Michael Jecks: The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

There had been a time when no man would have dared such impudence. When she was living in France in the court of her father,Philip IV — God rest his soul! — no man would have thought to be so disrespectful to her. If he had dared, he would have learnedswiftly that the royal family was quick to punish such behaviour.

But that was France. Here, she reminded herself, she was the hated symbol of a foreign power. All seemed to look on her as a spy,from what she had seen: daughter of the French royal family at a time when the French had retaken the English provinces inGuyenne. And her husband was not of a mind to protect her.

It all began with the argument over a new bastide which her brother sought to establish at Saint-Sardos. No permission had been sought from the English king for the constructionof the little fortified town, so the local populace rose against the French officers seeking to protect the builders. Therewas a sharp altercation, an affray, and afterwards a French sergeant lay dead on the ground. It was just the pretext her brotherneeded to invade. He sent in his best general, Charles, Comte de Valois, to pacify the territory, and now King Charles occupiedEngland’s last assets in France.

The consequences for Isabella were high, because the King acted on the advice of those two reprehensible, dishonourable churls,my Lord Bishop Stapledon and Sir Hugh le Despenser. Her shameful treatment was all at their behest, yes, because Bishop Stapledonwanted her lands and mining rights, while Sir Hugh wanted to curb her authority and her influence on her husband — Sir Hugh’slover.

So her lands and privileges were confiscated by the King, her husband; her children were taken from her; her freedom was curtailed;her seal was removed to prevent her communicating with anyone unless with the King’s permission; her household was disbandedand dispersed, with all her French servants arrested. She was a queen in name alone; more truly she was a prisoner, guardedat all times by Sir Hugh le Despenser’s wife, like any felon in a gaol. Except a felon could expect a rope to end his confinement.She wondered what Sir Hugh planned to end her captivity.

‘You wished to see me, my lord?’ she demanded as she entered the Painted Chamber.

It was a huge room, eighty feet long and twenty-six wide, with a ceiling that rose some thirty feet overhead, studded withbeautifully decorated paterae . On the walls were scenes from the Gospels, while the two great windows in the northern wall illuminated the chamber witha dull, gloomy light. The opulence of the gilt and silverwork was enough to take away the breath of many visitors. Today itgleamed in the light of the candles and the fire. The feeble glow from outside did little to brighten it.

King Edward II stood before the fire, his hands clasped behind his back. Isabella ignored the esquire and the two clerks attheir table near the first of the windows, and marched to her husband.

He looked older, she thought. The lines had been carved deeper into the flesh at the sides of his mouth, and his cheeks lookedsunken. His blue eyes were still bright and shrewd, though, and although his long face was grim, he still possessed the auraof power which had always been his mark. And the undeniable handsomeness.

‘You are aware of the situation with your intolerable brother,’ he began.

Isabella bridled to hear her brother denigrated in this manner, but before she could draw breath King Edward was continuing,spittle flying from his lips in his rage.

‘He has sent me three ultimata. If I wish to retain my lands in France …’ His voice was strained, as though he was closeto choking, but he recovered himself and lifted his chin. ‘If I wish to have them returned to me, perhaps I should say, thenI will have to submit to his will. I must go to France to pay homage to him for those lands, and hope that he will later deignto let me have them back. It is intolerable that he should make such demands upon me, a king!’

‘What has this to do with me?’ Isabella asked coldly.

‘Woman, I need an extension of the truce which presently exists. I cannot submit in a moment to such demands. He must be madeto see that. I have to have an ambassador to whom he will listen.’

‘Then send one.’

‘I shall, madam, I shall,’ he said coldly. There was a look of suspicion and doubt in his eye. ‘I have chosen you.’

Château Gaillard

Down here deep in the rock beneath the castle’s walls, not even a breath of wind could penetrate. The air was always damp,cool and noisome, even in the hottest summer.

No soughing breeze could venture here. There were times she had wished that she could have been incarcerated in a high chamberin a tower. At least there she might have the consolation of a view of fields and woods; the feel, perhaps, of sunlight onher flesh. And the smells! Smells of hay, of flowers, even of the dry, hot winds of summer. There would be consolation inthe freezing gales that howled from the north and east. Just to sense the air moving over the hair of her skin would be betterthan this eternity of cold, moisture-laden stillness. The only smells she ever detected here were those of the sweat and foulnessof her gaolers.

They could be kind, though. One had comforted her when she had heard of her husband’s attempts to have her marriage to himannulled, the Pope refusing to permit it. When she had been brought here, she had scarcely been eighteen years old. The veryidea that she could be thrown into a cell like this had never occurred to her. It was so far from her experience, she hadnever imagined that she could be forced to live in such a place. And yet, perhaps that was all part of her dream? Maybe therewas nothing beyond these walls. She had been born here, perhaps, raised here in this chamber in the rock, and she had invented all the memories of dancing, feasting, loving… that was easier than to think that it was as a young woman she had been brought here, and she would die here. And betterby far that she should not think of her child. Her child was lost to her now.

She heard the rattle of locks farther along the corridor, a shocking, startling sound that shook her from her reverie. Anydisturbance here in the cells was a distraction to be welcomed, no matter what it presaged. Blanche eased herself up to acrouch, her legs and back aching, head tilted to hear the better.

A door was thrown wide, and she heard the tramping of booted feet along the stone floor, the rattle of chains, the low mutterof men’s voices. And then her door was opened, and a leering, bearded face peered in at her.

‘It’s your time, woman. Get up!’

She rose to her feet slowly, her hands flat against the rough stone wall.

The man held out his hand, all four fingers curling back to the palm in the universal sign of beckoning, but she was as nervousand flighty as an unbroken mare.

‘My child?’ she asked as firmly as she could, but even her own ears told her how her voice quavered, and her hand went toher rosary for comfort. It was made of beads of ruby, a wonderful gift. The last her husband gave her before she squanderedhis trust … his love. It was the only item she had been allowed to keep when she was brought here, for her chaplain insistedthat she must be permitted her beads. It was her sole possession.

‘You are to be set loose from here, my lady,’ the gaoler said, ignoring her. His lip curled into a grin, but there was a sadnessin his face. He would miss her.

Holy Mother Mary, but she hated this man. Even more than her husband, who had not defended her when she was left here to moulder, she hated this man.

But there was one whom she hated more even than him. More than any other person, Blanche detested the bitch who had causedher to be arrested with her sister and sister-in-law, and thrown into this cell. The woman who told the King of her suspicionsabout the three royal wives and had them followed until their guilt was transparent to all.