White Boar and the Red Dragon, The (36 page)

Richard, Westminster Palace, Christmas, 1482

I fear that my poor Lady wife, Anne, is sick. The journey in that damp cold was surely too much for her. I should have realised that her delicate constitution could not stand the rigours of the journey in winter and ordered her to stay at Middleham with our son. But she insisted on coming, in her quiet way. She wanted to be with me at Christmas, as she knows how much I hate the court, even though I was longing to see Edward again. I am used to travelling in all weathers, in all seasons, and the weather has no effect on me. I am hardened to it, I suppose. But Anne is a different matter. She is now confined to her bed and missing all the Christmas celebrations, not that I think she minds too much. Even well she is of a retiring nature and hates this court, as I do, normally.

But I did look forward to coming this time, as I wanted so desperately to see my brother. I was so worried about him. And I had reason to be. I realise now that there must be something seriously wrong with him. It is not just the heavy drinking, though that is bad enough. He is in a physical lethargy most of the time, and he was always such an active man.

Things are preying on his mind, apart from his obvious ill health. Last night, we had a long conversation when he poured out a lot of his worries.

‘That wretched Louis! He is involved in so many machinations all over the place that it is no wonder he got the nickname of “The Universal Spider”. He spins his web over his unwitting victims, then sucks them dry! Now it is this impoverished Maximilian of Burgundy! Louis is backing him into a corner with his demands for Burgundy to be handed over to France and lose its independence for ever. Maximilian has held out well up to now, but he has run out of money and resources to continue his fight against the wily Louis. He has begged me again, and again, to help him. But what can I do? If I go against Louis, we will lose that precious grant of £50,000 crowns a year, which we have been receiving since Picquigny! The money from the last seven years has built up into a sizeable sum now in the treasury, along with the profits from my wool-trading, especially with Burgundy. If Maximilian has to give in to Louis, then all future trading with Burgundy will lose its profitability when Burgundy becomes part of France. If I go against Louis, I lose the £50,000 crowns every year! The wily old frog has even tried to seduce me with a further offer recently to extend the truce made in 1475 for another whole year beyond whichever of us dies first. He knows how to tempt a man!

I must admit, I am at my wit’s end what to do I am just too tired to deal with it. I am in between a rock and a hard place. How do I extricate myself? Tell me that. Whatever I decide to do will hit us hard!’

‘You have always been an excellent diplomat as well as a capable soldier and statesman. There will be a way forward. Just let it ride for a bit and stop worrying. After all, Louis is in such poor health after those two strokes recently he may just die soon. Then this problem will resolve itself without you having to do a thing. But then, of course, you will probably have to face losing the yearly grant from France if he does die. I think you must realise that that is inevitable. After he is dead, I doubt if the new rulers will continue handing you cash for nothing every year! You have done very well up to now out of that treaty I disapproved of at the time, I must admit! So just resign yourself to the inevitable. Money is not everything—though I know you set great store by it. I think you must concentrate on getting fit again, so that you can deal with these international problems easily when they arise, without undue worry, as you have always done!’

‘I am sure you are right, Dickon. You usually are! My mind is not as clear as it was. I cannot be decisive over important matters like I could before.’

‘You are only forty, Edward, still a young man. I feel the problem is clear for all to see—except you, it seems. Though I thought you had realised your own main personal problem when you wrote to me in Edinburgh.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Why, your heavy drinking, of course. And your constant overeating. You vowed you would do something about them, not to mention your overindulgence in the charms of Mistress Shore—and others. You must take yourself in hand. Only you can do it. You are the king. No one can order you to indulge yourself less!’

‘But when one is stressed—and a king has more stresses than most with all these wretched international problems to deal with—they are my comforts, I suppose, my escapes! But I know you are right, Dickon. If you were here all the time to keep me on the straight and narrow, I might succeed. But you are so often away in your beloved north.’

‘You appointed me Lord of the North! And, like everything I undertake, I have tried to carry out my responsibilities there to the best of my ability. And I cannot do it sitting around at court here, you know that.’

