The Despensery

Even newer news!

2008-06-03T16:15:00.000+01:00

have fixed the glitches YAY!!!!!!

News

2008-06-03T15:45:00.004+01:00

As many of you may have noticed - I haven't been posting much on here lately - although I have still been posting regularly on my other blog: Lady Despenser's Scribery. This has been done to (mostly) the pressures of researching and writing as well as family. Also, I haven't been able to think of anything funny of late either - so forgive me!

Anyway, I have decided to keep this site on but it will now be mainly for fictional extracts, reviews of historical fiction and if I feel like having a rant about anything - historical or not! There may even be the odd funny too - but I can't promise ;-)

I have also altered the layout as some readers have mentioned that the last one hurt their eyes (actually, it hurt mine too!). However I still haven't been able to get rid of those pesky 'undefined' sections above the post yet!!!

Anyway, to sum up - this blog isn't dead - just a bit slower than the main one! So please check back now and again - just in case.

New Despenser Discovered!!

2008-04-09T14:23:00.008+01:00

Found this advert and couldn't believe my eyes - are Samsung really giving away a free (and as yet unknown) member of the Despenser family with their kitchen appliances? By all accounts he has a brother too - Ice Despenser!

Review of Dispensation of Death by Michael Jecks

2008-04-04T12:33:00.001+01:00

Dispensation of Death
by Michael Jecks (Headline, 2007)

I will admit that when I first picked up the book I wasn’t expecting much from it at all. This is mainly due to the fact that I am used to epic historicals, for instance Sharon Penman’s novels. I am not used to reading historical crime fiction at all and found the style very different.

The plot is interesting enough. Set in 1325 at Edward II’s court, two men - Sir Baldwin de Furnshill and his friend Simon Puttock a bailiff - are called upon by the king to solve the murder of the queen’s lady-in-waiting as well as a stranger in the great hall. Of course, it isn’t as simple as all that and soon the two men are involved in the machiavellian conspiracies of the court - which of course means that they cross swords (metaphorically speaking) more than once with Hugh Despenser (the younger) who seems to be at the heart of all the murders. But getting on the wrong side of Despenser proves to be a dangerous thing and the two medieval detectives need to watch their backs as much as look for clues to the killings.

It is a good enough read and the sort of book that is perfect for picking up after a hard day. However, I did have a few (relatively minor) criticisms: for a start the book is very plot-based rather than character-based. If this is how you like your novels, then fine, but I would personally prefer a deeper delve into how the characters tick. Because of this they tend to be a little two-dimensional and archetypal at times. For example, sir Hugh comes across as the moustache-twirling villain and Sir Baldwin is the almost annoyingly perfect knight whose integrity gets a rather boring after a while.

I also noticed a few typos but that is more the fault of the book’s editor than the author. The last criticism concerns the ending - and this may be down to me being thick when it comes to crime novels - but I found it too twisted to keep up with until the final chapter or so. And yet there were points earlier in the book when the two detectives seemed to be very slow in coming to any conclusions from the evidence. I was yelling: ‘Well I saw that one coming a few pages back - why didn’t you?!’

Oh yes, also - as Alianore pointed out to me in a conversation we were having the other day - at that point in time the earl of Kent (who features heavily in the book) wasn’t actually in the country! A bit of historical inaccuracy then - one of my bugbears of course - but it could have been much, much worse.

On the plus side - despite being a moustache-twirling villain, Hugh actually managed to come over as quite strong and sexy - a definite plus! Edward, too, comes out of it quite well - seeming masculine, in charge of things and definitely clever - a nice change from being camp and whiny as he seems to be in a lot of other novels. Isabella is not depicted as wholly innocent in the affair either, although there are times when Jecks does revert to the ‘Isabella as victim archetype’.

But despite all those points, I did enjoy the book (and I am not that easy to please, after having been force-fed literature through 4 years of degrees!). It’s a nice easy read with a good plot and overall a good pace.

