The Red Rose of Anjou

THE KING’S MADNESS

Richard was frustrated almost beyond endurance. The hardest task a man of ambition could be called upon to do was to wait. Yet wait he must. That the opportunity would come he was sure; and to strike prematurely would be to ruin his hopes. So there was nothing he could do but retire from court and bide his time.

It was nearly two years since that Parliament when the hostile wearers of red and white roses had faced each other. That could so easily have developed into conflict which would have been unwise and have achieved nothing.

He had suffered a certain temptation then. There were so many who recognized the incompetence of Somerset’s rule, the domination of the Queen over the King, and who looked upon Somerset and Margaret as two wicked conspirators. But it was not the moment. It would have been a reckless gamble which might have resulted in the end of hope.

Looking back he now began to wonder whether he had been too cautious. When the people had rioted in Westminster after that memorable Parliament they had shouted for Somerset’s blood. They would have murdered him if they had caught him. Yes, and made a martyr of him. That was not the way. Somerset should be tried and his crimes and failures in France and a gang of soldiers returned from the wars surrounded his house in Blackfriars and would have murdered him then and there had he not been rescued.

Some thought it ironical that his rescuers should be the Duke of York with his ally Devonshire. But it was all part of a strategy. Richard was anxious that all should realize that the last thing he wanted was to create conflict in the country. He was all for law and order. He wanted Somerset to be impeached, he wanted him to stand his trial, yes. What he did not want was for him to be murdered by the mob.

Together he and Devonshire had rescued Somerset and taken him to the Tower. Not as a prisoner, Richard was eager to stress, but for his own safety. He was eager to make a good impression on the people; and if ever he found government in his hands the last thing he wanted was to have come to it through the mob.

He was a cautious man and he soon realized that the King with Margaret behind him was too strong on his throne to be lightly overturned. The Commons might support York but the Lords certainly did not. He knew that the best thing he could do was retire quietly for a while and bide his time.

He retired to the Welsh border where he was by no means inactive. He was persuading his friends to stand with him; making them see that there could be no prosperity for England while she was ruled by the Queen and Somerset, a man who had failed dismally in France and was now doing the same in England. Were they going to stand by and see the decline of their country or were they going to be rid of this feeble House of Lancaster and set up that which had more right to be there and had the will and the power to govern—the Royal House of York?

The King was growing more feeble; the Queen more arrogant and Somerset more ineffectual. Moreover it was clear that the King could not beget a child.

‘The time must come when change is inevitable,’ said the Duke of York, and yet he knew that the moment had not yet come.

There had been a series of progresses through the country. Margaret enjoyed them; Henry tolerated them for her sake and because the Earl of Somerset thought it pleased the people. It was certainly a mixed blessing to the hosts of the royal party and those who were given the honour of entertaining them certainly had to count the costs. If the party stayed for more than a few days bankruptcy could stare the host in the face, for to provide the quantities of food that had to be supplied to the King’s travelling retinue could be ruinous.

But how Margaret enjoyed those journeys. Seated on her horse or carried in her litter, brilliantly attired, she felt a Queen indeed. She had come a long way from the days of poverty when she had been forced to seek a refuge with her grandmother. That grandmother would have offered all kinds of advice now she knew. But Margaret was determined to enjoy her triumphs. The King admired her. Her exquisite clothes were commented on wherever she went. She knew she was very beautiful with her royal crown set on her golden hair which she wore flowing about her shoulders to show it in all its beauty. Beneath her purple cloak fastened with bands of gold and precious gems, her cotehardie would fit her beautiful figure to perfection and it would be made of the richest materials and adorned with glittering jewels. She always liked her emblem to be prominent everywhere—not only in her dress but wherever they went. People no longer carried daisies as they had out of compliment to her when she had first arrived in the country; but at the great houses she would be gratified to see the flower prominently displayed.

It was a pity Henry did not pay more attention to his dress. It was difficult to make him wear the correct garments even for State occasions.

At least he admired his wife and in his eyes she could do no wrong; and if the people showed little enthusiasm for her—and indeed sometimes betrayed a definite dislike—she cared nothing for them. She had complete faith in her ability to command Henry and as Henry was the King that meant she ruled England to a large extent.

She was determined to honour the Earl of Somerset and her hatred of the Duke of York was deep. She enjoyed reviling him; she revelled in her hatred. She thought that if he would only go far enough she would have his head on London Bridge.

One cold March day she was at her writing-table. She was trying to make a match for one of her serving-women. She so much enjoyed matchmaking and she found the very man for her woman. She would break the good news to them, get them married and perhaps attend the christening of the first child.

She had several protégées for whom she had made marriages.

