Virgin Widow (18 page)

‘I understand, your Majesty. I will do what I can.’

Her flat stare took in my face, my gown, my tightly clasped hands. ‘Now that you are to wed my son, I think it would be best for you to become part of my household. To learn the requirements of a princess and future Queen.’

The appalling prospect of life within this woman’s governance was a weight in my belly, but I knew I could not refuse. What I wanted to ask was: what is your plan, to loosen the commitment between the Prince and myself?
I have a plan…
Instead, ‘I hope the marriage pleases you, your Majesty,’ I responded as calmly as I could, as a good daughter would say.

‘Louis tells me I need Warwick, hence I need you.’ She aimed a lethal glance at me. ‘And I do not wish you to walk unchaperoned with my son in the gardens. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, your Majesty.’

‘You will refuse, if he asks you. Now you may go.’

And that was the end of it, leaving me to wonder why she had so desired this conversation. What had she learned from it, if anything? All she had discovered
was my education and my past relationship with Richard, neither of which could have been a surprise to her. Perhaps she had simply wished to see me and make her own judgement.

Margery lifted her skirts as we climbed the worn stairs to our own rooms. ‘She’s as cold as an icy ditch in February. And twice as bitter.’

‘I know.’

‘Be on your guard, lady.’

‘I will.’

The Queen had no liking for me at all. But at least I did not think that the Prince hated me with every breath he took.

‘Here comes her royal Majesty, returned to our midst. Do we curtsy? Do we kneel at her feet?’ Isabel looked round as I entered the door, but did not stir from her chair. The virulence in every word hurt my heart. Her eyes flared with self-pity whilst her hunched shoulder was a calculated insult. Since my marriage had been broached she had built an impregnable wall around herself. It seemed higher than ever this morning. ‘Are we to be informed when this magnificent union is to take place?’ she asked, her brows raised in a semblance of polite enquiry that hid a bellyful of disappointment.

I ignored her. I lacked the energy to deal with her.

‘Well?’ the Countess enquired, a pale smile in recognition
of my refusal to be drawn. ‘I see you survived the ordeal.’

I sank inelegantly on to a stool at her side, clasping my arms around my knees, studying the toes of my shoes so that I did not have to meet my mother’s eyes. I had no intention of allowing her to read the conflictions in my mind.

‘She hates me. She doesn’t trust my father. She doesn’t trust any of us,’ I stated baldly. ‘She didn’t say so in so many words, but she didn’t need to. It was written in every bone in her body. She gave the impression that she had to force herself to stay in the same room. I don’t know why she sent for me in the first place.’ I scowled at the soft leather, noticing the scuffs from hard wear and rubbing at them with my fingers.

‘You amaze me!’ Isabel announced. ‘Anyone would expect her to worship the ground you walk on, if you—or the Earl—can magic a crown out of disaster for her dear son!’

I turned my back on her, pressing my lips together. Once I would have let my fears tumble from my lips. Now I simply locked them deep inside.

The Prince expressed a desire to execute his enemies, to impale their body parts, but assured me of his pleasure in marrying me. He smiled and urged me to call him Edward. He said he would like to spill the blood of every Yorkist. His lips were warm on my cheeks when he kissed me in welcome, but he does not want me
—
he called it a damned marriage…

I shrugged. I did not want to think of it. ‘The Queen says I must become part of her household,’ I said instead. ‘She intends that I should come under her guidance so that I will be worthy of her son.’

The Countess grimaced with a short laugh. ‘It will only be for a short time. When you are wed and returned to England, then you will have your own household. You’ll be free of her.’

‘What will it mean for me?’ I asked as the vast changes in my life suddenly seemed to gallop towards me with a breathtaking speed.