Lady D Rating 

Holiday

2008-03-20T15:50:00.002Z

Lady D and her scribes are off for a bit of rest, recreation, reading and rolling in melted chocolate (OK, just kidding about the last bit!) for the next couple of weeks. During that time the builders may well be back in to repair some of the sloppy handiwork they left behind last time!

When I come back I will hopefully have some newly translated pages from Lady Despenser's Secret Diary, which, although ever so, ever so *whispers* secret, I have nonetheless decided to share with you, my dear blog readers.

I shall also be trawling the depths of Medievality for other humerous things, so please check back in a couple of weeks, and in the mean time have a HAPPY EASTER!!!

Medieval Word Search of the Week (Easy)

2008-03-19T12:51:00.000Z

Ten Things Edward II Would Never Say to Piers Gaveston

2008-03-16T13:41:00.000Z

1. Really, Piers, you know how it is: Isabella’s needs must come first!

2. Not tonight, Piers, I have a headache.

3. Exile! Now that’s an excellent idea! Why didn’t I think of that before?

4. You really need to do something about all that nose hair!

5. No, really - I do have a headache!

6. If you’re thinking I’m bending over with you around, you’ve got another thought coming!

7. God’s teeth! Put some clothes on will you!

8. I think it’s time we took a break from each other. How does Ireland sound?

9. Did I mention I have a headache?

10. No, that’s fine - if you want to go and play with Lancaster, be my guest.

The Helpdesk

2008-03-12T14:41:00.002Z

Some of you may have seen this already, but I foundit on You-Tube the other day and it really made me laugh. Looks like its not just this age that has trouble with new technology!

You Know You've Been Spending Too Much Time on Early 14th Century History When...

2008-03-10T15:09:00.006Z

Welcome to the FIRST (NEW) POST on The Despensery. This new site is dedicated to the lighter side of all things medieval and will have fiction, funnies, art and miscellaneous items that don't really fit into the other factual site - Lady Despenser's Scribery.

This is especially dedicated to all those other medieval history geeks - sorry - researchers and writers out there ☺

You Know You’ve Been Spending Too Much Time On Early 14th Century History When…

You sign your letters with Hughs and kisses instead of hugs and kisses.

You refuse to buy any other variety of potato than King Edwards.

Your digital clock tells you that it is 13:22 and you immediately think of Boroughbridge.

After hours of looking at Anglo-French documents suddenly modern day writing looks peculiar and makes no sense. And as for text speak!

Even music by Mozart and Bach sounds too modern.

You look at your shopping receipts and automatically convert the total into marks.

You go for a horse riding lesson and inquire if they have a good palfrey.

(For the girls - mostly) Whereas once upon a time you had a thing about men in uniform, now you have a thing about men in armour.

Your friends and family start to (a) have a glassy look in their eyes when you talk to them about what you’re doing, (b) begin to avoid you.

The word ‘geek’ begins to fit your personality.

You address people as ‘Sire’, ‘Lord’, ‘Lady’ or ‘Madam’ - earning you strange looks at the bank.

You make a special pilgrimage to Blacklow Hill and lay flowers for Piers.

You feel really guilty about eating bacon and egg because you’ve realised that it’s Lent.

You wear a black armband (or celebrate) on November 26th.

If you can think of any more, please send them to me at my email address and I’ll add them to the list.

PS - if anyone knows why I have that strange little box with 'undefined' in next to the post title and how to get rid of it - please let me know as it's really bugging me!

Sketch of Hugh Despenser (Maybe ;-) )

2008-03-07T15:01:00.000Z

OK, I'm no artist, but I do like to use images to bring my written characters to life.

Here is my first picture of Hugh Despenser the younger (Yes, there will be more I'm afraid!). The way I 'see' characters is by having an initial image of them in my head and then 'casting' a current actor or actress to play them (as if it were a film). Can you guess the actor I have cast for Hugh, based on the picture (a clue - he's British and no stranger to sword-play)? All correct answers win a virtual trip of the imagination in a century of their choice!

Titivillus, Patron Demon of Writers

2008-03-07T14:31:00.000Z

Today, for a little bit of light relief, I’d like to introduce you to an impish little fellow I came across by accident while surfing the web for something quite unrelated. For a start, the name alone caught my eye, and then when I saw him described as “the patron demon of writers” I just had to investigate further. It was fate.

