The She Wolf of France by Maurice Druon Read Free Book Online

Despenser never for a moment stopped watching the Queen and trying to hear what she was saying. Her forehead was smooth but curiously narrow, her eyes were bright but too close together, her mouth was sarcastic; without being altogether hideous, there was nevertheless apparent that quality of ugliness which is imprinted by a wicked nature. A descendant of the Clare family, she had had a strange career, for she had been sister-in-law to the King's precious lover, Piers Gaveston, whom the barons under Thomas of Lancaster had executed eleven years before, and she was now the wife of the King's current lover. She derived a morbid pleasure from assisting male amours, partly to satisfy her love of money and partly to gratify her lust for power. But she was a fool. She was prepared to lose her game of chess for the mere pleasure of saying provocatively: `Check to the Queen! Check to the Queen!'
    Edward, the heir-apparent, was a boy of eleven; h e had a rather long, thin face, and was by nature reserved rather than timid, though he nearly always kept his eyes on the ground; at the moment he was taking advantage of his opponent's every mistake to do his best to win.
    The August breeze was blowing gusts of warm dust through the narrow, arched window; but, when the sun sank, it would turn cool and damp again within the thick, dark walls of ancient Kirkham Priory.
    There was a sound of many voices from the Chapter House where the King was holding his itinerant Council.
    `Madame,' said the Count de Bouville, `I would willingly dedicate all the remainder of my days to your service, could they be useful to you. It would be a pleasure to me, I assure you. What is there for me to do here below, since I am a widower and my sons are out in the world, except to use the last of my strength to serve the descendants of the King who was my benefactor? And it is with you, Madame, that I feel myself nearest to him. You have all his strength of character, the way of talking he had, when he felt so disposed, and all his beauty which was so impervious to time. When he died, at the age of forty-six, he looked barely more than thirty. It will be the same with you. No one would ever guess you have had four children.'
    The Queen's face brightened into a smile. Surrounded, as she was, by so much hatred, she was grateful to be offered this devotion; and, her feelings as a woman continually humiliated, it was sweet to hear her beauty praised, even if the compliment was from a fat old man with white hair and spaniel's eyes.
    `I am already thirty-one,' she said, `of which fifteen years have been spent as you see. It may not mark my face; but my spirit bears the wrinkles.. Indeed, Bouville, I would willingly keep you with me, were it possible.'
    `Alas, Madame, I foresee the end of my mission, and it has not had much success. King Edward has already twice indicated his surprise, since he has already delivered the Lombard up to the High Court of the King of France, that I should still be here.'
    For the official pretext for Bouville's embassy was a demand for the extradition of a certain Thomas Henry, a member of the important Scali Company of Florence; the banker had leased certain lands from the Crown of France, had pocketed the considerable revenues, failed to pay what he owed to the French Treasury, and had ultimately taken refuge in England. The affair was serious enough, of course, but it could easily have been dealt with by letter, or by sending a magistrate, and most certainly had not required the presence of an ex-Great Chamberlain, who sat in the Privy Council. In fact, Bouville had been charged with another and more difficult diplomatic negotiation.
    Monseigneur Charles of Valois, the uncle both of the King of France and Queen Isabella, had taken it into his head the previous year to marry off his fifth daughter, Ma rie, to Prince Edward, the heir- apparent to the throne of England. Monseigneur of Valois - who was unaware of it in Europe? - had seven