‘Why, all the rank and wealth of a Princess of the Blood will be yours, with land throughout England from Cornwall to Chester. You’ll choose your own attendants and ladies-in-waiting, your own officials to oversee your affairs.’ The Countess kept her tone light with a brief, warning glance in Isabel’s direction. My sister sniffed audibly. ‘You will enjoy extensive apartments in numerous royal palaces and castles up and down the length of the country. When you travel it will be in comfort with servants to answer your every need. The most luxurious fabrics, the most valuable jewels, will be yours to command. You can set the fashion, if that is your choice. And you will be at the centre of every Court ceremonial. I shall have to request an audience with you, my own daughter, when I wish to see you.’

She paused for a moment, then continued quietly,
‘You will be shown every respect and honour. Particularly when you have carried a Lancastrian heir, a son, for the kingdom. That, more than anything, will give you more power than you could imagine and allow you to shake off the Queen’s control.’

Her words ran through my mind, jostling in an uneasy counterpoint to the suspicion that she was working too hard at this to embroider an attractive scene. It gave no recognition to the bloodshed, the battles that must surely be fought before the Prince could be restored to his inheritance. Nor to my isolation within the Queen’s household where at best I would be tolerated, at worst loathed. Nevertheless I realised the truth of it, of her final observations, where they touched on my mother’s own private sorrow.

‘You must pray that you quicken soon,’ she added in a low voice.

And because our conversation had opened the Countess to such a query, I asked her, ‘How long were you married, before Isabel was born?’

‘Seventeen years.’ The little smile that came and went was not a happy reminiscence.

‘Forgive me. I did not mean to make you sad.’

‘You haven’t. Your father and I did not live together for all that time. We were betrothed when we were very young, too young to set up our own household. And then it was God’s will to deny us a child for many years. Finally He gave us two much-valued daughters
who will bring honour and glory to the Neville name. What more could we ask?’

But no son on whom to pin all your hopes. As Queen Margaret would with the Prince.
I felt my mother’s unspoken grief as I offered up a silent prayer that I would bear a son, and soon.

Isabel sat silently, stony-faced throughout. Until, unable to bear it further, carefully folding her work and placing it on the table as if it took her entire concentration, she stood and walked from the room without a word. My mother sighed. We watched the rigid spine and unforgiving carriage of her head as my sister closed the door behind her with ferocious control.

‘Perhaps I should not have brought up the subject of heirs and children,’ I said.

‘It’s not that. It’s Clarence.’

‘What’s he done?’

‘It’s more a matter of what he has not done!’ The Countess stood to pour two cups of ale, passing one to me with a thoughtful expression. ‘He’s gone from Angers. Early this morning without warning. And refused to take Isabel with him. He could not stomach the negotiations in which he has no part and will finally strip away his birthright—as he sees it. He’s gone into Normandy, to one of the ports, he says. Isabel feels abandoned.’

‘He would return to England?’ I asked, unable to think why he would.

She returned to her chair, sipped the ale. ‘Not alone, he wouldn’t. He dare not, he dare not risk King Edward’s wrath. Whether he will eventually accompany the Earl at the head of an army, or will try to contact his brother and cobble together some sort of peace between them, I know not. I doubt Edward would ever consider a
rapprochement.
This is the second time that Clarence has betrayed his brother. If I were in Edward’s shoes…’ Her forehead wrinkled as she considered it. ‘Well, I don’t know what I would do.’

Nor I. Once, the King had welcomed Clarence and my father back to Court with soft words and promises of restored power, but now if either of them fell into Edward’s hands, I feared it would be a bloody end.

‘Meanwhile Isabel is forced by circumstance to remain here,’ the Countess continued, ‘to watch your triumph. We must be sympathetic to her.’

‘I want to slap her!’

The Countess pursed her lips. ‘Isabel always wanted the gold and ermine for herself, did she not?’

‘Will I be wed soon, do you suppose?’ The overriding anxiety of my own future returned triple-fold.

On my words the door opened. We looked up, expecting the return of Isabel and another sour blast of her temper. But it was the Earl who entered in time to hear my unhopeful question.

‘Not any time soon!’ He was dressed for a royal audience, another in the endless round of negotiation
and compromise, but the lyre marks between his nose and mouth were heavily accentuated.