‘I know, Richard. Of course you must be on the spot to deal with problems there. But I hardly see you now. Just when I need you most!’

‘I will come and visit you as often as possible, you know that. I seem to spend my whole life on the trot. But I will find the time for you somehow. Never fear.’

‘I feel I have been handing over my responsibilities to you lately rather too much. But you are so able! What I would do without you I do not know! You have always been indispensable to me—especially now.’

‘I have a strong back, though small in stature. I can take it! I have always been only too pleased to carry out your wishes. Though, I must admit, I’d like a rest sometimes!’

‘I have taken you too much from Anne and the boy, I know it! You deserve a holiday. When Christmastide is past, I give you permission to return to Middleham and stay there as long as you wish. You must try to relax, Richard. You are a workaholic, truly! Even when not fighting or administering on my behalf, I know you rarely rest. Anne has told me of this.’

Richard, Westminster, New Year’s Day, 1483

Thank goodness that my Anne seems to be almost recovered after spending several days in bed over the Christmas period. But she still has a persistent cough. She passes it off lightly, but it is still very worrying. She never seems quite well, really. I have told her to take care of herself and stay in the warm. There is no question of her accompanying Edward and me on the New Year Hunt.

This is the one physical activity that the king is still capable of, as he is seated most of the time on horseback. He needs a huge, strong horse now, capable of taking his weight. But it is not to be an all-day affair any more, just a morning one. We will return for lunch, and in the evening, the spoils of the hunt will no doubt be served up for the special New Year Dinner.

As we ride in about one of the clock, tired, hungry, and dirty, after starting out just before dawn, which is so late at this time of year, but with a fine stag and several pheasants, pigeons, and hare, there is an anxious messenger waiting for the king. He, like us, is dishevelled and exhausted, but for very different reasons. He has ridden post-haste from Dover with bad news—news that the king has dreaded for weeks but hoped would never come. Duke Maximilian of Burgundy has capitulated. He has made peace with Louis on December 23rd. He has given up the unequal fight against Louis and his overwhelmingly stronger military force. Burgundy will now become annexed to France, under Louis’s rule. It will never be an independent state now. A new treaty has been agreed upon between Louis and Maximilian, called the Treaty of Arras.

And even worse, perhaps, even more humiliating for Edward and his elder daughter, Bess, Louis has reneged on his long-standing agreement with the king that Bess would one day marry the Dauphin and become Queen of France. He plans to marry his son to Maximilian’s daughter Margaret instead, and she will bring, as her marriage portion, the counties of Artois and Burgundy to Louis!

And already, French warships are sailing into the Channel aggressively!

It is a deliberate kick in England’s—and Edward’s—face. And Edward reacts predictably.

‘How dare he! The little weasel! I always knew he was untrustworthy!’

‘Did you? What about the Treaty of Picquigny? You trusted him then!’

‘Yes, well the terms he agreed to were very favourable to us!’

‘The enormous yearly grant, you mean? I told you then that he would change his mind and break his promises whenever it suited him. But you would not listen!’

‘No, Dickon, as usual, you were right! But I wanted—I needed—that money so badly. And it seemed such an easy and profitable way out at the time! Better than fighting!’

‘You should have taken a longer view, knowing Louis’s character and unpredictability!’

‘I do not know which is worse, losing the money now Louis and I will be at loggerheads again, losing the high profits on the wool trade with Burgundy, or seeing one’s favourite child humiliated in front of the whole world! Oh, why didn’t Louis die? He is hanging on by a thread to life by all accounts! Then none of this would have happened! He is too bloody-minded to die, of course! It is too much! I just cannot cope with it! But I know that what Louis has done deserves punishing! We must not take this lying down. I depend on you to do something about it all, Dickon.’

‘Declare war on France, you mean? And I thought I was due for some time off. You promised me that over Christmas—remember?!’

‘I am sorry, Dickon. But we cannot ignore Louis’s actions. He must be made to pay, somehow! I am sure you will think of a way! Now I have to find my poor daughter and tell her the bad news. I just hope we can find a new marriage partner for her of equal standing, but I doubt it. And I am in no mood for starting negotiations with other countries now. And I am too tired. What shall I do, Dickon?’