Titivillus (or Tutivillus) has had a long and actually quite varied career. The writers’ demon connection is fairly modern, but he has had a few jobs along the way, which I shall briefly describe below.

His origins appear to go right back to early Christian times - around the fourth century AD (I said he was old, didn’t I?) when he was just a plain old recording demon, hanging around monasteries and churches to catch anyone who might be sinning by being idle or gossiping. He then wrote these sins down and hurried them off to hell, where they would be counted against that person’s soul when he died. You could say he acted a bit like the Devil’s private detective. Margaret Jennings has written a brilliant study on the little fellow called “Tutivillus: The Literary Career of the Recording Demon” (Studies in Philology 74, no.5 (December 1977)). In it she describes a popular tale that goes like this:

A deacon breaks out laughing in church during the service. Afterward, the priest reproaches the deacon, who defends himself by saying that during the service he had seen a demon writing down the idle words of some of the members of the congregation. The demon quickly filled the parchment on which he was writing, and to make more space pulled at the top with his teeth. The parchment was so overstretched (with the record of so many idle words and mumbled prayers) that it tore, and the demon was sent tumbling onto his back, making the deacon laugh. The priest is duly impressed and the story is later conveyed to the congregation so they realize that their chat during the service will be held against them on Judgment Day, because somewhere there among them is the recording demon observing the prayers "stolen from God" by their negligence.

But Titivillus did not just stick with recording. By the thirteenth century he started to appear with a sack and the objects of his attention now were people who used speech improperly - babbling, mumbling, and leaving out syllables as well as those who daydreamed or gossiped in church. These thoughts and words were gathered up, placed in his sack and then carted off to Hell in much the same way as the recording scroll was. In around 1285, his name appears for the first time in the Tractatus de Penitentia by John of Wales and became a well-known Medieval verse:

Fragmina verborum titivillus colligit horum
Quibus die mill vicibus se sarcinat ille.

Or, in translation:

Titivillus gathers fragments of these words
With which he fills his burden a thousand times a day

In other words he was quite busy!

However, Titivillus really came into his own in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. He seems to have been used to frighten people into spending their time in meaningful and spiritual ways i.e. attending mass regularly and thinking Godly thoughts. It is also around this time that he started to be blamed by monks for any mistakes that they made in copying manuscripts as well as more generally for slothful behaviour.

Throughout the next few centuries his popularity seems to have waned and he almost slipped into obscurity. However, these days he appears to have enjoyed a bit of a comeback. His previously sinister purpose seems to have now taken on a lighter meaning. Today, even with our spell and grammar checkers, errors still can creep into anything we write. Never mind, just blame Titivillus - he made us go wrong! And that other vice of writers: procrastination - surely that is just Titivillus tempting us away from the work in hand? And I won't even mention what happens to words in txt msgs. U no wat i mean?

So next time you write anything - be it a blog article or a shopping list - just keep in mind that Titivillus, the patron demon of scribes may be looking over your shoulder, just waiting for that inevitable typo.

Thanks to Timothy DeVinney and his article 'Who Is Titivillus?' For some of the information in this post. This article can be found at: http://www.titivillus-editorial.com/tes-whois.htm.

Also: ‘The Monastic Art of the Scribe’ at http://www.aquinas-multimedia.com/stjoseph/arts.html
Apologies, this last link seems not to work despite it being typed correctly (Titivillus at work?), but if you just google the article title you should be able to get to it.

Surreal Conversations About History

2008-03-07T14:27:00.000Z

People who know me know that for a large percentage of the time my brain is engaged with the early 14th century as I research and speculate on this and that to do with Edward II and Hugh Despenser. This also means that, from time to time, they may get a little impromptu history lesson or that I may suddenly come out with some random comment about chausses or the purpose of the buttery. Those that love me, are kind enough to indulge me and at times, even have the good manners appear to be interested (those that don’t love me disappeared long ago to seek the company of more everyday people).