‘Surely she has not already reneged!’ my mother demanded. ‘Anne has only just returned from her august presence.’

‘Oh, no. It’s not Margaret’s doing this time. I suppose I should have thought of it, but I didn’t.’ He smiled at me, but bleakly from the stance he had taken before the empty fire-grate. ‘Anne and Prince Edward are related. Cousins in the fourth degree, both great-great-grandchildren of John of Gaunt. A papal dispensation must be applied for.’ He groaned, stirring the remains of a half-burnt log with the toe of his boot. ‘My coffers are beginning to rattle as the gold disappears.’

‘It could take months!’

‘I know. At this rate, if we ever get the Angevin woman to a betrothal it will be a holy miracle.’

The Countess sighed with desperate patience. ‘Then we must pray for one.’

From this day I will be acknowledged as the Lady Anne, Princess of Wales.

I stood and shivered in a robe of blue silk embroidered in gold thread with the Prince’s heraldic feathers on the bodice, before the high altar in Angers Cathedral. I was to be betrothed before God. My role was assigned to me—all I had to do was to obey. My
only show of resistance, if that is what it was, was to state, ‘I refuse to be betrothed in a borrowed gown!’

My refusal was ignored. Clad in the blue silk, overlaid with a cloak of velvet and ermine, both borrowed for the occasion from Queen Margaret herself, I took my place with Prince Edward at my side, arrow straight, much taller than I so that I had to look up to catch the sheen of victory on his face. I shivered. Betrothal before God to Edward of Lancaster would alter that path of my life irrevocably, paving it in gold. It would be the first ascending step to Anne Neville’s becoming Queen of England.

It made no sense to me. It must be some other girl standing here in these hastily altered robes that still folded heavily around my feet, some other young woman making these vows. Margaret scowled ferociously throughout the ceremony. I sensed it even when my back was turned to her, having lived in daily expectation of her cancelling the whole proceedings, unsure of which side of the coin—reluctant acceptance or wilful rejection—I would most prefer. Yet the urgency of an invasion had driven her to this moment and I must accept the consequences.

Prince Edward knelt, and I likewise. The bishop joined my hand to the Prince’s. It was all unreal. This was not me. How could it be me?

Confident, Edward spoke the words of the vow in a clear voice, legally binding himself to me in a tie as
unbreakable as that of the formal marriage ceremony. When he felt the shivers run through me yet again, he turned his head with a smile of such understanding and concern that my breath caught on the words I must utter.

Don’t worry so. You will be my wife. Our future together will be assured. What can now prevent our return as King and Queen of England?

It was as if the words of assurance flowed from him to me through our joined clasp, so that I too made my vow in as steady a voice as I could manage. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, I saw Richard’s familiar dark features superimposed on my betrothed’s face. I blinked, running my tongue over suddenly dry lips. Then it was Edward again, his rich hair gleaming, his handsome face alight with the glory of the achievement.

It had all taken less time to create me a princess than it took me to break my fast at the start of a day.

T
HE
Earl faced Queen Margaret in her audience chamber. Standing discreetly with her ladies, a careful expression much practised of late stamped on my face, I could read the impatience in him. He was past the moment of urging her with soft words and encouragements. It made me wonder what he would have to say. If it stirred the Queen to anger, I would feel the repercussions.

‘I can wait no longer, madam, marriage or no marriage. The time for invasion is
now.
Edward of York faces a rebellion in the north, in Yorkshire, and has taken an army there to suppress it. What better time to launch an attack from the south? If we are to dislodge him from the throne with the least possible bloodshed, now is the time. I can be in London before the end of next month, God willing.’

The Earl had proved more than accurate in his prediction. There was no marriage anywhere close on the
horizon. The Pope was proving resistant to French and Neville gold. As the summer had crept on, July into August, frustrated at the delay, the Earl had already moved his operations to the coast, gathering troops and transport, leaving the rest of us in Angers. Now as autumn loomed he was back in Angers, in no way pleased, to lay his plan before Margaret.

