‘Behold your prison,’ he said.
‘What mean you?’ she asked almost listlessly.
‘You are under restraint,’ he said. ‘’Tis clear that you cannot be trusted. You are guilty of treason. My father kept my mother a prisoner for sixteen years. It may be that I shall keep you mine as long.’
She shrugged her shoulders and that maddened him.
He wanted her to storm at him, but she refused to though she saw the red blood in his eyes.
‘So you care not?’ he shouted.
‘What would be the use if this is what you wish?’
‘You seem not to care that you have lost your freedom. You witch! You sorceress! What thought you of your fine lover when he came to your bed last night?’
She turned away that he might not see the horror she could not restrain as the vivid picture came back to her mind.
‘What a pretty sight. He screamed, you know. He screamed in horror. You should have heard …’
‘Stop it!’ she cried.
‘Ah, you are moved at last. A pretty boy, I’ll grant you. But at the end it wasn’t worth it for him … even for you.’
‘You have not been the most faithful of husbands,’ she accused.
‘What of that?’
‘Why should I be a faithful wife?’
‘Because I am the King.’
‘Forget not that I am the Queen.’
‘By God’s ears, if you try to foist his bastard on me …’
‘There will be no bastard. It is your privilege to produce those.’
He came to her suddenly and taking her by the shoulders shook her violently. ‘How was he?’ he asked. ‘Was he good? Did you enjoy him?’
She faced him boldly. ‘He was good,’ she answered defiantly.
He threw her from him in a burst of rage.
‘I shall send his corpse to you here to keep you company in your prison.’
‘That will not hurt him.’
‘There will be no one else. You may stay here and think of me … with others who please me more than you do.’
‘I wish you joy of them.’
‘You are not old, Isabella, and you are lusty. Did we not know that? What will you do without lovers, Isabella?’
‘If I do not have to endure you I shall be happy.’
‘You will endure what I say.’
‘Why do you not kill me too? I know. I have friends and family. The King of France would say: He has killed his wife as he killed his nephew.’
‘Not a word of that.’
‘He haunts you, does he not, John? Poor Arthur. How did he die? So many would like to know. You, his murderer, could tell them.’
‘You are asking me to do you an injury.’
‘Why do you not?’
‘Because I have not finished with you yet. I would not hurt the body which has much to give me yet.’
‘Oh, so I am not to be exiled?’
‘Not from me. I shall think of you here waiting for me. We’ll have children yet. We have but three. I want more from you. If you are carrying a bastard, I’ll have him murdered. You taunt me with murder, well, know this, if any offend me they shall be removed. You too if you should be in my way.’
‘And am I not?’
‘Assuredly not. When you are you will know it. I have my pleasure when I will and I want no other wife. I’ve got my heirs, and a fine daughter. I’ll get more on you yet. And you will wait patiently here for me to come to you and if ever you secrete a lover into your bedchamber again that which happened to your fine young man will be mild compared with what I will do to the next.’
She said: ‘I understand. I am a prisoner here. I have had a lover. I do not deny it. You have murdered him most cruelly and you have tormented me so much that I shall ever be haunted by memories of his body hanging there at my bed. I hate you for this.’
‘Hate and love,’ he said. ‘They are close. Isabella, there is no one but you. Know you this: I would not hurt you. That was why I had to do what I did to him. I had to make sure that never again should he take the place which is mine … mine. Others there have been, but not one like you. Where is there one like you?’
His arms were round her; he lifted her and carried her to the bed.
How strange that the passion should rise within her at such a time; but it was there between them, as strong as it had ever been.
In the morning he said to her: ‘If you should bear a child of his, that child shall not live. You know this. Had I the softest heart in the world, which you may doubt to be true as I do myself, it could not live. Ah, my Isabella, you know there was never sport such as we two make together. It is only my children that you shall bear. I shall be here again and we’ll get us a child … but not until we know that dangling corpse is not a father.’
She shook her head. ‘There is no child,’ she said. ‘I know it.’
But he laughed at her.
And when he rode away she was a prisoner.
He came back later and they were together for two days and nights and he scarcely left her bed during that time. She knew that he thought constantly of her lover and that in his perverse way he took some pleasure in contemplating that which enraged him.
When he left she was pregnant and in due course she gave birth to a daughter. She called her after herself, Isabella.
And she remained the King’s prisoner.
Chapter XIX
A BRIDE FOR HUGH
With Philip’s fleet in disorder and a great many of his weapons and battle equipment in English hands it seemed to John the time had come to attack France and attempt to regain his possessions. One of his spurts of energy came to him and he was eager for action. He had an army assembled but he needed the support of the barons so he issued commands throughout the land for them to bring their followers and join him.
Rebellion simmered beneath the surface. The barons had no confidence in John. The Braose family with Robert Fitz-Walter and Eustace de Vesci had spread discord throughout the country. They had hinted that such a tyrant could not be allowed to reign unless he reformed considerably, and although John realised that many of the barons were restive he did not know how deeply rooted was this determination to bring matters to a head.
The barons of the North, who were in a better position than those in the South to defy the King, refused to supply John with what he needed. They said that John had proved himself an ineffectual commander; losses in France had been humiliating; true, they had had luck recently but only because they had taken the French fleet by surprise. They had no confidence in John and his missions abroad; nor would they supply men and money to maintain them. They preferred to remain in England and keep that safe from an invader, for it was not inconceivable that when Philip had had time to muster his forces, he would make an attack on the country. In any case, they were not meeting John’s wishes.
When John heard their refusal wild rage possessed him. He gave vent to it in the usual way and when he was exhausted by it he decided that he would go not to France but up to the North to show the barons how he felt about his subjects who disobeyed him.
He knew that FitzWalter with his friend Vesci had done their utmost to ferment trouble. Something told him that FitzWalter was going to do everything he could to take his crown from him in exchange for his daughter. He had been foolish over FitzWalter; he should have killed him when he had a chance and now simply because his daughter had been a little fool and had held out against her King’s advances, her father was helping to stir up trouble. In the priory church of Little Dunmow, to keep the story alive, the FitzWalters had had a statue of Matilda made and placed it on her tomb. No doubt they made all sorts of unholy vows over it.
By God’s eyes, John thought, if FitzWalter falls into my hands that will be an end to him.
But meanwhile he needed men to attack Philip and his northern barons were refusing to help him and he was going to show them who was the master. He always maintained a good army of mercenaries and with these he set out, not for France but for the North with the intention of teaching the barons a lesson.