Anyway, in light of that, I was out for a meal the other night with my daughter and mother (who have no choice other than to put up with me!). Mum and I are interested in researching our family tree and it was mentioned that everybody is probably related to some noble house or other from medieval times. Then it continued:

Me: Well, I hope my ancestor is from the Edward and Despenser supporters. I’d hate it to be Roger Mortimer! (said in jest (!) for all you Mortimer fans!)

Daughter: Why, was he a baddie?

Mum (after a pause - and yes, the surrounding noise was quite high): A Brownie? Did you say a Brownie?

After that, I just couldn’t shake the image from my head of Roger Mortimer dressed as a Brownie, sitting on a big fake toadstool next to Brown Owl. I’m trying to think what badges he could have collected? Any ideas?

Another surreal conversation from being misheard happened only yesterday when me and the usual suspects (above) took a trip to Farleigh Hungerford Castle near Bath. After a bit of walking around we sat on a nice wooden bench in the weak February sunshine to have some hot chocolate out of a flask. We looked at the damaged remains of the castle walls around us.

Mum: Not much left, is there? There was much more at Goodrich.

Me: That’s because Goodrich was built stronger - it was more of a fortress - for defence. Farleigh Hungerford, although fortified, was built more for showing the status of its owner.

Mum: How come it didn’t need such thick walls though?

Me: It’s a bit complicated but basically, during the time it was built, castles were going out of fashion. They couldn’t withstand the new technology of gunpowder and cannonballs being hurled at them.

Daughter: Cannibals? Why did they hurl cannibals into the castle? Was it to eat the people or something?

Cue another indelible image of knights standing in huge steaming cauldrons surrounded by root vegetables. I suppose it could have happened in a parallel universe! Maybe I should write a book of alternative history according to my family…

Hugh and Eleanor 1319, York

2008-03-07T14:25:00.001Z

Hugh took a deep breath as he entered the bedchamber. Eleanor sat on a stool by the table as Blanche unpinned her hair. She sat with her eyes closed, seemingly unaware of his presence, and Hugh stopped, not wanting to disturb the scene. Blanche turned and started to acknowledge him but he put his finger to his mouth, urging her to silence and she carried on taking out the last few pins.

Finally free, Eleanor’s hair fell about her shoulders. He was amazed at how thick and shiny it still was; in fact it had changed little since their marriage day. Her face looked relaxed, as if, behind those closed eyes, she was dreaming of something beautiful, something she loved. He wondered if she dreamt about him.

Then she opened her eyes and looked straight at him: he realised she had known he was there all along and yet had let him wait until she was ready. She gave a tight smile, something he’d not been sure of getting after neglecting her earlier in order to be with Edward. Her Clare temperament was legendary and he’d half expected something to be thrown at him as he walked through the door. But there again, She’d been brought up around the Court - surely she understood how things were.

‘Blanche, you may go now,’ she instructed her serving woman. Blanche bowed, first to her mistress and then to him and left the room.

‘Nell, I am sorry about earlier, I…’ he started to say but was stopped by a shake of her head.

‘Let’s not talk of it right now,’ she said. ‘I am tired, and, I think, so are you.’

Hugh’s heart sank a little at her words: he had been hoping to find a willing lover, something to help him take his mind off the King. The feel of Edward’s lips on his was yet a vivid enough memory to make him feel disturbed inside. But the root of that disturbance was still something that he could not identify. It certainly was not revulsion: he had not been repelled at all by Edward’s kiss - much to his surprise. He had thought he’d have to steel himself against his instincts to run, in order to gain the King’s heart and yet in the end, those instincts had been non-existent. No, he suspected that the reason why he felt so disturbed was that, against all expectations, he had actually enjoyed it.

Eleanor picked the comb off the table and started to drag it through the tangles in her hair. Hugh moved forward and quietly took it, his fingers closing around hers. ‘Let me…’

He pulled the comb lightly through her hair, as if fearing to hurt her. He had a gentle touch for a man accustomed to the sword and the saddle. She relaxed back into him, letting him lull her back into that sense of relaxation with the rhythmic strokes.

