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Isabella of France was proud to be wed to the handsome Edward II of England, but her joy soon turned to rancour, for Piers Gaveston, an egotistical and mercenary courtier, usurped her husband's bed. No woman could compete with her beauty, but another man? What could she do at the age of fourteen? Wait, only wait. And so she waited, nursing her anger, rejection, and disgust. She grew in beauty and wiles; the king, in weakness, as other men, worse men, took Gaveston's place. Weary of waiting, Isabella turned to Mortimer of Wigmore. In his bed, she found comfort and love and cared little that people called her a harlot. But even the presence of Mortimer could not quench her thirst for vengeance, once she had tasted blood. Like an unleashed fury, she pursued the king's paramours.



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