Jean Plaidy (32 page)

The marriage of the two children was taking place in St. Stephen's Chapel from the walls of which hung blue velvet decorated with the golden fleur-de-lys. Lord Rivers led in little Anne Mowbray.

Both children did as they had been told, although I am sure neither of them had a notion of what it was all about. And when the ceremony was over, it was Richard's duty to scatter gold coins among the crowd waiting outside. And then Anne Mowbray, with Richard on one side and the Duke of Buckingham on the other, was escorted to the banqueting hall.

There were shouts of loyalty from the people. Weddings were always a source of interest and enjoyment and the wedding of such a young pair was particularly delightful to them.

It was on this occasion that I exchanged a few words with the queen. She said how grieved she had been to hear of Isabel's death.

“She was delicate, of course,” she said. “There are some of us who should not bear too many children.” She was a little complacent, implying she, who had borne several children and still retained her youthful looks and beauty, was most certainly not one of them.

“I sent Ankarette to her to help her.” Her face hardened. “That was a terrible case. Ankarette was a good woman. She served us both well.”

“I know, your Grace,” I said.

She touched my hand lightly. “There are some wicked people among us,” she whispered. “It is best that they are under restraint. I must go to Madame la Dauphine. I am pleased to see you here, duchess.”

It was gracious of her to speak to me. I think she wanted to stress to me that the Duke of Clarence was unworthy to live.

The next days were given over to jousting. Knights came into London from all over the country to take part. The Woodvilles, of course, were very much in evidence and the occasions were graced by the presence of the queen and Madame la Dauphine. The absence of the Duke of Clarence was very noticeable.

         

Richard told me that he had spoken to Edward about their mother's plea for leniency.

“I should add mine, Anne,” he said. “But I am so unsure. He is our brother. He has been near me all my life. We were brought up together.”

“Edward, too.”

“No, Edward was not with us. There were just the three, Margaret, George, and myself. We were the only ones in the Fotheringay nursery—the young ones. I am glad no decision rests with me. Poor Edward. I know what he must be feeling now. His thoughts will be in the Bowyer Tower with George.”

He told me later that Edward had sent for him and had talked of Clarence. In fact Edward could think of nothing else. He said that if he were wise he would let George suffer the penalty of treason. “For,” he went on, “there have been so many of his acts that are treasonable.

“I had to admit that that was so. But I asked him how he would feel if he gave the order for his brother's execution. That order would have to come from him. ‘It would lie heavy on my conscience,' he answered. And it would. Poor Edward, I pity him.”

I said, “He should not reproach himself. He has been a good brother to George and George has scarcely been the same to him.”

“I have suggested that he go to George and talk to him. Give him one last chance…and if he should err again…then make his decision.”

“And what said he to this?”

“I believe he is going to do it. I feel sure he will forgive George.”

Then I said, “The trouble will start again. It is inevitable.”

“You think the king would be justified in signing the death warrant of his brother?”

“Justified, yes. But I do understand what you mean about its lying heavily on his conscience.”

“We shall have to see. Edward is going to the Tower. He will go without ceremony. We shall soon know the outcome.”

We did. When the king returned from the Bowyer Tower, the first thing he did was send for Richard.

I waited in trepidation to hear the news, for I guessed something of significance must have happened. Richard was absent for a long time and when he came back to our apartment he shut himself in. I went to him and he allowed me to enter his chamber, where I found him looking very distressed.

“Richard!” I cried. “What is it?”

“I…cannot believe it,” he said. “This is the end. It must be.”

“The king has forgiven him?”

He said nothing. He just stared ahead.

I sat on the arm of his chair and stroked the hair back from his face.

“Tell me, Richard,” I said. “I feel I should know, because of what I have suffered at his hands.”

“It is a most astonishing turn of events,” murmured Richard. “He is mad…completely mad. He has thrown away his chance. This must be the end. He himself made the decision.”

“Richard, I beg of you to tell me what has happened.”

“Edward went to him…ready to forgive him once more. But no sooner did George see him than he began to abuse him, shouting that he had brought a breed of reptiles into the family, that he had married a witch and not only had he married her but it seemed he had married her blood-sucking relations also.”

“The king would have been in no mood for such talk, I should have thought.”

“You would have thought correctly. He ordered George to be silent. He accused him of acts of treason. He told him he had come to help him, but was growing less and less inclined to do so. George was reckless. He had clearly been drinking. A great butt of malmsey had been delivered to his cell on George's orders. Edward went on trying to reason with him. George is shrewd at times and he knew that the king was trying to find reasons for releasing him. Oh, what a fool George is! He could have been a free man today, but he was never very good at reasoning. He was always caught up in the passion of the moment. He went on ranting against the queen and the Woodvilles. Then he said a terrible thing. He said that when our father was away in battle our mother took a lover and the result was Edward, which meant that Clarence was the rightful heir to the throne.”

