Thwarted Queen (45 page)

I gazed out of the window. It was bitter cold, and I struggled to keep my heavy fur wrap around me as I stood there, sleepless. Dawn came, black changing to grey and white. It was February 19, 1478, a cold day under the clouds, snow falling. Wisps of chill damp infected my bones as I knelt to pray for the soul of my son George.

Had he been executed the night before?

What had become of him?

I was near unto sixty-three years, yet hours went by as I continued to fast and pray, moving my lips over the prayers composed by Saint Bridget of Sweden:

O Jesu, endless sweetness of all that love thee, a joy passing and exceeding all gladness and desire, the savior and lover of all repentant sinners …

A voice softly said, “Mother?”

Slowly, I opened my eyes and through my cloudy vision a face gradually came into focus. The face seemed to be George’s. But it dissolved and became Richard’s. I’d never noticed Richard to be like George before.

I tried to move, but could not.

Someone lifted me up and gently set me into my favorite chair. The room came to life as folk stoked up the fire and bustled around with cups of mulled wine and refreshments.

“I cannot eat,” I murmured.

Richard sat down beside me. “I’ll not have you go as well.”

An image of George the day I’d faced down the Lancastrian army at Ludlow filled my head. How bright and handsome he’d looked in his suit of green and gold, chosen especially to match my outfit. He showed little fear, even when the army burst into town, staring at everything with his unusual blue-green eyes. And now I would never see him again.

“Mother,” came a voice. “Mother, where are you?”

“George?” I murmured. Someone’s warm hands picked mine up, and Richard’s face wavered into view. “You must eat, Mother. You’ll make yourself ill if you do not.”

I took my handkerchief out of my sleeve and dabbed my eyes. A procession of people filled my mind’s eye: my beloved Joan, my lost daughter Nan, my murdered child Edmund, my lord husband Richard, and my dearest friend and confidante, Mama. I sagged in my seat, bone weary. Truly, I was living a long and unhappy life. Lisette’s curse had come true. Maybe if I continued to fast, I could see Mama again.

But Richard was by my side once more. He cut a small morsel of my favorite honey wafer, put it on a plate. Then he stared me down until I took a nibble. He handed me my wine cup and used the power of his blue-grey eyes to encourage me to take a sip.

“You’re so quiet, Mother.”

I lifted my eyes. “George?”

Richard slumped in his seat and took my hands. “He’s gone.”

“How?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

I stared at my hands as tears slipped past my lids and down my cheeks. I was responsible for George’s death. By announcing the king’s illegitimacy in front of everyone, I provided the motive to turn against his brother. George had always been intensely jealous of Edward, but I refused to see that. I believed I could manage George, but he was unstable and easily led.

What a sin I had committed by being unfaithful to my lord. Edward was not legitimate, but he’d executed the legitimate heir. What had I done? What monster had I brought into our family?

I stared into Richard’s blue-grey eyes. Was I with my lord? No. Richard was the only son left to me, and I must protect him. I sat up in my chair.

“What will you do?”

“I’ve been loyal to Edward,” replied Richard. “And will continue so while he lives. But I owe no loyalty to his wife, nor to her numerous relations.”

“The queen is dangerous,” I remarked, rising. “Remember what happened when she stole the king’s signet ring and had the Earl of Desmond and his two young children executed? And all because he made some unfortunate—and very true—remarks about the king’s choice of a wife.”

Richard glanced at me. “I’d forgotten that.”

“You are next,” I said, going to him. “Mark my words, if she has any excuse to rid herself of you, she will.”

“I’m determined to fight for what is rightfully ours,” he said. “And you must be determined, Mother, not to let George’s ... death get you down.”

“You’ve given me hope,” I replied, as I blessed him.

I do not know what happened to darling George. He died in mysterious circumstances in the Tower on the night of February 18, 1478. Some say he drowned in a barrel of Malmsey wine. But I preferred to think that he died the more dignified death of beheading by an expert swordsman.

Poor George was buried in Tewkesbury Abbey, next to his wife Bella.

Five years passed. The country seemed to be at peace.

Until one day, in early April 1483.

Chapter 62

March to April 1483

I knew nothing of these events until much later, for the Serpent neglected to tell me.

Edward loved fishing and had insisted on going out on a boat in the cold, blustery, wet weather of March 1483. It was not surprising that he caught a chill and had to take to his bed. But everyone expected him to recover, for he was only forty years old.

However, Edward was as intemperate in his eating habits as he was with his mistresses. Gone was the lean, muscular, and handsome youth crowned king at the age of eighteen. In his place was a man with an enormous stomach, who frequently purged himself for the pleasure of gorging on food and drink.

The Serpent summoned a horde of doctors, to no avail. Edward died on the ninth day of April.