‘Just like you used to…’ she murmured, a smile about her lips, ‘… before we came to court.’

‘When we were poor and almost landless, you mean.’

‘It wasn’t so bad Hugh; I could have continued like that, as long as I had you be my side.’ She sat up and turned to face him. ‘But you would never have been happy staying that way, would you?’

He stopped combing and looked down at her. ‘Ever since a boy I’ve wanted wealth and position, Nell, you know that. And now I have it - we have it.’

‘But is it enough for you Hugh? Truly?’ She stood up and took his face in her hands. ‘I have seen it in your eyes, Hugh - your hunger for more. I just wonder… where will it lead you?’

‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

She turned from him and walked towards the bed. ‘There is a side to you, one which I would rather not know, that would gladly sell his soul to the devil to get what he wanted. I fear that part of you is getting stronger. I fear that I am losing the man I love.’

She looked so lost, so vulnerable in that moment that he crossed the room in two strides and enclosed her in his arms. ‘Jesus Nell, how could you say such a thing? You’ll never lose me, I swear it.’

‘Not even to Ned?’

Her use of Edward’s pet name froze him for a second, then he recovered himself, and pushed himself slightly away from her so that he could look down into her face. ‘What in heaven are you talking about?’

‘You are always with him.’

Hugh almost laughed. ‘Of course I am always with him: I am his chamberlain - it’s my job. I thought you knew that.’

This time the eyes that met his had hardened. ‘I am not talking about your position. When you began, you and he were not close; I spent so much time convincing my uncle that you were actually likeable and not the hot-headed young upstart he thought you to be. I thought it was a hopeless task but now he demands more and more of your time - even when you have finished your business. And this evening… I saw the way he looked at you.’

Hugh felt himself flush. He was a natural born liar, but when it came to his wife, his skill fell away, and he was as flustered as any young squire caught stealing his master’s weapons. ‘I cannot deny that he seems attracted to me, but that does not mean…’

Nell gave a harsh laugh. ‘And you do nothing to encourage him, I suppose. I know you, Hugh, all too well. As I said before, you would sell your soul to the devil if it meant you got what you desired.’

‘So, you think I lust after his grace, the King? Is that what my wife really thinks.’ Hugh hit back angrily, a reaction to his guilt.

‘Not just me, Hugh. Isabella, too, thinks you are intimate with Ned. She told me so this morning.’

‘Devil take that woman! She has no right putting such thoughts into your head.’ Hugh started to pace the chamber, trying to keep his temper under some sort of control. He knew his reaction was out of all proportion to Nell’s accusation - it was as if all the bottled up emotion from earlier had now bubbled to the surface and overflowed. All because he had kissed another man, and enjoyed it.

Eleanor put an arm out to stop him. ‘Enough, Hugh. Let’s speak no more of this tonight. All I want to know right now is that you still want me in your bed, as your wife and as your friend.’

When he kissed her it was not gentle; it still contained some of the anger, but it seemed to melt its way through her skin, awakening her senses and putting to flight all of her previous tiredness. Hugh felt her soften into his as his body responded to hers. And at that moment he knew. He knew that when it came to Edward and Nell, he could have them both.

Hugh and Elizabeth Have a Little Conversation

2008-03-07T14:22:00.001Z

His father was waiting for him outside her door.

‘Has she agreed to the terms yet?’ Hugh asked.

The old man shook his head and frowned. ‘I swear she’s as stubborn as her father but whereas he was admirable, it’s an evil trait in a woman.’

Hugh smirked. ‘Show me a woman who isn’t, at least in some measure.’

‘But she is unsufferable. All that time I’ve had to put up with her demands and her tempers and I have never shown any ill will. Never! God’s truth Hugh, she was sent to make me suffer.’

Hugh bit back a smile. ‘I’ll go and talk to her, father. You look tired; you should rest.’

‘Rest? Bah! I never got to this position in life by resting! You see what you can do - I’ve got some business to settle with one of my tenants. At least he should be easier to deal with.’