“What a monstrous story!”

“An insult not only to Edward but to my mother.”

“I wonder what she would say if she knew?”

“She would be incensed—as Edward is. He said to me, ‘You see how he is? What can I do? He is my brother. If I let him go free, how can I know from one day to the next what he will do?' I said to him, ‘You shall be confronted by our mother. Perhaps then she would not plead for you so earnestly.'”

“I cannot imagine what she would do if she heard such a rumor,” I said.

“Edward does not want her to know what Clarence has said of her. He said it would shock and depress her too deeply. She was always a devoted wife to our father. She was even with him in campaigns whenever she could be. This is a terrible slight on her good name, and so unjustified. But it shows that George will say anything that occurs to him.”

“Do you think this will be the end of him?”

Richard was thoughtful. “There is one other matter,” he said slowly. “I think Edward was on the verge of telling me, but changed his mind. I am of the opinion that it shocked him so much that he could not speak of it even to me.”

“So you have no idea what it was?”

“None at all. As I remember, Edward spoke somewhat incoherently. He said, ‘There is something else…disastrous if he succeeded.' Then he paused for a long time. I asked him what it was and he said, ‘Oh, 'twas nothing in truth…just slanderous nonsense. The sort of thing George would think up.' I again asked him to tell me, because I could see that, in spite of the manner in which he was trying to brush aside this thing, it had affected him deeply. ‘Nothing…nothing,' he said, and he made it clear to me that the matter was closed.”

“Do you think that Clarence has offended him beyond forgiveness?”

“I do.”

“I suppose the slur on his legitimacy is enough.”

“I think it is such nonsense that it could easily be disproved.”

“But it shows he is his brother's enemy.”

“That is no new discovery. I have a notion that it is this other matter that has made up the king's mind. But knowing Edward, I am unsure. Our mother begged for Clarence's life, and Edward hates there to be rifts in the family. There is Margaret, whom he has offended by refusing to consider Clarence's marriage to Mary and allowing Lord Rivers's name to go forward. He wants harmony all around him…so…I do not know what George's fate will be.”

We were not long kept in doubt.

Next day we heard that the Duke of Clarence, the worse for drink, had fallen into a huge butt of malmsey and been drowned.

         

The court was stunned by the news. It was well known that the Duke of Clarence was a heavy drinker, and it seemed plausible that, in a drunken stupor, he had reached to fill his goblet, toppled into the butt, and, being intoxicated, was unable to get out. It was ironical that he had been killed by his favorite drink and in a butt that he himself had ordered to be brought into his cell.

I had other suspicions. After what Richard had told me, it seemed certain that he had been killed on Edward's orders.

Duchess Cecily was stricken with grief. She seemed like a different person from Proud Cis, as they called her. She was very sad when she spoke to me.

“Edward is a great king,” she said, “and state affairs are safe in his hands. His father would have been a great king, too. How I wish there had not been this quarrel in the family! We should all stand together. There is strength in union and danger in discord.”

As I tried to comfort her I could not help wondering what she would have said had she known of the slander that her son would have brought against her. Perhaps then she would have understood why Clarence had to die and that he was indeed a menace to his brother, and the peace of the realm.

Richard was very distressed by the whole matter. We talked about it a little. I knew he thought that Edward had arranged for the death of George…in which case it was murder.

“If Clarence had lived,” said Richard, “there would have been trouble sooner or later…risings all over the country…men dying in a foolish and hopeless cause. And just suppose Clarence had triumphed over Edward…imagine what harm would have been done to the country. In such a case murder would be justified.”

We discussed this for a while and I think we both felt that if the death of one foolish and reckless man had been brought about in order to save the lives and suffering of thousands, the deed was not to be judged as murder but justice.

“Edward was never a vindictive man,” insisted Richard. “Whatever happened on that night was justified.”

I knew Richard felt better after he had come to that conclusion, and we did not refer to his brother's death again.

Mary of Burgundy had now married the Archduke Maximilian, son of the Hapsburg Emperor Frederick the Third, so the matter that had aroused such fury in Clarence and led to his death was now concluded.

There was another arrest that puzzled Richard. It had taken place on the very night of Clarence's death. This was that of Robert Stillington, the Bishop of Bath and Wells. He was a good Yorkist, but he was accused of uttering treasonable words that could be prejudicial to the state. It was a small matter and Stillington was soon released, but I was to remember this some time after, although it seemed of very little importance at the time.

There was nothing now to detain us. Richard assured Edward that it would be unwise for him to stay too long away from the north. Edward embraced Richard warmly, calling him his “loyal brother.” Richard was deeply touched. He told me that Edward had said, “Never have I had any cause to doubt your loyalty to me. I should thank Heaven for giving me the blessings of my brother Richard.”

