‘You don’t need to know the city,’ he said. ‘All that matters is we keep to the nearer alleys. The man is here somewhere,and he must have some sort of interest in the castle. Why else would he dump my man’s body by the entrance?’
‘Very well,’ said Sir Peter. ‘Then we find a place to wait and watch.’
Roger Mortimer bit at his lower lip as the man scuttled away, up the alley past Jack and into the main yard. He was aboutto motion to Jack to follow and kill him when wiser counsel persuaded him against it. If it were necessary to do anythingabout Master Ricard, it could be done later. There was no urgency.
‘Your highness,’ he said with a bow.
Queen Isabella was radiant even in this dim light. She wore a black tunic and hooded cloak, like a wealthy widow. At her sidewas de Bouden, as usual, while behind her walked her lady-in-waiting, that blonde girl. Alice? Avice, or something. No threatto him, anyway, which was the most important thing so far as Mortimer was concerned.
Sweet Jesus, what a life! Only a few years ago he had been among the most valued of the King’s servants, fêted wherever hewent within the realm, and feared abroad as a major general of the King’s host. If there was a battle to be fought, the Kingwould send his Mortimer. And now he had to fear meeting people in case he might be sought out and assassinated. He dared noteven trust the Queen, a lady who had shown herself to be a friend to him and to his wife.
‘Please, Roger, stand.’
‘I cannot. You are still my queen,’ he murmured.
His eyes were fixed on the floor, but even as he opened his mouth to ask Jack to leave them, he heard the door close softly.Glancing up, he saw that he and the Queen were alone but for the blonde.
‘Roger, rise, I beg,’ she said, but behind the gentle words was an iron will.
He had been brought up in the culture of courtly love, but her tone showed that this was no time for foolish exhibitions.He nodded and obeyed. ‘I am glad indeed to see you again.’
‘And I you. Roger, this farce of an embassy has dragged on long enough. It is not likely that I shall be here for much longer.’
‘My lady!’ he groaned. It was devastating to hear it from her own lips. She was the only true friend he had over here whocould influence matters back at home. Isabella was an intelligent woman, and with her support he had been sure that he mighthave been able to effect a reconciliation with the King. If she was to be called home again, her embassy must have failed,and any possibility of a reconciliation with her husband was effectually closed off. Neither she nor Mortimer could hope toresume their past positions. Communication between them was impossible while the Queen was locked up under the constant watchfuleye of those such as Eleanor, Lady Despenser. They needed more time.
‘You know it’s true, Roger. My brother is a sharp man with a mind like a steel trap. No matter what I do or say, he will demandever more harsh conditions. It is impossible.’
‘You cannot appeal to his brotherly love for you?’
She looked at him very directly. ‘He has no heir. If he was still married to that whore Blanche, he might have had children- sons — by now.’
‘It was hardly your fault that her crimes were discovered.’
‘It would hardly have endeared me to him that it was I who discovered them, nor that it was I who told our father and set in trainthe destruction of my brothers’ marriages.’
Mortimer nodded. ‘So he will not assist you?’
‘He has indicated as much. And I must obey my husband’s instructions. He will demand my return soon.’
‘Could you not stall him? Why not discuss with the French king an extension of the truce while you continue to negotiate?That way, at least you remain here and we can hope for something else to come to our aid.’
She smiled. ‘Roger, dear Roger. You plan still for a miracle? There can be none, believe me. This whole affair of the invasionof Guyenne has been a ploy. My brother seeks the entirety of the English possessions. He needs England to bow before him.’
‘No English king can bend the knee to him. It would be intolerable.’
‘No English king can hold lands from him, then,’ she said more sharply.
Mortimer bowed his head. He must remember that her loyalties were divided. A large part of her heart was still French. Buthe needed her help.
He had met her several times now — initially at his own instigation, but recently more often at hers — but he felt as thoughhe was making very little headway. As was she.
What he wanted — needed — was his wife to be freed so that he could have her back at his side again. She had always been with him until his arrest,and he missed her steadying influence. Always kind, always sweet-natured, it was obscene that she should be held in a dungeonat the King’s pleasure.
And he knew that Isabella understood his urgent desire for his companion’s return. She had a similar yearning for her ownhusband to retake his rightful position with her. Not much hope of that, though. The man was besotted with his ‘dearest Hugh’. She had to know that. Roger Mortimer could feel sympathy for her … no, more than that. They had a deepunderstanding based on their experiences. Both had been deprived of all they held closest to their hearts: children, spouses,treasure — all that made life worthwhile.
Mortimer had been a contented husband and father, and losing his wife in this manner, knowing that she was incarcerated withonly a pittance for her upkeep, was tearing at his heart and soul.
‘My poor lady,’ he whispered.
‘She suffers. As we all do,’ Isabella said quietly.
He nodded, and then looked up at her with compassion in his eyes. ‘My poor queen, too.’
Because there was no means for her to recover her husband. They both knew that.
‘There is hope for your Lady Joan,’ Isabella said.
‘And you, my lady? My queen?’
‘I have to live without hope,’ she said bitterly. ‘When I return to England, I return to a gaol cell. I am free while I amhere, but as soon as I cross the Channel I cease to be a useful ambassador and become the King’s prisoner.’
‘If only we could cross the seas with a host,’ he said, and clenched his teeth. Then: ‘It would be good to return with menat my back, ready to fight for the realm and evict Despenser. I would be honoured to install you on your throne again, whereyou belong, Queen Isabella.’
‘I wish it could be so,’ she said sadly.
Roger Mortimer nodded, and both were silent a moment, until Roger looked up, his eyes narrowed and thoughtful. He met herown steady gaze, and each recognised the speculation in the other.
‘Alicia?’ the Queen said after a moment. ‘Leave us.’
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ricard scampered away from the confrontation carrying Charlie, his heart pounding so harshly he felt sure that it must explodefrom his breast. At the corner of the corridor he turned to glance back and make sure that Jack was not following him. Hehad a fear that the man might chase after him to kill him even as he reached the castle’s court. Jack had not hesitated tokill before, after all. Ricard was as sure as he could be that Jack must have murdered poor Peter to get himself in on thisembassy with the others.
But no: the man was back there still, bowing to the Queen as she slipped past and entered the room with that man whom Ricardhad felt sure he knew. Then the Queen’s woman followed her inside, while de Bouden and a guard stood at the doorway with Jack.
He felt sick as he realised that he was safe for now. ‘Christ and all his saints,’ he muttered, and puffed out his cheeks.There must be an easier way to earn a living, he told himself regretfully. Looking down at Charlie, he saw that the boy’sface was smeared with tears and snot, but the lad had stopped his wailing now. Ever since de Bouden appeared Charlie had beenmaking the same low, inconsolable noise, as though one more person coming up behind him was the last shock he could cope with.‘It’s all right, lad. We’re safe now,’ Ricard said.