Margaret looked sceptical. Her fingers tapped against the arm of her chair.

‘Too soon, Monsieur de Warwick. We are insufficiently prepared to take on the Yorkist forces. We know that the usurping Plantagenet is skilled in battle.’

The Earl swept away the cautious words with a controlled gesture. ‘I am prepared, madam. London is the key to dominating England. Once in London, I can rescue his Majesty King Henry from the Tower. When he is restored to his crown and his kingdom, all true Lancastrians will rally to his banner. The Yorkist support will melt away. Then all will be in place for your return, to your husband’s side.’

‘Yes!’At his mother’s side, Prince Edward hissed his delight, his face illuminated at the glittering prospect. ‘You must indeed go, my lord.’

The Earl bowed. ‘Meanwhile, Madam—’ he gave his attention back to the Queen ‘—I must leave my daughter and the matter of her marriage in your care.’ His glance flickered momentarily to where I stood.

‘Of course, Monsieur de Warwick.’ Margaret was
smooth as day-old whey. ‘I anticipate the event with as much joy as you do. And I agree. Nothing should be allowed to stand between you and success in England.’

She smiled thinly and allowed the Earl to salute her fingers.

I was permitted to leave my post beside the Queen to take my own leave of the Earl with my mother and sister. Heavy emotion met me at the door of the private room, even though the Earl and Countess had said all they needed to say to each other privately. How many times had the Earl ridden off to war, leaving my mother behind? But it never became easier for the women of the household whose lot it was to wait and worry and imagine the worst. The Countess was well versed in controlling her fears, but she found it difficult to smile.

‘Will you get word to us?’ Still she clasped the Earl’s hands in hers, reluctant to let him go.

‘When I can. You must be strong and have faith. Have we not overcome all obstacles in the past?’The Earl took her into his arms and held her close. She sighed with her face hidden against his shoulder.

The sense of loss forced me to fight against a sudden threat of tears.

‘I know. But I shall worry.’

The only surprise for me was that Clarence was there, returned to Angers with the Earl, in some good
humour, probably with the promise of action at last. He was full of energy and quick laughter and beamed at Isabel. I found the change of mood astonishing. All the confident ambition, the arrogant assurance of the past, seemed to have been restored.

‘We shall be in control before winter sets in.’ His eyes held a wildness at the prospect. ‘With Louis’s forces behind us, my brother is doomed. Soon we’ll be together at Westminster, Isabel, I swear it.’

I could not understand his enthusiasm. There would be no ultimate glory in the outcome for him, so why would he choose to fight under Edward of Lancaster’s banner? He had got little or nothing out of the deals brokered by the Earl, except for some distant recognition that if Lancaster failed, if I bore the Prince no heir, then the crown would in some distant time revert to the children of Clarence and Isabel. A worthless, ephemeral sop to keep Clarence loyal, in my opinion, yet it seemed enough to transform him into this gleeful anticipation. Or was it? I watched him as he reassured Isabel. Something momentous, beyond the mere invasion, had occurred to change his manner. I tried to crush my dislike of him. At least Isabel, under his attentions, was stirred from her lethargy.

‘God keep you.’ The Earl pressed his lips to my mother’s forehead. ‘I’ll send for you when it is safe.’

‘And I will come.’

For me it was the first of such leave-takings that I
remembered. When my father had fought at Edward’s side at Towton, I had been only five or six with little understanding. Now this uneasy parting seemed to have no reality to it. It felt no different from the numerous times the Earl had ridden from Middleham to London on royal business, but the tiny, ugly thought squirmed its way into my mind that this was war. This could be the last time I would ever see him. The Earl’s own father had died on a battlefield…I pushed the thought away, furious with weakness. It would not be. Was our victory not inevitable?

‘Be a good daughter,’ he urged, drawing me close. ‘Don’t allow the Queen to depress your spirits. You will make a magnificent princess, and one day Queen of England.’