She loved to dabble in their affairs, to watch over them, to listen to their troubles and to follow the course of their lives. When they had children she was pleased but often a little envious. It did not seem right that the common people should be able to bear children while those to whom children were of the utmost importance remained barren.

Neither she nor Henry were passionately interested in the act of procreation. It was to them both a necessary duty, but she was growing rather disheartened. It was nine years and in spite of their dutiful efforts there was still no sign of a child. If she could have a son what a joy that would be. York would be silenced forever.

As she rose from her writing-table she wondered whether to summon her woman and tell her the good news. ‘You are to be married,’ she would tell the astonished girl; and she hoped she would be suitably grateful.

She sent for the woman. While she was talking to her one of her attendants came in to say that a messenger had arrived and was asking for an audience with her.

She dismissed the woman and said she would deal with her affairs later. In the meantime she would receive the messenger.

She was delighted to see that he came from her father, but when she looked into his face she realized at once that it was not good news.

‘My lady,’ he said bowing low, ‘I come from the King of Sicily your noble father. Here are letters for you but he said it might be better if I prepared you for the news.’

‘Then do so,’ she commanded.

‘Your noble mother the lady Isabelle is very ill.’

Margaret looked steadily at the messenger. ‘Do you mean she is dead?’ she asked.

‘My lady, I fear so.’

She nodded. ‘Give me the letters,’ she said. ‘Then go to the kitchen where they will refresh you after your journey.’

She took the letters from the messenger and saw that they were indeed in her father’s hand. She glanced through them. She would read them thoroughly later.

Her mother dead. She could scarcely believe it. Not that strong, vital woman.

Memories crowded into her mind. She remembered her mother more from her very early days. She would never forget that journey to the French court when Agnès Sorel had accompanied them.

Agnès...beautiful Agnès, beloved of a King.

She rose from her writing-table and as she did so she felt suddenly weak and dizzy. She clutched it for support and then slid back into her chair.

One of the women was running to her. Vaguely she heard her exclamation of alarm.

When she awoke she was resting on her bed and the doctors were there.

They were not sure, they told her. But there were signs. There was a possibility.

‘I am pregnant,’ she whispered.

‘My lady,’ was the answer, ‘it could well be so.’

She felt bewildered. Coming so soon on the shock of her mother’s death she could scarcely grasp it. Death on one hand and the possibility of birth—glorious birth—on the other. No wonder she felt bemused.

She must not become overexcited. She must wait until she could be certain before she told Henry.

There came a day when she was sure. She hurried to Henry and embraced him. He smiled gently at her.

‘It would seem that you have heard good news,’ he said.

‘The best possible news,’ she told him. ‘It has happened at last. Henry, I am with child.’

‘Forsooth and forsooth,’ he cried. ‘Can it really be so?’

‘I believe it to be so. The doctors do also.’

‘So long we have waited. So much effort...’

‘Nevertheless it is true. I am going to have a child. Think what this will mean. Think of York’s face when he hears of it. What use for him to flaunt his white rose now? This will change everything.’

‘If the child is a boy,’ began Henry.

‘It will be a boy,’ cried Margaret. ‘It must be a boy.’

She was right. York was stunned when he heard the news. If this child were a healthy boy it would destroy his hopes. A son...after nine years! But it was not born yet. It might never be and if it were a girl that would not be so dangerous, but a boy would be disaster.

‘Do you think it can be true?’ he asked Cecily.

‘I will believe it when I see the child,’ she retorted.

‘It is possible, of course. Perhaps it is just a rumour. I can’t believe that just at this time.’

‘You don’t think it is someone else’s?’

‘Somerset’s you mean?’

‘Can it be Henry’s? They say he is getting more and more feeble.’

‘He certainly is not interested in women. He has never had a mistress and I believe he has had to force himself to sleep with the Queen.’

Lusty Cecily laughed aloud. Then she said seriously: ‘The Queen is capable of anything, I do believe.’

‘We must wait in patience. For one thing the rumour may not be true, for another the child might not live.’

‘And if it does, Richard, and if it is a boy?’

‘Then it may be necessary to take the crown by force,’ answered Richard grimly.

‘So thought I at the time when there was that hostility in the Temple Gardens between the wearers of the white and red roses.’

‘Civil war is the last thing I want.’

‘But the alternative...?’

‘If we cannot settle by peaceful means then we shall have to resort to arms.’

Cecily nodded. ‘They are laughing, these Lancastrians, at their good fortune.’

‘They may not be laughing for long,’ answered Richard.

Henry was pleased with life. He refused to see the trouble all about him. Somerset fretted about York and declared that he was fomenting trouble. Henry did not believe him really. Henry liked to feel that men were good though now and then a little misguided perhaps, but he could not accept the fact that his kinsman of York meant any harm to him. Margaret, of course, agreed with Somerset. She was always telling him that he must not be so gentle, so ready to believe the good in everyone. Margaret was so fierce at times—only because she was fond of him, of course, and cared so much about the prosperity of the country.