If she did not act quickly, the Serpent’s hold on power would disappear. Her first aim was to get her eldest son, twelve-year-old Edward, Prince of Wales, to London, where he would be under her care. For when his father died, the prince was some two hundred miles away at Ludlow. Fortunately, she’d used her charms to convince Edward to give the guardianship of his heir to her brother, Anthony Woodville, Earl Rivers, whose loyalty to her was unquestioned.

Her second aim was to deal with the king’s younger brother, Richard of Gloucester, immensely powerful in the north of England partly because he owned an enormous amount of land and partly because he had the power to dispense the king’s justice. It was imperative to keep the king’s condition secret from Gloucester, because Edward had named him Protector of the Realm until Prince Edward reached his majority.

But if Prince Edward were brought to his mother in London, he could be crowned immediately, and there would be no need for Gloucester to act as Protector.

The Serpent loathed and feared Gloucester, for he was close to me and, like me, had disapproved of Edward’s marriage. Unlike George, Richard was crafty enough to keep his feelings to himself. But he’d made his displeasure with the Woodvilles plain by rarely coming to court.

The Serpent lost no time, apprising Rivers of Edward’s death and urging him to bring the young prince to London.

To the late king’s mother and younger brother, she wrote not a word, hoping we would not learn of Edward’s death until it was too late.

Chapter 63

April 11 to 17, 1483

To Cecylee, Duchess of York, Greetings.

Madam,

It has come to my attention that you may not have been apprised of the sad news of the late king’s passing, here in London, on the ninth day of April. You should also know it was the late king’s wish that his brother, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, be Protector of the Realm until such time as Prince Edward reaches his majority.

Written this eleventh day of April, in the year 1483,

Thomas Bourchier, Archbishop of Canterbury.

I sagged and dropped the letter. Edward dead? How could that be? He was only forty years old, and he was a vital, larger-than-life person whose ringing laugh made even the sourest person merry. Whatever had happened?

I sat in my chair for many moments, hearing the vast silence of his absence. I no longer went to court and had not seen him in years. My sons and daughters communicated with letters and visits. All except Edward, who never visited, and rarely wrote. Over the years, I’d only been able to glean news of him from others.

But he was my son, and had been a daily presence in my thoughts for the past forty years. Despite his irresponsibility and lack of taste, he’d been a strong king. He held everything together, keeping the factions of his government at bay by giving Richard power in the north while the Serpent’s family had their power base in the south.

Now what would happen?

The Serpent was well placed to seize power, for she was in London, and her relatives had been rewarded with positions in Edward’s government. I gripped the arms of my chair.

What was going to become of Richard?

If the Serpent prevailed, she would strip him of his offices. She would take away his land and his home. She would leave him with nothing.

But she would not end there. No. She would find some way to incarcerate him in the Tower.

I picked up the Archbishop’s letter. It was written two days after Edward’s death. Had anyone told my remaining son? It reminded me of the time when Henry of Lancaster had gone mad, and the Bitch of Anjou had kept the news from Richard of York.

I sat up suddenly, berating myself for the sluggishness of my mind. Of course the Serpent would not want Richard of Gloucester to know about his brother’s death! I must write to him at once!

To Richard, Duke of Gloucester, Greetings.

Dearest Richard,

I write in haste to tell you that Edward the King passed away suddenly this ninth day of April. I have a subtle suspicion that the Serpent may not have apprised you of this news, and so I urge you to move swiftly to protect your interests. Perhaps you should have Prince Edward transferred to your care.

Written this thirteenth day of April 1483,

Your loving mother, Cecylee, Duchess of York.

While I anxiously waited for a reply from Richard, the Serpent held her first council meeting. First, she asked for a new bidding prayer to be said in the churches. This was customary on the death of a sovereign, but the Serpent had purposely worded it so that the name of Richard of Gloucester was left out.

The king’s council should have voted this down, but it was packed with her friends and relations. There was the Archbishop of York and the Bishop of Ely, who had been friends of the king and queen. There was her eldest son, Thomas Grey, first Marquess of Dorset, who had control of the king’s treasure and the royal ordinance. And then there were the aristocrats her sisters had married.

They agreed with the Serpent.

They agreed too when the Serpent requested they proclaim Edward Prince of Wales, King of England.

But when the Serpent requested that the coronation take place as soon as possible, William Hastings, the Lord Chamberlain and Edward’s closest friend, objected.

“Why so hasty?” he demanded. “King Edward has a protector-designate.”

It turned out that Edward had altered his will at the last minute to say that his brother of Gloucester should be protector-designate until Prince Edward reached his majority. The Serpent was not happy.

She turned to the Archbishop of Canterbury, because he would officiate at the coronation. “What say you, my lord?”