Thwarted Queen (35 page)

Next morning, Warwick was ushered in just as I was breaking my fast.

“I come with a petition, dear Aunt!” he cried in ringing tones.

I rose, thanking Our Blessed Lady that my sleeplessness of the night before had caused me to rise early and put on my finest attire. Behind Warwick was a crowd of familiar faces. This could only be a deputation from the Lords and the Commons. I beckoned to my steward. “Ask Lord Edward to come at once.”

When Edward walked in around an hour later, he looked every inch a king. I regarded him with astonishment, feeling again that now-familiar quandary that Blaybourne used to put me in—that a peasant could look like an aristocrat.

“God Save King Edward,” raised a faint voice.

I turned around.

“ ‘Tis the crowd outside,” remarked Warwick. “They followed me all the way from the Herber and have been waiting.”

I smiled. “Let us open the door, therefore, that we may hear them.”

“King Edward! God Save King Edward!” chanted the crowd outside, as my steward slowly opened the heavy oak door.

My chest swelled as tears pricked.

Warwick went down on one knee. “We humbly beg you, Edward, Earl of March, to accept the crown and royal dignity of England.”

Wasn’t it fortunate that I named him
Edward
? His name reminded everyone of his descent from King Edward III.

“Aye!” exclaimed the Lords and the Commons. “We beg you to accept the crown.”

“Avenge us on King Henry and his wife!” chanted the crowd outside.

Edward bestowed his dazzling smile on everyone and made a pretty speech, in which he accepted their petition.

Warwick summoned London’s leading citizens to Saint Paul’s Cathedral, where they enthusiastically acclaimed their new sovereign. Truly, Edward behaved like a king that day. He made a thanksgiving offering to God, then processed to Westminster Hall where he took the oath of the new monarch.

I found it all I could do to keep from weeping, my son attired in royal robes and the cap of estate, enthroned on the king’s bench to the cheers of the greatest magnates of the realm.

Afterwards, everyone formed up in procession and went past delirious Londoners who threw snowdrops and wintergreens at their new sovereign. They went to Westminster Abbey, where the abbot and monks presented Edward with the crown and scepter of Saint Edward the Confessor. Edward made offerings at the high altar and the Confessors Shrine before seating himself in the coronation chair. He addressed the congregation, explaining to them why he was their rightful king. When the lords asked the people if they would have Edward as their king, their roars were loud enough to lift the roof. The magnates then knelt, one by one, to do homage to Edward, while the monks sang the
Te Deum
.

On the thirteenth day of March, Edward left for the north.

Chapter 48

Baynard’s Castle, London

April 3rd 1461

On the third day of April, I received a letter from Edward. I called my household together and read it to them from the steps of the dais of Baynard Castle’s great hall.

Well-beloved Mother, we greet you well. It has pleased God to grant us a great victory at Towton this twenty-ninth day of March, in the first year of our reign. We now advance on London, where I shall soon greet you in person.

“Edward the King!” Cups and tankards clanked and everyone toasted my son. The noise they made carried outside, and an excited crowd gathered. I ordered my steward to proclaim the news of Edward’s victory and provide a cup of ale for anyone who wanted to toast him. Then I mounted the stairs to my bedchamber to read the rest of the letter.

On the twenty-eighth day of March, I sent Cousin Warwick to secure the bridge over the River Aire, but we were ambushed, and many of our number were killed. Cousin Warwick was wounded in the leg, but it was just a graze. When the news spread, the soldiers were full dismayed. But Cousin Warwick saved the day by killing his own horse, in full view of the army. He told them that he would fight on foot and die with his men, rather than yield another inch.

I lay back against my pillows. How proud my father would have been to see how indispensable the Nevilles had become to the House of York. Just as Salisbury had supported my lord, so now his son Warwick supported my son.

Though the Lancastrians destroyed the bridge, we managed to cross the Aire and set up camp that night on the other bank. Did I forget to mention that the weather was atrocious? My men had to endure driving snow and hail. Baron John de Clifford, whom you well know was responsible for brother Rutland’s murder, died.

I shivered and crossed myself, trying not to think of another bitter winter day when my son, husband, and brother had been cut down by those Lancastrian beasts.

That night, I stayed in Pontefract castle. The next day, I drew my men up in battle formation near unto the village of Towton. We fought all day long, from around eleven in the morning, to well past compline, in the midst of a thick blizzard. As dusk came on, Norfolk sent in a strong force, and the Lancastrians fled in a rout. Maybe forty thousand souls perished that day, the bloodiest day on English soul. I have given the gravediggers extra wages, for their labor will be long and hard.

I crossed myself and murmured a prayer. How like Edward to remember the common folk. My heart swelled; he had endured a hard and bitter fight, and he had won. Now, I would be able to summon George and Richard home from their exile in Burgundy.