This summer they were taking a long progress through the land. Henry liked to visit the monasteries and abbeys and colleges as he passed through the countryside and promised himself that he would build more. He was glad that they were getting out of France. Let others deplore their losses if they would; he thought that when they no longer had anything to fight for in France, it would be so much the better.

He felt rather strange now and then, so listless that all he wanted to do was to be alone with his books. Then he would sometimes find himself half asleep in the middle of his reading. Sometimes he would awaken with a start and wonder where he was and for some time be unable to recall.

He was delighted to see Margaret so contented now that she was to have a child. It was what she had desired more than anything.

‘At least now,’ she said, ‘they won’t be able to criticize me for my barrenness.’

He tried to tell her that they were not really criticizing her. They were merely anxious for there to be an heir to the throne. It was love of the country that made them sad about there not being one. Now it would be very different.

They were at Clarendon in the New Forest. Margaret was happy here. She loved to hunt but she was dispensing with that pleasure now for she was six months pregnant and growing larger every day. Some of the wise old women said that the way she carried the child indicated that it was a boy.

How contented they would be if that were so. But a child of either sex would be welcome. It would at least show that they could get children. Although of course everyone would be wanting a boy.

Well, they were at peace here at Clarendon. Henry had been feeling very tired of late. The long day’s riding had been more exhausting than usual. They would stay a little while at Clarendon.

The next morning when his attendants came to his bedchamber they found him lying very still, his eyes wide open, staring ahead of him. He did not seem to see them. When they spoke to him, he did not answer. He lay very quietly and did not seem to be able to move his limbs.

They went in consternation to the Queen, knowing that she would be angry if not informed at once of the King’s strangeness.

She stared at him lying there supine on the bed. He looked different somehow—like a corpse.

She took his hand. It fell from hers without Henry’s seeming to be aware of it. He did not appear to see her. He just lay— unseeing, unhearing, unthinking.

‘Call the doctors,’ commanded the Queen.

They came but they could neither make him see nor hear. He responded in no way.

‘What is it?’ demanded the Queen impatiently.

‘It would seem that the King has lost his reason.’

Margaret stood up, her hands on her body. She could feel the child moving. The King losing his reason. What nonsense! She must send for Somerset at once.

She faced the doctors. ‘Say nothing of this...as yet,’ she commanded. ‘This may pass. We do not know yet what ails the King, but I do not wish to let loose disturbing rumours.’

The doctors said that they would say nothing.

Somerset cam riding with all speed to Clarendon and Margaret at once took him to see the King who was still in a form of coma, although he appeared to be conscious. His eyes were open; he was breathing; but apart from that he might have had no life at all.

‘Edmund, my dear friend.’ she cried, ‘what calamity is it that has fallen on us?’

‘The King, the doctors appear to think, has lost his reason.’

‘I fear that may be so. But there is a possibility that he will recover.’

Somerset nodded, ‘it came upon him suddenly. It may well be that it will depart in the same way.’

‘And in the meantime?’

Somerset said: ‘We should wait a while. Let no one know of this until we are sure what it means.’

She nodded. ‘So thought I. I have commanded the doctors to say nothing.’

‘‘That is well, but there are spies everywhere, you know. The servants...’

‘I think I can trust them.’

‘You can never trust servants, dear lady. However we must hope that nothing of this reaches the ears of the people until we understand what it is and plan what we can do about it.’

‘My child is due in three months.’

‘If we can keep this quiet until the child is born...and if the child is a prince...’

‘Oh, Edmund, how glad I am that we think alike. We will wait until the child is born and by that time Henry may have recovered. But what can this condition mean?’

‘I fear he may be losing his reason.’

She looked at him in horror.

‘You know who his mother was. That means that he could, I suppose, take after his grandfather.’

‘The mad King of France! I have heard gruesome tales of him.’

‘He was of a different temperament from Henry. Henry is so gentle, so peace-loving. The malady – if it be the same – has affected him differently. It has just robbed him of his senses. Charles the Sixth was a raving lunatic at times violent, wreaking havoc wherever he was so that none dared go near him.’

‘Pray God it does not come to that.’

‘Not with gentle Henry. But it is a calamity none the less. All we can do is wait. We do not want this to come to York’s ears.’

‘God forbid. He would want to set himself up as Protector or Regent or some such post before we could plan anything.’

‘York must not know. It may well be that it is a temporary stage. How long has he been like this?’

‘Since his attendants went to his bedchamber and found him, so only a few days ago.’