I guessed then that the death of his brother weighed heavily upon him. After taking a tender farewell, during which the king commanded us both to take care of ourselves and each other, for he loved us both dearly, we returned to Middleham and our family.

THE LORD PROTECTOR'S WIFE

W
hat joy to be away from the intrigues and troubles of the court! And there was our family eagerly awaiting us. What a pleasure to slip into the lives of a country nobleman and his wife, to be chatelaine of the castle, to immerse myself in domestic matters! We must, perforce, frequently entertain, but what enjoyable occasions they were! There would be dancing and singing; and often, to the delight of the children, the mummers came to perform.

I would accompany Richard on his various progresses through the northern towns. I enjoyed these visits, especially those to York, which city was the very bastion of the House of York. It was always thrilling to approach those white walls with their battlements and barbican gates.

York was the important town of the north. Some said it was as important as London. The minster, which had only recently been completed, was the glory of the city. The wealth of York was due to its merchants, who carried on a thriving trade, not only throughout the country but on the continent.

The people of the north appreciated Richard's steadying influence. There was always a great welcome for us and I was always thrilled to hear the shouts for Gloucester as we rode along. Richard received this homage with a restrained dignity, but I knew he was proud of what he had been able to achieve in keeping the north peaceful and content for Edward.

We endeavored to be there during the week after Trinity, so that we could witness the miracle plays that were often performed in York at that time, when the actors were the traders of the town and they enacted scenes from the Bible.

This state of utter contentment could not be expected to last forever. There was trouble with the Scots.

Messages came from Edward. He believed that Louis was contemplating the situation in Burgundy and was getting restive. Maximilian was an energetic young man but he lacked the money that he would need if he were to hold out against Louis, and once the French king had brought Burgundy under his control, he would set himself free from the treaty with England. Paying the pension to Edward must rankle, and Edward was sure he was persuading—perhaps bribing—the King of Scotland to harry the English on the border.

James the Third of Scotland was something of a weakling, a man of little judgment, but he might believe that with the backing of the French king he could achieve victory over his old enemy.

The trouble began with border raids, which went on from time to time. However, Edward had information that this was just a preliminary exercise, and he wanted Richard to get an army together and march.

This was a bitter blow. War had come to our beloved north. It continued sporadically over some months, which kept Richard away from home; and at length came the summer and he was ordered to come to Edward because their sister Margaret was paying a visit to England. Richard must be there to greet her, and plans for a Scottish invasion could be discussed at the same time.

So even at Middleham it was impossible to find absolute peace.

I accompanied Richard to London where lavish celebrations were in progress to welcome the important lady, Margaret of Burgundy. However, Richard reported to me that there was a certain coolness between her and Edward. She asked a great many questions about her favorite, George. Edward had allowed him to become a prisoner. She found that hard to understand. She knew well her brother. George was just a charming, mischievous boy. It was difficult to make her see that mischief that can be charming in the young can take on an alarming quality in the mature. But so blinded was Margaret by her love for George that she was determined to defend him without reason.

Richard said it was not a happy meeting. Margaret, of course, had had a purpose in coming, and she was disappointed in the outcome.

“She fears that Burgundy is weak,” said Richard. “Maximilian desperately needs help and she has come to ask Edward for it. ‘Help against the King of France!' Edward cried. ‘He is my benefactor.' It's true, of course, and Margaret must have known that the enmity between France and Burgundy was England's strength as it had ever been. And yet she was asking him to take up arms against the King of France!

“‘What of my pension?' demanded Edward. ‘Are you prepared to replace it?' Well, he did not expect an answer to that question, I am sure. So, Margaret, who has come to England to ask for aid for Burgundy, will be disappointed.”

She returned to Burgundy, hurt and disillusioned; and we went back to Scotland and the war.

         

Two years passed. Richard and I had been married for ten years and there was no sign of another child. That was a source of great sorrow to me. Moreover, my fears regarding my son's health were growing. He was a dear boy—quiet, gentle, and loving—but it was very clear that he lacked the strength and vitality of his half-brother and -sister.

As for myself, I was often overtaken by lassitude, which tired me, and I would have to retire to my chamber to rest, though I tried to keep this a secret from Richard.

How thankful I was when he brought the war with the Scots to a satisfactory conclusion. It was a great joy to see more of him, but there was a constant nagging fear for my son's health…and now my own.

Richard would not have our boy forced to take part in military exercises. He remembered the days of his own youth when he had striven to keep up with the boys of his age. Our son was more inclined to study and Richard said he must follow his own inclinations.

Little Anne Mowbray, the child bride of the Duke of York, died. I heard it said that the queen genuinely mourned her, for she had taken her little daughter-in-law into her household after the marriage; but she was heard to comment that, in spite of the child's early death, her fortune had passed to the Duke of York and that clearly gratified her.