My cheeks grew hot at the unexpected compliment. ‘I will. When we meet again in London, I shall be married and Prince Edward will be restored.’ I firmed my shoulders and lifted my head. I would make him proud of me. That would be the memory he would have of me as he faced Edward of York in battle.

The Earl walked towards the door, catching Clarence’s attention to join him.

‘Don’t let the Queen slide out of this marriage.’ His final advice to the Countess.

‘Surely she will not. The betrothal is sanctified before God.’

The Earl turned back for one moment, his face
grim. ‘Do you think? When would anything be allowed to stand in Margaret’s way? If she can find a means to get the throne for her son without a Neville commitment, she will surely do it. Even at this late hour.’

‘What did Clarence tell you to put you into such a good mood?’ At the end I had seen Isabel in a close communication with Clarence, and not merely a hasty farewell. She had touched his hand, a nervous fluttering gesture, her eyes wide on his face. Something of importance, to stir my suspicions again, as I appraised the strong colour in Isabel’s cheeks and a glow to her eyes. It was almost conspiratorial. ‘What did he tell you?’ I pursued as I saw a mulish expression tighten her features.

She made to turn away, hesitated. ‘I cannot say.’

‘Why not?’ Moving swiftly to prevent her escape, I stared her down. Her lips might be pressed close to fold in a secret, but she was bursting to tell someone. It might as well be me. She looked at me, clearly deciding whether to confide in me as her sister, or spurn me as her hated rival for the crown. She glanced towards the Countess, who had followed the Earl to the door.

‘If I tell you, you must promise not to tell anyone.’

So I was her sister for the occasion. ‘I might.’

‘You must swear it.’ Her hand crushing my fingers, increasing my suspicions.

‘I swear it, then. But quickly. I must return soon.
The Queen has a sharp tongue, and when displeased she can lash out…’

Isabel was not interested in my plight. ‘My lord has had a letter from Edward,’ she whispered, her face alight.

‘A letter? From
Edward?
Asking what?’ The suspicion grew to terrible proportions, to fill my chest, to grip my throat.

‘Edward asks him to change sides,’ Isabel confirmed. ‘To abandon the Earl and the Lancastrian claims and return to the English Court, with promises of forgiveness and restitution.’

Hard shock robbed me of words as my mind tripped over the implications.

‘Have you nothing to say?’ Isabel demanded.

‘Does he trust Edward’s offer?’

‘He is his brother. They share the same blood,’ she replied simply.

‘And will he do it?’ I was aghast. ‘Will he betray the Earl?’

Now Isabel’s glance turned sly. ‘He has thought of it.’

‘Isabel!’

‘Hush! Don’t fuss, Anne. Don’t draw attention. He has decided not to do so. He still thinks…he thinks he would do better at the Earl’s side than at Edward’s.’

But seeing the way in which she clearly dissembled, I wondered exactly what it was that Clarence still thought. The horror of it left me cold. My father hemmed in by untrustworthy allies. King Louis was
his own man, selfish to the last. Queen Margaret would always put her own interests first and those of her son. And now Clarence, considering a leap from Lancaster back to York…

‘I warrant he’s not told the Earl of this nasty little plot!’ I flashed back. The thought of the Earl engaged in battle, unaware that his son by marriage planned to go over to the enemy. How terrifying a prospect…

‘No. Of course not! And neither will you!’

‘But if Clarence is thinking about betrayal, the Earl should know…’

‘He is not! Have I not told you? He will not betray the Earl, but see, Anne, we cannot lose. If the Earl succeeds, then we return to power under Lancaster’s banner. But if our present situation fails—well, Edward will welcome Clarence back to his side. Edward has promised.’

How ridiculously simplistic! And the thought stayed with me that Isabel, selfish Isabel who could contemplate this treachery with such an ingenuous lack of principle, would not be past persuading her husband to do just that, to hop to Edward’s side, since there was nothing to be gained for Clarence in the Lancastrian camp. Could she not see that to do so could put the Earl’s life in danger? Was she so self-interested, to place Clarence’s ambitions before the Earl’s safety?