‘We will wait then. Keep the matter as secret as possible and you should make your way to Westminster where the child should be born. You cannot remain at Clarendon. That would most certainly give rise to gossip.’

‘It will not be easy to convey him to Westminster without it’s being noticed that there is something strange about him.’

‘We will do it as best we can and I suggest that you begin to make the move as soon as possible.’

‘I will do it, and I thank God that you are beside me.’

Margaret lay in her bedchamber in Westminster awaiting the birth of the child. This should have been the happiest time of her life and instead it was fraught with uneasiness.

In nearly three months Henry’s condition had changed little. He could move his limbs now; he could eat; he slept; but he did not speak and he was completely unaware of what was going on around him. She had tried to speak to him about the child and he, who had been .so overjoyed at the prospect of becoming a father, clearly did not know what she was talking about.

She had summoned the doctors William Hacliff, Robert Warren and William Marschall to his bedside because there were none in England to equal them for skill, but they shook their heads and conferred together. The King had lost his reason, they had to admit. The malady could have descended from his grandfather even though it had attacked him in a different form. They were with him constantly. I hey concocted syrups and potions, baths, fomentations and plasters. The King took them all patiently and lay or sat quietly saying nothing, hearing nothing and not responding in any way.

She knew there were wild rumours for it was quite impossible to keep the secret. Soon the true state of affairs would have to be divulged for many of the rumours were more horrific than the reality. .

The doctors had said she most certainly must not fret. Her big ! f task now was to produce a healthy child. It was unfortunate that this should have happened at this time of all times, but she must think of her all-important task.

They were right, of course. She must purge her mind of all anxiety. She must not think beyond the birth. Nothing must go wrong with that. She wondered how much of what was happening had reached the ears of the Duke of York.

Then her pains had started. Her women were with her, and at last after hours of agony she heard the cry of a child.

So prepared was she for misfortune that she could scarcely believe the truth when they told her that she had a boy—a beautiful, healthy boy.

She lay still rejoicing; and after a while they came and laid him in her arms.

Somerset came to see her with the Duchess. They expressed their delight in the child and the Duchess walked round the bedchamber with him in her arms.

‘But he is beautiful!’ she cried. ‘He looks the true son of a King.’

‘The people will be pleased,’ said Margaret.

‘We will have the christening and purification as soon as possible,’ said Somerset. ‘Have you decided on a name for the child?’

‘I have indeed,’ replied Margaret. ‘He was born on St. Edward the Confessor’s day, and Edward is a good name, is it not, for a King?’

‘One of the best,’ said the Duchess.

The Duke said: ‘The people loved two of the Edwards. The second they despised. But I think they will like the name for when they think of Edward they think of Longshanks and his grandson Edward the Third. Yes, Edward is a good name.’

‘York’s eldest is Edward,’ the Duchess reminded them.

‘I know.’ said the Queen, ‘and by all accounts every inch a Plantagenet. Is he really as tall as they say he is?’

‘He is a fine-looking young fellow—fair and tall and, young as he is, a favourite of the women. At least that’s what I hear.’

‘A curse on him,’ said Margaret lightly. ‘But why do we talk of that Edward when we have this little one here?’ She turned to the Duke. ‘I wonder if the sight of him might move Henry.’

‘If anything could it would be the child,’ said Somerset.

Margaret nodded. She was half fearful for something told her that Henry would not even know his own child.

There was no time for resting on her triumph.

Everyone would know now that there was something very wrong with the King if he did not appear at the christening of his son.

So it was proclaimed that the King was ill but the truth could not for long be withheld.

The christening ceremony was splendid. A costly chrisom was provided for the baby—richly embroidered in exquisitely coloured silks and studded with pearls and rich gems, but lined with linen so that the child’s delicate skin should not be scratched. There were twenty yards of cloth of gold needed to decorate the font and Margaret’s own churching-robe contained five hundred and forty sables. The cost of this was over five hundred pounds.

Margaret tried hard to live for just that day and refused to look ahead. It was not easy. The dark clouds were gathering.

‘So,’ said York, ‘the Queen has a son. Whose son? Not that idiot’s surely! I believe him to be impotent. In such case how is it that our beautiful Queen produces a child?’

‘Whom do you suspect?’ asked Warwick.

‘She is on very intimate terms with Somerset.’

‘He is rather old.’

‘But capable of begetting a child.’

‘She is friendly with Buckingham.’

‘Ah, she has her friends. But there must be a Regency, a protector of some sort now. Henry is incapable of governing.’

‘It is true,’ said Warwick. ‘And you, my lord, should be our Protector. As the next in line of succession—recently displaced by this little Prince—it is your due.’

‘So I thought,’ said York. ‘A Parliament must be called without delay.’