Watching his father stride away with the energy of a man half his age, Hugh finally allowed himself that smile. The old man was no match for anyone as a courtier but he had never learned to understand women - their weaknesses, their fears. He, at least, knew what it took to make even the most stubborn witch change her mind. He entered the room without knocking.

Elizabeth spun around from the window. Short and slight of figure, nevertheless she was no frail maiden. With her red hair, pale skin and a glare that would shame a gorgon, she managed to intimidate most who crossed her path, even, it seemed, his father.

‘Greetings, my Lady Elizabeth.’

‘What do you want? Oh, wait one moment, it’s not hard to guess: Goodrich and Painswick. The same thing, every time. Well, it’s the same answer too. I shall not sign over any of my lands, not while my body yet draws breath.’

Hugh smiled. ‘It is not wise to tempt fate by such statements, my lady. Often the devil hears instead of God.’

‘Do you threaten me, my Lord?’

Hugh shrugged. ‘Take it as you wish; you usually do.’

‘Did you come here just to insult me? If so, I have better things to do with my time than listen.’

‘Do you? I’m pleased to hear that you find so much to do in our custody. No, my lady, I did not come here to banter words. You were right the first time: I came to seek your submission of Painswick and Goodrich.’

‘Then Devil take you, Despenser. It is bad enough being kept on your father’s manors and denied a husband without being robbed of my inheritance too.’

‘Two properties is hardly being robbed, Elizabeth. I doubt you’d hardly notice their loss. As for being kept here, you know perfectly well you’re far too much an important commodity to be allowed at will for every jack man to try for your hand. Anyway, I offered you my son as a husband.’

‘Do you think I would let any blood of yours taint my line? Anyway, how do I know that as soon as I bore him an heir you wouldn’t have me conveniently disappear.’

Hugh smiled and shook his head. She truly believed that he might have her killed; maybe she had heard some of the common rumours of things he was supposed to have done - Lady Baret for example. Never mind, let her think that way; it might work in his favour.

‘What, no words, my Lord? Perhaps then you would care to leave me to looking at something more pleasing to my eyes.’

Hugh crossed the room to her in three huge strides and grabbed hold of her left arm, his fingers closing around it so hard he knew they would leave bruises. ‘Enough of your disrespect, Elizabeth. Would you rather be imprisoned in a castle tower instead of a comfortable manor? It could quite easily be arranged if the rumour of a plot to abduct you were to surface.’

He glared down into her face and noted, with satisfaction, her defiance had suddenly melted into fear - just as he had intended.

‘My lord… please… take your hand off me. You are hurting me.’

‘I have not even started yet. You disrepect my father, and my family. You refuse an offer of marriage to my son. And yet you take all the fine food, wine and servants that we have to offer. I call that ungrateful. Well, it is now time to pay up. You will give us Painswick and Goodrich, as agreed, and after that little display just now I suggest you offer the remedy of another manor too - just to soothe my father’s hurt feelings. How about Swanscombe?’

Despite being terrified, Elizabeth still managed some strength to shake herself free. ‘Not Swanscombe! You can have the other two, but leave Swanscombe alone - it was my mother’s favourite.’

Hugh smirked. ‘No deal. Painswick, Goodrich and Swanscombe or else you will find life will be a lot less bearable from today. I have a nice little room at Caerphilly which would suit you well. It’s basic and you’d only have two servants, but at least it would be dry - unless a gale is blowing from the west. I might visit you from time to time but otherwise I’m araid it’s the sort of place where you would be - after a while - forgotten. Last chance Elizabeth.’

She glared at him. No-one had ever dared to speak to her this way before and for once she could find no rejoinder, no way of verbalising her rising anger. Before she could stop herself her hand flew upwards and across his face, leaving an angry red mark. For a brief secong the shocked look on his face was gratifying, then he grasped her wrist and thrust her away from him.

‘Bitch! If that’s the way you want it then be prepared to leave at dawn tomorrow. You keep on about being held captive: maybe it’s time you discovered what that truly means.’

