There was a melancholy about the place but there was something which excited her too. From the narrow windows she could look out on the river and see the good merchants going about their business and it comforted her to realize that they were her friends.

There was no reason why anyone should speculate because of her presence there. It was after all one of the most important of the royal residences. Young Edward was in the good hands of Richard de Bury who had been appointed his tutor and guardian; the other children were at Pleshy in Essex in the household of the Earl of Hereford who was their guardian. She was not exactly a doting mother and made no pretence of being. It was true that she kept a firm hand on young Edward and saw him frequently. She was eager that he should feel dc.

pendent on her and she was careful to do everything to win his devotion.

From her window she could see one of the small gardens of the Tower shut in by tall pales and one day there appeared there a tall dark, somewhat emaciated, man in the company of Gerard de Alspaye whom she knew as the sub-lieutenant of the Tower. There was something about the manner in which he held himself which attracted her attention. She thought: He is obviously a prisoner but he walks like a king.

She watched for him and saw him on another occasion and on impulse she sent for Alspaye and asked him who the distinguished-looking prisoner was.

Alspaye looked confused and she guessed that it was against orders that the prisoner had been given an airing.

‘You need have no fear,’ she said. ‘I’ll swear this man is one of the King’s prisoners, and I know that you made sure no harm could come of his taking the air.’

‘That is so, my lady. He has just become bereaved. His uncle who shared his dungeon has died.’

‘Of what did he die?’

‘The rigours of prison, my lady. Lack of food. The dungeon is airless, without one window; the walls run with damp; it is stifling in summer and bitterly cold in winter.’

‘What was the crime of these men?’

‘They were captured in battle.’

‘By the King?’ She could not keep the note of contempt from her voice but Alspaye did not seem to notice.

‘In the Marcher country, my lady.’

‘Then he is―’

‘Roger de Mortimer, my lady, Earl of Wigmore, and his uncle recently dead was the Lord of Chirk.’

‘I have heard much of these Mortimers,’ she said. ‘I can remember the surprise when they were taken.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘I should like to speak with this man. Do you take him into the garden again soon?’

‘I would take him there when you wished, my lady.’

‘Walk there with him tomorrow and I will join you. Do not let him know that I have mentioned this. Let it be as if by accident.’

‘It shall be as you wish, my lady.’

She was filled with an unaccountable excitement. Ideas flashed into her head and were discarded almost before they came. Roger de Mortimer, one of the great Marcher barons! She had heard Edward talk of the Mortimers with something like fear in his voice. Yes, he had certainly regarded the Mortimers with awe. The uncle and the nephew. They lived as kings in their territory.

Edward had said it was a mistake to allow those not royal to hold such power.

And now, one of them was dead and the other, this emaciated prisoner, still held himself like a conqueror.

The next morning she took a ride through the streets of London— always a heartening experience. She had taken great pains with her appearance. It was gratifying to hear the shout for Isabella the Fair. Whatever happened, she thought, the people of London would be on my side.

In the afternoon she went to the garden. True to his word Alspaye was there with Roger de Mortimer.

The Queen stood looking at them, her eyebrows raised as though in surprise.

Roger de Mortimer stepped forward and bowed low. ‘Pray tell me who you are,’ she said regally.

‘Mortimer at your service, my lady.’

Alspaye had taken a step backwards and she turned to him. ‘One of your prisoners?’ she asked.

‘My lady, the Earl of Wigmore has recently suffered a great bereavement.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said the Queen, ‘the Lord of Chirk. The rigours of prison were too much for him.’

‘He was an old man, my lady,’ said Mortimer.

She nodded. ‘And you are being given a little exercise in case you too should succumb. Is that so, my lord Lieutenant?’

‘It seemed a merciful thing to do,’ was the answer.

‘It was so. My lord Mortimer, take a turn with me.’ She glanced at Alspaye who withdrew a few steps. Then to Mortimer: ‘Come, my lord.’

‘You have been here some time, I believe,’ she said.

‘Some two years, my lady.’