After her ceremonial churching which was attended by twenty-five of the highest ladies in the land including ten Duchesses, Margaret had left for Windsor. She had decided that it would be best for the King to stay there for a while where he could be free from too much exposure. She knew of course that the rumours were thick in the air and that very soon there would be some decision made as to who was to rule the country. As Queen she believed she should and she was going to fight for the position.

In the meantime she prayed for Henry’s return to sanity, but he still showed no sign of having the least idea where he was.

Surely the child would awaken something in him?

Young Edward was dressed in his magnificent christening robe and Margaret put him into the arms of the Duke of Buckingham. With Somerset on one side of her the three of them went into the King’s bedchamber.

He was seated in a chair, his plain unkingly clothes hanging loosely on him, his hands dangling at his sides and he was staring listlessly in front of him.

Margaret went forward and knelt at his feet.

‘Henry, Henry, it is I, Margaret, your wife. You know me. You must know me.’

He stared over her head and she felt a great urge to shake him.

‘Henry,’ she cried sharply. ‘You know me. You must know me.’

There was still no response.

‘We have a child,’ she cried. ‘A son. It is what we wanted. More than anything we wanted this son. The people are delighted. They are calling for him...and for you. You must rouse yourself.’

There was no flicker of intelligence in those lack-lustre eyes.

She returned to Buckingham.

‘Bring the baby,’ she said.

Buckingham came forward. He held the baby out to Henry, but Henry just sat there, mute and unaware.

It was well known that the King was incapable of governing and that he suffered from some strange illness. They did not call it madness but people were talking of his French grandfather and everyone had heard what had happened to him.

So while the King remained thus there would have to be a Protector of the Realm, a King’s Lieutenant, someone who could stand at the head of affairs until the King recovered.

As the Queen, it is my place to act for the King, thought Margaret. Her mother and grandmother had done so when the occasion arose, and she could see no reason why she should not do the same.

Matters drifted on. Christmas came and still no decision had been made and Henry remained in his strange state, unaware of anything that was going on around him.

Margaret, after having consulted with Somerset and Buckingham, decided to take matters into her own hands. With their help she prepared a bill setting out what she considered her rights.

She wanted to rule the country in Henry’s name. She would be the one to appoint whom she chose to the important posts in the government; she should have power to bestow bishoprics on members of the clergy; and she should be assigned what was necessary to keep her, the King and the little Prince in the state due to them.

Parliament pretended to consider. They were delighted by the birth ol the Prince but they were certainly not going to place more power in the hands of Margaret whom many held responsible for the disasters in France. Somerset was unpopular; he was allied with the Queen. It was decided therefore that the task must fall to one who was near to the throne and at the same time a strong man who was capable of governing: the Duke of York.

Here was triumph. Proud Cis was beside herself. She gathered her children and while she held young Richard in her arms—he was only a year old -she told them how their great father, who should really be King, was now head of the country.

‘We must make sure that he remains so,’ she said and her words were directed in particular to her tall, twelve-year-old son—handsome Plantagenet in looks, already earning a reputation for wildness—the son of whom she was most proud.

Edward declared he was ready to fight for his father’s rights and the Duke laid his hand on his shoulder and said, ‘When the time comes, my son. When the time comes.’

And it would come. They were all sure of that.

The Queen was furious. They had slighted her. She was the Queen; she had produced the heir to the throne. The Regency should have been hers.

The Duke of York wanted to play the game with caution. He declared to the Parliament that he accepted office only because he considered it his duty to do so. The King must know that— as soon as he returned to health—he, York, would stand aside.

As a man who believed he would one day be King he wanted to show his determination to uphold law and order. Kings could not rule satisfactorily without that, and he had made up his mind that one day he was going to rule.

He appointed his brother-in-law Richard, Earl of Salisbury, Chancellor. He would surround himself with friends in high places and the first thing to do was to be rid of Somerset, who was impeached and sent to the Tower.

It was hardly likely that his enemies would stand aside and allow York to rule in peace. It was soon necessary for him to march to the North and suppress disturbances where certain noblemen led by the Duke of Exeter had raised their standards against him.

During those months of his Protectorate York showed himself to be the strong man the country needed. He was cautious and well aware that there was a great deal of support throughout the country for the Lancastrians. The King was the King and the people were fond of him—imbecile though he might be. There were many stories in circulation about his clemency and his gentleness. ‘Poor Henry!’ they said. His Queen was a virago. She was French; she was extravagant; she ruled the King; but still she was the mother of the heir to the throne. York knew that the time had not come to make the great bid. In the meantime he contented himself in governing the country, which all had to admit he did with more skill than his predecessors. He had captured Exeter, and Somerset was his prisoner, but he brought neither of them to trial. He was not sure what effect that would have on the people.