He started to turn away as she sank to her knees where she stood. ‘My lord, please. Please forgive me. You can have them - whatever you want, just don’t take away any more of my freedom.’

He turned back. ‘Painswick, Goodrich, Swanscombe. That’s all I want - oh, and a bit more respect towards my father. If you learn some better manners then you may have more chance of pleasing a husband - if you ever have one.’

Leaving her weeping on the floor, Hugh went to find his father. After telling him he’d secured the lands, he decided he would go riding in the woods. A good gallop would help to clear away the taint of what he had just done; only then would he be able to return to London and face Eleanor.

Draft 1 25/01/08

An Encounter between Hugh and Mortimer at the Feast of the Swan

2008-03-07T14:15:00.000Z

Hugh hung back near the wall as the tables were cleared for the dancing and entertainments. He watched his newly dubbed comrades laugh and joke with each other, their bellies full of food and their heads of wine. In contrast he hadn’t eaten much and had managed only a few sips of wine. It felt like he was seeing them from another room, maybe even another country. He knew most of them by sight, had even grown up with some of them in the Prince’s household, and yet, somehow at this moment, they all felt like strangers. Maybe it was the grandiosity of the occasion overwhelming him or else the fact that he was to be wed in a few days, but he felt uncomfortable. Pictures of the warm stables at his father’s manor of Soham suddenly came into his head and he found himself wishing fervently that he could be there, with only the company of the horses around him.

A hand upon his shoulder jerked him from his thoughts. He spun round to see the dark eyes and lopsided grin of Roger Mortimer. ‘Despenser! What are you doing back here? I thought you’d be cutting a pretty figure on the dance floor to prove to your bride to be what a good prospect you are.’

‘What do you want?’ Despenser asked coldly, shrugging the hand off his arm.

‘There’s no need to be like that, my friend; I only come to wish you well on your forthcoming nuptials. You’re a lucky man to have been given such a beautiful bride.’

Indeed, that was one thing Hugh could not argue with. He looked up to the dais where Eleanor sat close to her grandfather. At fourteen she still wore her dark hair loose; streaming over her shoulders, the light from the torches picking out the red in it. Pretty of face and slim of body, Hugh never stopped thanking his luck that the King had betrothed him to her instead of some plain flat-faced daughter of a lesser noble.

‘So what does she think of you?’ Mortimer asked.

‘I am sure she likes me well enough,’ Hugh answered, wishing the man would just go away.

‘That’s good. At least it will make up for her disappointment in other ways.’ At last, here it came: Hugh knew Mortimer would never have wasted his time just to come over and make pleasant conversation with him. He decided to ignore him and pointedly turned his back. Nevertheless Mortimer continued, his voice taking on a slyer tone. ‘After all, I’m sure she must have felt betrayed by her father when he agreed her marriage to a poor, landless squire, just to repay a debt owed by the king.’

His patience at an end, Hugh turned and grabbed Mortimer by the throat, pinning him to the wall behind. Around them, no-one seemed to notice, their wits dulled by the drink. ‘Think carefully on what you say, Mortimer. One day you will have cause to regret this.’

Roger made no attempt to fight back. He even grinned as if Hugh was no more threat than a fly. ‘Your threats do not scare me Despenser. Do not forget it was a Mortimer sword that put paid to your grandfather and I can guarantee that it will be a Mortimer sword that will finish you too if you dare to quarrel with me. You are nothing, and no-one. And you will die as nothing and no-one.’

Hugh stared into his eyes, seeing only mockery and disdain. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to smash the man’s head against the wall, to carve his heart out and throw it to the nearest dog. But he didn’t dare risk a confrontation here, in front of the king, and Mortimer knew it, was almost daring him to disgrace himself. Swallowing his anger, Hugh released him and took two paces back.

‘What, not man enough? I pity your wife on her wedding night.’

Hugh pointed a finger, the adrenalin coursing through his veins making his hand shake with rage. ‘I swear to God… to God, Mortimer, that I will destroy you and all your blood. I will not rest until it is so.’

Not giving his enemy a chance to reply, Hugh turned on his heel and strode off towards to door.