She looked at him closely. The pallor of his skin accentuated the fierce dark brows; and she thought how handsome he was in spite of the privations he had suffered.

‘You have felt deeply the death of your uncle, I’ll swear,’ she went on.

‘We had been together so long. My father died when I was seven years old and from that time my uncle was a father to me. Yes, my lady, indeed I feel his loss deeply―’ He clenched his fist. ‘One day―’

She felt an exultation gripping her. He was a man of violent passion, this Mortimer.

‘Yes, my lord, one day?’

‘My lady, you must pardon my emotion. This was a beloved uncle― one who had been as a father to me. I have been long in prison―’

‘I know it,’ she answered gently. ‘But you could say you were fortunate.

The King might so easily have condemned you to death.’

‘He did, but— and it seems strange to me— he commuted the sentence to life imprisonment.’

‘Life imprisonment! Perhaps death would have been preferable.’

‘Nay, my lady, I think not. It is true I am the King’s prisoner. I spend my days in a hideous dungeon― except when my good friend Alspaye gives me a breath of fresh air. But I still would cling to life. I still hope, my lady, that one day I shall be free of this place.’

‘You think the King would pardon you?’

‘Not while the Despensers are with him. But it may be they will not always be there.’

‘You think he will rid himself of them?’

‘Nay, my lady, but it may be that others will. Did they not despatch Piers Gaveston somewhat hastily to his Maker? But I talk too much. Forgive me. I have been shut away so long. It is years since I have had the good fortune to speak with a lady and yet here I am― in this prison garden talking and walking with the queen of them all.’

‘You have not forgotten how to pay compliments, my lord.’

‘In your presence, my lady, they would rise naturally to the lips of any man.’

‘So you know who I am?’ she asked.

‘My lady, I have been long in this noisome prison. They say that many have suffered from visions. I cannot but help wonder whether that is what is happening to me now. It may be that this is a dream from which I shall shortly wake. In this dream I am speaking to the most beautiful woman in England and France and in the whole world, I dareswear. The Queen herself.’

‘Yes, indeed you pay pretty compliments. I am no vision, Mortimer. I am your Queen. I will say adieu. The lieutenant is bewildered.’

‘My lady, if I could―’

‘Yes, Mortimer, what would you have of me?’

‘I am afraid to ask it.’

‘You afraid? I doubt it. You have the look of a man who knows little of fear.’

‘If I could see you again―’

‘Who knows. It may come to pass.’

She turned away and left the gardens.


* * *

In her apartment she went to a window and looked out. He was still in the garden and talking earnestly to Alspaye. As for herself a wild excitement had taken possession of her.

What fierce eyes he had— large dark passionate eyes. She had sensed the vitality of him— the essential masculinity. ‘All that time incarcerated in the Tower,’ she murmured. ‘Recently bereaved of a beloved uncle and yet I never saw a man who had more fire in him. How his eyes flashed when he spoke of Gaveston and the Despensers! How such a man as he is would despise such as them. How he would despise Edward!

Mortimer— the King of the Marcher lands. Such a man― she thought― I have wanted to meet all my life.

She must see him again soon. She would make Alspaye understand that he was to be taken to the garden on the next day and she would be there.

Perhaps she should be a little more discreet. But she was tired of discretion.

She had been humiliated too long and it might well be that this was the time for action.

She scarcely slept that night. She could only think that somewhere in this Tower he too was sleeping.

Alspaye was eager to please the Queen. He was also under the spell of Mortimer; she saw that and she was not surprised. Alspaye was delighted that the Queen was interested in his prisoner.

The Queen joined them in the gardens.

‘You see your vision has returned, Mortimer.’

‘To put such hope in my heart that I dare not believe in it,’ he replied.

‘You would dare anything,’ she answered.

‘I was once known for my daring,’ he agreed.

‘And will be again, I doubt not.’

‘That is for the future.’

‘And you believe in your future?’

‘I am beginning to, my lady.’

‘Rest assured, your faith will not be displaced.

‘You are good to me,’ he said.

‘I like your kind, Mortimer,’ she answered.