There was another death, and that was to have a startling effect on us all.

It happened at the end of March of that year '82, but we did not hear the news until some weeks afterward, and even then I did not realize the importance to us.

Mary of Burgundy, out riding, was thrown from her horse and died from her injuries. She had left two children, a girl and a boy. Now Maximilian must bear the burdens of state alone. Margaret wrote to Edward begging for help, and Maximilian added his pleas to hers; but there was nothing Edward could do while he had his treaty with the King of France to consider.

We were expected to travel to the court at Westminster to celebrate Christmas. Edward sent for us with an affectionate message. He wanted to thank his beloved brother in person for the splendid victories over the Scots.

Richard and I—with our son—set out for the south.

That was to be a memorable Christmas. It was the beginning of change—a sad and unhappy change for me, in spite of the worldly glory it brought. I had no wish for it; all through it I yearned to be back at Middleham, but alas we cannot order our lives and must accept what comes to us.

The king greeted us effusively. He was as magnificent as ever. True, he had grown fat, which was not surprising if what one heard of his self-indulgence was accurate. His complexion was florid and his magnificent eyes faintly bloodshot. Yet he still looked like the model of a king, in spite of the pouches under his eyes. He was distinguished among all those surrounding him: he was smiling, benign, friendly, jocular, and approachable. I have often thought that no monarch could have been more loved by his people. They would always smile on him no matter what they heard of his countless mistresses, and his unpopular marriage. Yet there was the queen, as beautiful as ever, the years seemingly unable to touch that ice-cold perfection; and all her children—two sons and five daughters—were as beautiful as their parents.

The king embraced Richard. “My brother,” he said. “My dear, dear brother. God strike me if I ever forget what I owe to you! Welcome. We see too little of each other. And Anne, Anne, my dear sister. We are going to put some color into those cheeks; we are going to make you dance the night away; we are going to put some flesh on those beautiful bones of yours. You don't look after this dear girl enough, Richard. I must have a word with you on that score.”

“I am well, my lord,” I insisted.

He kissed me. “We are going to make you even more so. And my nephew…welcome, fair sir. We are delighted to have you with us. Your cousins are waiting to greet you.”

He exuded bonhomie and goodwill and I believe it was genuine. He loved people and he wanted them to love him. It was impossible not to fall under his charm.

Little did we know then that the blow was about to fall.

Richard was with him when the news came. He was glad of that. He told me about it afterward.

“Messengers arrived from Burgundy,” he said. “I could see that my brother was not very eager to receive them. He was ever so. He hated bad news and always wanted to hold it off, even for a little while. He had been thinking of Christmas and the festivities. You know how he always enjoys revelry and such. Perhaps he had an inkling of what was to come. ‘What think you this news from Burgundy may be?' he said to me. ‘It is doubtless Maximilian begging again.' I replied, ‘What will happen to him now? He is not strong enough to stand against Louis.' ‘He's energetic enough,' said Edward. ‘What he needs is arms and men. A war cannot be fought without them.'

“He was thoughtful and, I could see, a little worried. I said to him, ‘Why not send for the messengers? Why not see what they have to report?'

“He looked at me steadily. ‘You speak sense as always, Dickon,' he said, calling me by my childhood name. ‘We'll send for the men.'”

“And when they came?” I asked.

“I had never seen him so affected. The men had letters from Margaret. My brother read them and I saw the blood rush into his face; his eyes seemed as though they would burst from his head. I said to him, ‘What is it, Edward? You can trust me.' He put out a hand and I took it. I had to steady him. I thought he was going to fall. His face was suffused with rage. I led him to a chair and forced him to sit down. He did so. He continued to shake. He thrust the letter into my hand. ‘Read that,' he said.

“I read the letter he gave me. I could not believe those words. Maximilian, unable to go on without help, had given up and made peace terms with Louis. There was to be a marriage between the dauphin and Mary's young daughter, Margaret; and the little girl's dowry would be Burgundy and Artois.

“The letter fell from my hand,” went on Richard. “I was as stunned as Edward. My first thoughts were of my niece Elizabeth, known throughout the court as Madame la Dauphine. Another would have that title now. I was not surprised at my brother's wrath. This alliance between Louis and Burgundy would mean that there was no longer any need for Louis to keep the peace with England.”

“Will this be the end of the king's pension from France?” I asked.

“I could see that that was what was hurting Edward most. I was very alarmed for him, Anne. I have never seen him as he was then. It was always his way to shake off trouble. He had always been optimistic…even at the worst of times. Then…he leaned forward in his chair, and suddenly I saw his face suffused with purple blood. I loosened the shirt at his throat as he gasped for breath. Then I shouted for help. When they came in he had slipped to the floor. He looked so big, so helpless, so different from himself.”