‘I don’t like this, Isabel…’

Isabel turned on her heel, disgusted, I presume, that I should question Clarence’s basic honesty. He had none, as far as I could judge, but Isabel would be deaf to any words of mine. It left me torn apart by indecision. Should I tell the Countess? What could she do? It would achieve nothing other than give her another source of anxiety. The invasion was underway for good or ill. And if Clarence was still firmly attached to my father’s side…But I despaired at the thought that the Earl might put his trust in a man who would change sides as readily as he would change horses in the thick of an energetic hunt. And my own sister could see no reason to blame him for it. I could do nothing, I decided finally, but hope that the Earl would never fully trust Clarence and would have his every movement watched. And if the Earl defeated Edward, than all my fears over Clarence’s betrayal would come to nought.

But if this invasion went awry through Clarence’s treachery…where would it leave me?

‘We were in great danger. There were soldiers fighting all around us, dead and dying. There was blood on my clothes. We had to escape from the Yorkists or we too would be put to death.’

I walked in the garden with the Prince. Now that we were betrothed I was allowed to do so, but never without a chaperon in close attendance. Not Margery,
of course, because I was allowed no English attendant of my own. One of Margaret’s own women, Lady Beatrice, who also shared my room, walked close to overhear every word, before reporting back to her mistress. Not that the Queen needed to worry about any treacherous comment I might make to her beloved son. Did she fear that I would try to undermine her control over him? She need lose no sleep over that. The conversation between us was all one-sided. Prince Edward thrived on reliving every detail of his flight as a hunted fugitive from England.

‘We’d been defeated, our forces scattered, our fortresses seized. So we fled for our lives. We had rough ponies and set off with guides, riding only by night. I remember there was a servant who led my pony when I wanted to ride it myself. I was quite old enough, but my mother said I must tolerate the hand on my rein—’ He stopped to draw breath, narrowing his eyes at a stand of hollyhocks, as if he could still see the detail of his youthful adventure. Could still feel the anger at being thwarted.

‘It must have been very frightening for you, my lord.’ It was difficult to know what to say. He did not need my participation other than as a silent companion to listen and—I suspected—to be impressed.

‘Yes. But I was brave,’ he continued without even a glance in my direction as we continued to stroll along the path beside the outer wall. ‘My mother said I was
the bravest son she could ever have wished for. Was I not royal? Was I not born to be brave and strong?’

‘I’m sure you were, my lord.’

‘One night, when we had been travelling for—I know not how long—we were caught, captured by a band of outlaws, thieves and murderers, every one of them. They wanted to take our possessions and kill us. They threatened to kill me and forced my mother to hand over her jewels…’

He detoured up the steps that would take us to the battlement walk with its views over the soft green countryside, not waiting to see if I followed. I did, his words carrying down to me in his excitement. ‘A furious argument broke out amongst them, a rough, uncouth lot, over who would have her rings. They came to blows. My mother was so courageous, you would not believe it. She saw the chance, grabbed hold of my arm and ran. We ran and ran until we could not breathe and then we hid in the forest. When a traveller passed by—another rough brigand by the look of him—I shook off my mother’s hand and faced him. “I am Edward, the Prince of Wales,” I said. “One day I’ll be King. I demand that you take us to safety.” So the brigand took us up on to his horse. We escaped and got away to Scotland where the Queen welcomed us to her Court.’

This was my experience of the Prince who was charming, enthusiastic, full of attractive energy. His
words spilled out, without reticence, unlike Richard, where it had taken persistent effort to get him to talk about his family and his childhood. The Prince was always ready to tell me about his early memories. And I listened avidly because his rambling tales opened a window on to both the Prince and Queen Margaret, on the bond between them. He so obviously admired her, to the exclusion of any other influence. I had fast come to the conclusion that there
was
no other influence in his life.