph said.
‘Why?’ Despenser shot out. ‘There are sufficient men there to protect it, and they should have been provisioned well. Why wouldn’t they be able to defend the castle? It was held before, when the city rebelled against the King ten years ago.’
‘Sir Hugh, when the castle was last attacked, it survived a long while. But then there was a strong garrison inside, and they knew that the posse comitatus was outside the city. They had a clear view of their rescuers. This time, they know that the Queen is all-powerful. How can even your father maintain the fighting spirit of the men there, when they know that the King has no force with him. How can they hope to be relieved? Without that hope, there can be no commitment to holding on to the castle. Why would men risk their lives for a vain hope?’
‘No. They can’t have given up.’ Despenser had gone even paler of hue. ‘My father’s there, he’ll put some spirit into them. The garrison won’t submit so easily with him in charge. He’s a good motivator. Knows his men.’
‘Sir Hugh, I believe that the city must fall before any form of relief could be gathered,’ Sir Ralph said. ‘For that reason, I recommend that you, Sire, should seek to return to your ship and make your way to Ireland. At least there the population may have remained loyal to you.’
‘My people are loyal! It is only the damned barons who seek more control over me – they’re the ones who want to have me as a puppet, pulling my strings for me, telling me what I can and can’t do. Well, I won’t let them! I will gather a new host from here, from the Welsh.’
‘Your Royal Highness,’ Sir Ralph began.
‘Shut up!’ Despenser snapped. ‘The King has spoken, Sir Ralph, and you would do well to consider how to help him, not hinder him with pointless objections – if you wish to keep your head on your shoulders!’
Bristol Castle
The hall was filled with smoke from the fire, and the steward had already sent for more wood that was better aged and would smoke less.
When he was led in, at first Earl Hugh of Winchester was hopeful that this might prove to be a swift meeting designed to fine him and perhaps strip him of some of his honours, but the first glance about the chamber was enough to drive a dagger of ice into his spine.
If it were not for the strong arm of his servant, he would have toppled and fallen right there before the men, but he managed to make his way to the chair which had been set before the tribunal.
He could feel his legs tremble on his way there. It was the longest walk he had ever undertaken. His worst enemies were seated staring at him as he crossed the floor.
Sir Roger Mortimer, the Earls of Kent and Norfolk, brothers to King Edward himself, then two retainers of the Earl of Lancaster, who had himself been killed by the King, and Henry of Lancaster too. All detested the Earl and his son, and all would take delight in destroying him. He knew that.
His life was to end.
‘My lords, where is the Queen?’ he asked, and was surprised by how firm and steady his voice sounded.
‘Silence, Earl Winchester. You have no right to speak in this court,’ Mortimer said flatly. ‘If you speak, you will be gagged.’
‘May I not speak in my defence?’
‘No. We accord you the same rights you accorded to the Earl of Lancaster when he was captured. Your crimes are so manifest and obnoxious to all thinking men that you deserve no defence.’
‘Of what am I accused?’
‘Silence!’ Sir Roger snapped. He nodded to a clerk at a table nearby, who stood and nervously began reading from a list.
Earl Hugh listened with his face kept carefully blank. There was a slight pain in his breast over his heart, and his bowels felt as though they had turned to water, but over all that he was aware of a slow, building anger. That these men should think they could dare to bring him to trial! He was an Earl, the same rank as the highest in this chamber, and they thought they could serve punishment to him like some churl from the street? They would learn differently. Surely the Queen wouldn’t allow them to continue, once she heard. He had never hurt her. And the fact that he had agreed to give up the castle must count for something. He only prayed that his son would get to Ireland, that his own predicament would delay matters sufficiently for his son to make good his escape.
Not that they would dare to carry out any punishment. Not of a truly condign nature. He was a friend to the King, and Edward’s fury would know no bounds, were he to learn that someone had hurt one of his chief advisers.
So, his crimes were legion. He was to pay for supporting his son and his son’s government, for making laws that stopped men from defending themselves in court, for enriching himself at the expense of others, of stealing from the Church, and for participating in the execution of Earl Thomas of Lancaster, the Earl who had himself tried to accroach all power in the realm to himself, and control the King. A number of crimes. All perhaps repellent to the men here, while all were also designed to service the King. It was he who had demanded the removal of Thomas of Lancaster; he who had wished for strong government. Earl Hugh’s crime was to have supported his son. He was a father! Who would not do the same in those circumstances?
He opened his mouth to reject these ridiculous allegations, but Mortimer glanced at him, and in that look, Earl Hugh saw pure malevolent glee. This was not a show trial to scare a man before throwing him into confinement. This was a trial for his life, but a trial at which no argument might be submitted in his defence. His judges put on a fine show of deliberating over possible penalties, but the crimes themselves were accepted as proven. And there was only one punishment to suit the crimes, he realised: he was to die.
It was curious, to sit here and listen to the men talking about him in this abstract manner, as though he was not there. Only Mortimer and Lancaster would occasionally look at him, as though to remind themselves how repellent he truly was. The others tended to avert their eyes, as though they too felt a little of the guilt of sentencing a man without giving him even the semblance of fairness in his trial. It was a formality, this court, not a court of law in which the truth was weighed and assessed among other evidence.
He had treated men in similar ways in the past. Sometimes it was necessary to make a show of a man before his comrades so that they might see the all-powerful nature of the law. But today, here, Earl Hugh was less convinced of the merits of that argument than when he had himself sat on the seat of judgement.
The Queen – she would save him. They must give him time to speak with her, he decided. Even Mortimer wouldn’t want to execute him out of hand. The King would assuredly avenge the death of a man so senior in his household.
‘You are sentenced to be drawn from this place to the place of common execution in the city,’ Mortimer said. ‘There you will be hanged by the neck until nearly dead, and then beheaded.’
The Earl nodded stiffly.
‘The sentence of this court will be carried out at once,’ Mortimer finished.
Earl Hugh felt his throat close up. His muscles, when he tried to stand, had lost their vigour, and he must remain seated for a few moments before he could rise. It was as if he had been given a blow on the skull. For those few moments, he found it impossible to concentrate.
A glance at Mortimer did the trick. The sneer on the man’s face was sufficient for Earl Hugh to wave away the hand offered by his old servant, and to be able to rise to his feet. Haughtily he turned from the tribunal and set off to the door.