‘Well, at this moment, the best thing you can do is have your bath and some lunch! And then we will sit later, with Will Hastings as your advisor and closest friend, and thrash out a course of action, as, unfortunately, one seems to be needed!’

Henry Tudor, Rennes Castle, Brittany, Late January 1483

‘But, Uncle Jasper, Richard of Gloucester is only five years older than me, and look what he has achieved!

‘And now even more honours, estates, and positions have been heaped on his head because of his spectacular success in the Scottish Wars. The King’s Parliament has passed new laws to raise taxes and to honour him further because he deserves it!

He has been given permanent possession of the Welsh Marches. And Lordship over all of Cumberland and even those parts of Scotland he has conquered. If he manages to conquer any more, he is to be lord over them too—for life. And this will be passed on to his successors in perpetuity!

It makes me feel very inadequate. What have I achieved? What have I had a chance to achieve, stuck here since I was fourteen—and before that, in the backwaters of Wales all my childhood! He was leading men into battle at fourteen, commanding them!

I fear my Lady mother was wildly wrong in her predictions about my so-called glorious future. And old King Henry. Nothing will dim her vaunting ambitions for me!’

‘You are still young, lad. There is still plenty of time for you to achieve much! Richard is unusual in that he started his achievements so young, but then, remember, boyo, he is the favourite brother of the king. He has had everything going for him from the start. You have had everything against you. But things will change soon, I am sure of it!’

‘How? Tell me that! Just how?’

‘The king is sick, for one thing. Everyone knows he is going downhill. And he has lost his grip as a ruler. He depends on Richard of Gloucester a great deal to carry out his wishes. He may die soon. Then, everything will change. George of Clarence is dead, who was next in line to the throne and Edward’s eldest son is but eleven years old. He is far too young for kingship! As your mother told you, there would have to be a Protectorate until he is at least sixteen. And, in the meanwhile—who knows? Something may happen to him!’

‘Why should it? He is heavily protected, along with his younger brother, Richard, in Ludlow Castle on the Welsh borders! His guardian and mentor is Earl Rivers, Sir Anthony Woodville, the queen’s brother. What could happen to him? And, if King Edward should die soon, he would be even more carefully guarded!’

‘But perhaps they would move him to London to prepare for his coronation? He would be crowned quite quickly, even if he could not rule for several years yet. It would be more possible for anyone wishing him harm to get at him there!’

‘Even in the Tower of London, where kings-to-be spend the last night before their coronation, by tradition?! It is the most impregnable place.’

‘Even there. Anyone really determined to do the Crown Prince harm would find a way somehow to breach even those formidable walls!’

‘Anyway, what has all this to do with me? We have gone off the subject rather.’

‘Not at all. If the king and the Prince of Wales were both dead—don’t you see? It would be your chance to make a play for the kingship! You have just as much right to the Throne by virtue of your ancestry as this boy prince. And I have heard rumours—word gets around—that he may not be so blue-blooded as one would think…’

‘Are you mad, Uncle? Where would I start? And what do you mean—rumours?’

‘You have hundreds of Lancastrian supporters now. They have been gathering quietly here and in England for a long time, waiting for the right moment to rise up and challenge the Yorkists. That would be it! And even if the prince is a bastard, as some think, then it would be easier still. He would have no real rights at all!’

‘But all this is based on wishful thinking and hearsay, Uncle. King Edward may live for many years yet, after all. And the Prince of Wales would still have to be killed. Who would kill a young child to succeed in his ambitions?’

‘Many, boyo, many! Ambition is a powerful incentive to carry out necessary deeds—evil or not!’

‘Well, I would never do such a thing, and I hope none of my supporters would kill the child in my name. I would never condone the deed!’

‘You would not have to. You would have nothing to do with it! And there are many people in high places in England and here, remember. They would arrange all that was necessary. You would have to lead an invading army against England—that would be your part!’