Meanwhile Margaret, secretly furious that she had been passed over as the Regent, saw clearly that if she was to keep her power it could only be done through the King. Henry was her salvation. He would do as she said. All her strength had come through him. If he remained in this state of idiocy that would be the end of her hopes to rule.

Henry must get well.

With characteristic energy she set about the task of nursing him back to health. In the first place she believed that he could never get well while he was at the centre of affairs in Westminster where there were too many people visiting him and too much talk about his condition. People would keep on talking of his grandfather and expecting him to go raving mad at any moment.

It was not Like that. She thought she was beginning to understand what might have happened. Henry had never wanted to be a king; that office on which men like York—and even Somerset—cast covetous eyes was a penance to Henry. He hated the ceremonies, the conflicts, the desire to maintain his position; even the progresses through the country which he seemed to think were the answer to all evils were not so very agreeable to him. As Margaret saw it a resentment against a fate which had made him the King had culminated in this complete collapse, this shutting off of responsibility, this rejection of a crown.

Of one thing she was certain—the potions, the syrups and the fomentations were not what was needed at all. It was Henry’s mind which had deserted him; his body was not really sick.

She had found a new doctor, a certain William Hately and he agreed with her theories.

‘Get the King away,’ he had said. ‘Take him to some quiet seat where there can be an atmosphere of peace about him. He may be susceptible to conflict around him. We cannot know that.’

‘You mean take him to some place where the people are loyal to him. Where there would be no room for his enemies. My dear doctor, it is not always easy to know who are one’s friends, who one’s enemies.’

‘There are parts of the country which are firmly loyal to the King and who tolerate the Duke of York only because he stands in the King’s place while the King is indisposed.’

‘He was always rather fond of Coventry. He has had a more loyal welcome there than anywhere. He was interested in the building of St. Mary’s Hall and took great pleasure from the tapestry there.’

‘Let us try it, my lady. It may not help but we must try everything.’

‘We will go to our castle of Coventry,’ said the Queen.

She would be glad to get away, to devote herself entirely to the needs of the King. She knew it was useless to try to fight York at this time. Somerset was in the Tower and York’s strong yet restrained government was having its effect. The fact that men like Somerset and Exeter were under restraint and had not been executed showed a tolerance in the Duke of York which pleased the people. They were already beginning to trust him.

As soon as the King is well that shall be an end of York, Margaret promised herself.

And that brought her back to the great need of the moment: the recovery of the King.

They travelled to Coventry, the King in his litter. On the Queen’s orders they took the byways and avoided the towns but they could not make a secret entry into Coventry and the people of that city came out to cheer them as they passed through. The King lay still and silent in his litter with Margaret riding beside him, gorgeously apparelled as became a Queen. She it was who acknowledged the cheers of the crowd, though she knew those cheers were for the King and not for her. Never mind. They were for the Lancastrian cause and that was what was important.

Coventry, in the county of Warwickshire, was almost in the centre of England and took its name from a convent which had once stood on the site and had been founded as long ago as the days of King Canute. It was destroyed by the traitor Edric in the year 1016 before the coming of the Normans. However Earl Leofric and his wife Lady Godiva founded a Benedictine monastery on the spot and richly endowed it. It was at that time that the town began to prosper. The castle was built and was in the possession of the Lords of Chester. The city had been walled in at the time of Edward the Second and had six gates and several strong towers. The castle had eventually passed into the hands of the Black Prince and it became one of his favourite residences.

It seemed a very suitable place to bring the King and, if it were possible, nurse him back to health there.

The days passed quietly. Margaret spent a great deal of time with the King. She talked to him although he did not hear her, but William Hately believed that there was a possibility that one day he might. The worst thing, said the doctor, was to treat him as though he were an imbecile.

‘His senses are clearly there,’ he insisted. ‘They are slumbering. It is for us to awaken them and we shall only do that by gentle methods.’

He was astonished and so were others to see how Margaret adapted herself to life at Coventry. She who had been so forceful, so ready to state her views, so determined that they should be acted on, was now playing the role of nurse and mother, dividing her time between her husband and her son, trying to arouse the shrunken mind of one and to assist the expanding one of the other.

It did not occur to them at that time that this was a further indication of her character. She was bent on one purpose: to nurse the King back to health that he might take his place in affairs again and she rule through him since they would not allow her to without him.

But it was more than that. There was a tenderness in Margaret. Faithful as she was to her friends, so was she to her husband. Her affection for him was firm; he had brought her out of France where she was of little importance and had made her a Queen. He loved her; he listened to her; he adored her. She was not going to forget that. She loved him and as Margaret could never do anything by halves, she loved him deeply; during that period her devotion was entirely for her husband and son. For Henry her emotions were loving and protective; for her son something like adoration and intense possessiveness.

