“Uncle and nephew had sent from the Welsh marches with assurances of friendship, of help at need. Mortimer! It was a name Isabella knew. A great name on the Welsh border. The uncle was Mortimer of Chirk, the nephew Mortimer of Wigmore; and baptised Roger both. One never saw them at court; their hands were full. Most powerful of marcher lords they kept peace on the Welsh Border. Isabella thanked God they had come in to Pembroke. The year moved on; the new year came in. Lancaster more bitter, more... intransigent than ever still rode high in the saddle. But Pembroke’s Middle Party gathered strength, bishops and barons forever swelling its ranks. Mortimer; it was a name often heard now and Isabella listened with care, stored the information. Mortimer of Chirk was in late middle-age; a strong man of great authority. Mortimer of Wigmore in his early thirties was his uncle’s heir and both were very rich. Bonny fighters both of them; and the younger, one that knew how to use his wits. He was, they said, ambitious above all men.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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