Written at Towton, the thirtieth day of March, by your most loving son,

Edwardus Rex.

A month before his nineteenth birthday, Edward became King of England, styling himself
Edward IV
. Henry of Lancaster and Marguerite d’Anjou were in York when they heard the news of their defeat. They fled north. Exeter was in their train.

Edward had won an important victory, yet it was incomplete. Henry of Lancaster, his wife, and her son were still at large, Marguerite vowing she would be revenged on the House of York.

Chapter 49

April to November 1461

Throughout April and May of 1461, I received numerous letters from Edward telling me of his affairs.

Well-Beloved Mother,

I write to you from the fair city of York, where I shall rest to celebrate Easter. My first act on arriving was to order the decent burial of my beloved father, uncle and brother. I hope, dearest Mother, this will give you some peace...

I felt the now familiar rise of bile at the hideous way my menfolk had been treated. I retreated to the privy.

After murdering them, the Lancastrian beasts struck their heads off their bodies and put them atop pikes above Micklegate Bar, the main gateway into the city of York. These beasts even put a paper crown on my lord’s severed head before moving off.

Later, propped up in bed with a cup of Jenet’s soothing mint potion, I read the rest of the letter.

We are to set off north tomorrow in pursuit of the Bitch of Anjou. My scouts tell me she is making her way towards Scotland with her family...

In early May, Edward left the north and returned to London, where he received a hero’s welcome for saving the city from the savagery of the northerners. Unfortunately, he was unsuccessful in preventing the Bitch of Anjou, Henry of Lancaster, and others from reaching refuge in Scotland.

On the twenty-eighth day of June, in the year 1461, Edward was crowned in Westminster Abbey. On that day, he made his younger brother George the Duke of Clarence. Richard was allowed to remain under my care.

I was determined to do something for my eldest daughter Nan. When Marguerite d’Anjou and Henry of Lancaster fled north into Scotland, Exeter had followed, leaving his wife and daughter behind. Edward declared him to be a traitor, and in the normal course of affairs would have confiscated his lands. Yet he offered to restore Exeter’s lands to Nan that she might live comfortably for the rest of her life and provide for her daughter, who would now be a wealthy heiress.

Nan was at first unwilling to agree, certain that her husband would eventually return. She gave in only after seeing Edward’s coronation. I wanted her to stay awhile in Baynard’s Castle, but Nan refused.

“I must manage my lands, madam,” she told me. “There are many out there who would take Anne’s inheritance away. I must ensure that does not happen.”

I could not fault her reasoning. Nan was like a whipped horse. Only time and the greatest patience would enable her to trust anyone again.

On the thirty-first day of July, Edward appointed Warwick to be Warden of the East and West marches on the northern border, thus combining the Percy’s share of the defense with that of the Nevilles, for the Percy Earls of Northumberland were Lancastrian still. This was a rich and well-deserved reward for the cousin who’d proved himself a loyal friend. Edward also made him chief advisor, giving him the responsibility of defending the kingdom and of foreign policy.

Not more than a month passed after Edward’s coronation before King Charles VII of France died. He was succeeded by his son Louis, who had been friendly towards the Yorkists. But matters between the new kings of England and France did not proceed smoothly. One September day, Edward was closeted in his study with his cousin Warwick, tackling the numerous problems facing England, when a young man flew in and bent at the knee, sweat pouring down his face.

“My lord King: I have here a letter to the queen.” He paused and flushed red. “Pardon me, I mean Marguerite of Lancaster.”

Warwick swung around. He cut a magnificent figure in a tunic of red velvet, a cloak of purple draped elegantly over one shoulder. “A letter?” he snapped.

“Yes, Your Grace. I mean, your lordship. I’m sorry, good sirs, my wits are that addled—” He gasped for breath.

Edward came forward. At six feet four inches, he was about six inches taller than his cousin. He also dressed magnificently. Today he was wearing a blue satin tunic, slashed to reveal a silver silk undershirt. He placed a large hand on the messenger’s shoulder.

“Take a breath, my good man. You look as if you’ve run all the way from Scotland.” He called to his squire. “Bring a cup of ale for this good fellow.”

“That’s very kind of you sir, I mean, my lord, Your Grace—”

“What is your message?” snapped Warwick, his grey eyes hardening. Now in his early thirties, his fair hair was beginning to grey, and he had lines of experience around his mouth and eyes.

Edward smiled gently and patted the messenger again.

“Have some ale, and tell us how you came by this letter.”

“One of your spies intercepted it,” replied the messenger, quaffing his ale.

Edward held his hand out and scanned the letter.

Madam, fear not, but be of good comfort, for we have been summoned to see King Louis. Therefore, beware ye venture not your person by sea till ye have other word from us—

Edward glanced up as Warwick came forward. His young unlined face showed little emotion, save for a clenching of the jaw. Silently, he handed over the letter.