It was a great task she had set herself; and she was determined to do everything in her power to make it succeed.

It was galling to learn that York was making a success of his task. He had now been appointed Protector and Defender of the Realm and Church and Principal Councillor of the King.

Margaret looked ahead to a future which could be gloomy if the King continued in his present state. There was no suggestion in the declaration that York was regarded as King; and as soon as Henry recovered, or the Prince came of age, his authority would cease, but it infuriated her to think that he would have control over that precious infant in the cradle.

But not yet. The boy was too young and she was determined to bring Henry back to sanity.

The months passed. The wearisome task went on. Sometimes Henry raised a hand and that would send her hopes soaring. At others when she fed him he seemed to show a little interest in the food. Once she thought his eyes followed her as she crossed the room. That was a great advance. Then for days he would lapse into complete immobility again and she despaired.

Little Edward was her salvation. She spent a great deal of time with him. When he smiled at her a great tenderness welled up in her and she held him so tightly to her that he whimpered to be free. He was beautiful; he was her compensation; each day her maternal love seemed to strengthen. Everything...yes everything, was worthwhile...while she had her baby.

Christmas was approaching. Henry had been in this state for more than a year. It was a long time since she had brought him to Coventry. William Hately was her great comfort. I shall never forget what he has done for me...and for Henry, she promised herself. When she despaired William Hately would have some hope to offer. When he thought he detected a change in the King, they would watch for it together.

‘Sometimes I think you are as much my physician as the King’s,’ she told him.

It was a few days before Christmas. Margaret went into the King’s room. Her heart leaped for the King smiled at her.

‘Margaret,’ he said, and held out his hand.

She went on her knees by his bed. She could not bring herself to look at him. She feared she had imagined she had heard his voice. She believed that this must be some dream.

She felt his fingers on her hair.

‘Margaret,’ he said. ‘My Queen Margaret.’

She lifted her face. She could not see him clearly for her tears were blinding her.

Then she said in a small choked voice: ‘Henry...Henry, you are going to get well.’

She could not wait for more. Her emotions, which she had kept so long in check, were breaking free. She went into her room and for the first time for months she wept.

Margaret went to William Hately. She looked at him in bewilderment.

‘I know,’ he told her. ‘I have seen the King.’

‘He is well. He is recovered. He is himself again.’

‘My lady, let us go gently with him. His mind will be delicate as yet. It has been dormant so long.’

‘You are right,’ she said. ‘We must go carefully. What of our baby? He has not seen him yet.’

‘Wait awhile. He is as a man coming out of a long sleep. Let him awake slowly. It is best for him. Do not let us overburden his mind with any matter which could distress him.’

‘Our child would delight him.’

‘It is true but it would remind him that there is the heir to the throne. I think we should not let him think of his kingly duties as yet.’

Margaret was ready to follow the doctor’s advice.

‘At least,’ went on William Hately, ‘let us wait a few days. Let us see what this cure really means.’

So they waited. Margaret sat with him. He talked a little and then slept for long periods. Margaret was terrified when he fell into one of these long sleeps that when he awakened he would be as before.

But this was not so. He continued to improve.

He knew that it was Christmas.

‘At Christmas,’ he said, ‘it is my custom to send an offering to the shrine of St. Edward the Confessor.’

‘Yes, I know,’ said Margaret. ‘He was always your model. You always said that you would rather be like him than any of your great warrior ancestors.’

‘I did and I meant it. And I would send to Canterbury to the shrine of St. Thomas à Becket.’

‘Your wishes shall be carried out. I shall see to that.’

He took her hand and kissed it.

Christmas was celebrated quietly at Coventry Castle but there was a great hope in Margaret’s heart. The long months of anxiety were at an end.

She and the doctor decided that the time might be ripe to present Henry with his son.

She carried the Prince into his bedchamber and held him out to Henry.

‘Henry,’ she said, ‘this is our son.’

He looked from her to the baby and memory came back to him. Yes, she had been pregnant before the darkness descended on him. That was long ago. This child was now a year old.

‘Our child, our Prince,’ he said wonderingly.

‘The same, my love,’ said Margaret, her emotion threatening once more to overcome her.

‘What did you call him?’ asked Henry.

‘Edward. 1 thought it was a good name. I thought the people would like it.’

‘I like it,’ said Henry.

Then he put the palms of his hands together and began to pray.

Young Edward looked at him wonderingly and was not sure whether he liked him. He turned to his mother and looked as though he were about to cry until the jewelled necklace she was wearing caught his eyes. He seized it and so great was his interest in that that tears were avoided on his first meeting with his father.

