Free Isabeau, A Novel of Queen Isabella and Sir Roger Mortimer by N. Gemini Sasson

believed me. He simply had no more will to argue.
    I rode beside the Earl of Pembroke, with Edmund and Uncle Roger behind us, over the bridge and into Shrewsbury. Twenty of the king’s soldiers escorted us through the slushy streets of the town, up the icy hill and to the castle gates. There, only after we gave up our weapons, were we led beneath the portcullis onto the castle grounds. King Edward stood waiting in the outer bailey for us. Next to him were many of those who had lately abandoned us: Arundel and Surrey among them, as well as the king’s brother, Thomas, Earl of Norfolk.
    My uncle, Edmund and I tumbled down from our mounts and sank to our knees without taking a step. In a casual manner, Pembroke also dismounted and went forward to bow before the king.
    “Well done, Lord Pembroke,” Edward trilled. A gleeful smile lit his face. “Well done.” An ermine-lined cloak swung from his shoulders and dragged the snowy ground as he circled us in triumph.
    His head still bowed, Pembroke announced, “Lord Roger of Chirk, Sir Roger of Wigmore and his son, Edmund Mortimer come to offer their – ”
    “I know why you went to fetch them,” Edward snapped. “They wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
    Pembroke raised his chin, a slight look of bafflement clouding his brow. “Perhaps you wish to hear it from them, my lord king?”
    “They can say whatever they want. They can sacrifice themselves to the Virgin Mary, for all I care. It doesn’t change what they have done. It is treasonous. And treason is unpardonable.”
    Deep in the pit of my stomach, a knot drew tighter by the moment. I felt my uncle’s hot gaze turn on me.
    “You promised you would procure our pardons,” I said aside to Pembroke.
    “He tried,” Edward said, his lips curving into a sardonic smile as he stepped before me tauntingly, “valiantly. But I am not of a humor to grant any of late. Besides, you said you would go home, lay down your arms, and send your men away. That is not at all what you did. Instead, you continued to plot rebellion against me with the Earl of Lancaster.”
    I chose not to argue with him over what constituted ‘rebellion’. Instead, I remembered my uncle’s words and played our acquiescence against Lancaster’s intractability. “Sire, Lancaster is not here. We are. And we disavow him and humbly submit to you. My uncle and I admit our wrong. We will do as you bid. Surely that begs some leniency?” It took every bit of my will to speak such terrible untruths, but if outright supplication was not enough for King Edward, nothing was.
    With a gloved hand he brushed the snow from the red Plantagenet lions adorning the front of his surcoat. “A trifle, perhaps. Only a trifle. Pembroke was not altogether wrong in what he told you, although he took tremendous liberties with it. I was merely musing aloud when I spoke it. I will let you live – today. But you’re to be put away until it is decided what to do with you. I cannot run the risk of your cohorts clumping around you and whispering of insurrection again. Treason is a poison to kings, and a king is the beating heart of a kingdom. So I will keep you where it is safest. For me. For England.” He paused and cut Pembroke a cunning glance. “In the Tower.”
    Pembroke’s countenance hardened. His arms stiffened and his fingers, slowly, curled into fists of stone. He understood the implication as well as I did. The Tower of London was where traitors awaited their deaths. I knew by his look that he had not known of this. The king had conceded to him merely to lure us into giving up. He had betrayed Pembroke as well as us.
    With a flick of the king’s fingers, a swarm of guards rushed forward and began to strip us of our armor and mail. My uncle flailed his arms and cursed Edward, but the king walked away without a backward glance. His retinue of new bloods trailed after him up the steps to the great hall. There they would raise their wine goblets, exhilarated by their