Read Online Isabeau, A Novel of Queen Isabella and Sir Roger Mortimer by N. Gemini Sasson - Free Book Online Page A

tighter.
    “Sit up, old toad,” I ordered firmly. “You’ll want to hear this:
“My Lords,

King Edward waits at Shrewsbury to hear you out. Twice he granted you time to consider his offer and extended you his grace. Twice you gave no reply. There can be no more delays. King Edward was prepared to march against you this very day. I convinced him to forego spilling the blood of Englishmen and to seek a peaceful end, as our Lord Christ would wish of him. If you submit willingly to him, in person and before nightfall, he will grant you your lives and your freedom. I shall wait at the bridge until you come and I will escort you both personally to an audience with the king. You have this on my solemn word.
Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke,
Given at Shrewsbury, 22 nd of January, 1322”
My uncle propped himself up on an elbow and blew a thick stream of snot from his nose. “What of it?”
    “Pembroke kept his word. He did as he said he would. I trust him more than any man.”
    “Trust him all you like. I don’t trust the king. And Pembroke is the king’s man. That puts him in bad company.”
    “Simon de Beresford. Do you know the name?”
    The muscles in his jaw tensed. He looked at me with narrowed eyes. “If I do?”
    “He was the messenger who brought the letter. How is it he can be in Pembroke’s ranks and your pay at the same time?”
    With a groan, he struggled to his feet. He kept his furs wrapped about him so the chill would not invade his bones. “What else did he tell you?”
    “Tell me first – is Beresford your spy?”
    He nodded. “What did he say?”
    “He told me Lancaster has allied himself with the Scots. Pembroke has proof of it. The king knows. Do you know what that means for us? Lancaster will not leave the north, because he knows there is an axe waiting for his neck here. He will never come to our aid. Never.”
    Almost meekly, he proposed, “What of Adam Orleton, the Bishop of Hereford? He promised men  ... and money.”
    “And sent both, but it was not enough. We are on our own now, Uncle. Alone. We cannot win in battle and we cannot run. So we can die on this ground  ... or we can go to Shrewsbury and take our chances. I’ll wager my life on Pembroke’s honesty over dying slowly of hunger.”
    He shook his head and spoke softly into his beard. “You say these things because you are desperate.”
    “And you are not?”
    Instead of the quarreling I had grown so accustomed to, he shed his furs, summoned his squire and told him to saddle his horse for him and bring him some ale, if any could be found. He did not want to meet the king, he said, without having one last drink while he was still a free man.
    “You believe Pembroke, then?” I asked.
    “Not in these circumstances, no.”
    “Then why are you going?”
    He rounded on me, his face crimson with fury. “Because I know Simon speaks the truth!” As if he had to restrain from striking me, he clenched his fists before him. He gathered several deep breaths to calm himself before he went on. Finally, he stepped close and raised a crooked finger to poke me in the breastbone. His breath reeked of staleness. “We must denounce Lancaster. Turn our backs on him, as he did us.”
    So, he believed a spy and not me. Well enough, I thought. We would go to Shrewsbury, each for our own reasons.
    While I paced, my uncle bustled about madly. He called for a pot of scalding water, although what he got was melted snow, and washed his face clean. With a frayed twig, he scrubbed at his teeth until his gums bled. All the while, he carped at his young page for being slack and getting in his way. When he had finished grooming, his body squire helped to dress him in full mail. Next, the squire fastened on his poleyns, greaves and arm plates and then belted on his sword. When my uncle’s ale was poured, the squire went out to see to the saddling of his horse. Only then did my uncle pause in his frenzy to rest. I had not seen him so vigorous in