Afterwards Margaret sat with Henry and he told her that he remembered nothing of what had happened since his illness overtook him. He had not been aware of anyone or anything.

‘I have been with you these many months,’ she told him. ‘I have nursed you myself I did not trust anyone else.’

She did not explain what was happening immediately. On the advice of William Hately she would do so gradually.

York was in control. The people seemed to like him. He had established a certain order throughout the country. Their dear friends Somerset and Exeter were captives.

‘They must be released,’ said the King.

‘It is the first thing we shall do when we are in command again. We shall dismiss York and his friends and bring back our own.’

Henry looked a little tired and closed his eyes. William Hately said: ‘Do not talk too much of State affairs to him. Let it come gradually. He has recovered but he is still weak.’

Let him recover gradually!

Impatient as she was for action, Margaret could see the wisdom of that. For the moment the affairs of the country must remain in York’s hands, but not for long...

Bishop Waynflete and the Prior of St. John’s came to Coventry to see the King.

He was delighted to receive them and he was happy praying with them.

He has not changed, thought Margaret.

Soon we must leave Coventry. Soon we shall take over the reins of government.

That was a happy Christmastime. Every day Henry showed some improvement and began to take an interest in his surroundings.

The choice of Coventry had been a wise one for it had always been a favourite of his. He wanted to visit the churches of the town. There were three which had been standing there for years. Henry delighted in them, particularly that of St. Michael which had been built long ago in the reign of the first Henry and had been given to the monks of Coventry by Earl Randulph. Then there was St. Mary’s Hall which he himself had built. It had an intricately carved roof with figures which were almost grotesque, a minstrels’ gallery and an armoury. The enormous glass windows were a treasure in themselves. Henry delighted in it and his enthusiasm showed from his eyes as he talked of it with Margaret. In this hall was a tapestry which Henry had ordered to be made and which had been hung only a few years previously. It was thirty feet by ten and Henry had helped to design it. The colours, he pointed out, showed what advances had been made in dyeing and they really were exquisite.

It was wonderful to see his excitement over these things, but Margaret wished he could be equally so with regard to State matters. He did not seem to wish to discuss those. Whenever such questions were brought up, a film would come over his eyes and he would put his hand to his head as though he were tired. It was too dangerous as yet to insist for Margaret had a horror of his lapsing once more into that lethargy which bordered on idiocy.

What she would have to do was to bring his friends to him. Let him talk to them. Let him see that he was loved by many. Then they would set about ousting arrogant York from the Protectorate and bringing Somerset back.

One day there were visitors at the castle and Margaret received them warmly for she knew very well that there could not be stronger supporters of the Lancastrian cause. Their prosperity would most certainly depend on it, and that was the best reliance one could have on friends. A cynical observation, some might say, but it was nevertheless true and even if there was real regard it must be strengthened by expediency.

The visitors were brought in to the King and when he saw them his pleasure was obvious.

‘Can it really be...Owen?’ said Henry.

Owen Tudor was on his knees before the King.

‘Your servant,’ he said.

‘Owen Tudor.’ The King’s eyes were glazed with emotion. I remember you well, Owen.’

‘My lord, your mother and I talked so much of you, thought so much of you...When we were together... before they parted us we used to say how happy we could have been if you were with us.’

‘Yes, I should have been happy too. I remember being impressed by you all and feeling a certain longing and a resentment, too, because I was the son of a King. Oh, Owen, how good it is to see you and recall those days when you taught me to ride my pony. I fear I was a timid pupil.’

‘My lord, you were a good pupil. You listened to your teacher which is what few do.’

‘My mother, Owen...Oh, that was a tragedy.’

‘I think she could not endure the breaking up of our happy home.’

‘Oh, it was cruel, cruel... And you went away to Wales. How fared you, Owen?’

‘Well enough...in my native Wales. You were good to us, my lord. You never forgot us.’

‘I did very little, Owen, for my stepfather and my half-brothers. Tell me, how are they?’

‘If you would wish it you may see for yourself. Two of them are here in Coventry awaiting your permission to present themselves.’

‘Awaiting my permission! My own brothers! Let them be brought to me without delay. But there are more than two.’

‘My youngest son Owen has become a monk.’

‘Ah, fortunate man. Where is he?’

‘In Westminster.’

‘I well remember him. And your daughter?’

‘Jacina is growing up. She will be of marriageable age very soon.’

‘We will find a husband for her. The Queen loves to arrange these marriages. Do I speak truth, my love?’

‘It is a pleasure to set young people together. They should all marry young. That is my view. Then they should have children...lots of them.’

‘Yes,’ said Henry tenderly. ‘Margaret is the Court’s matchmaker.’

‘My eldest, your half-brother Edmund, will ask of you permission to marry. He is in love with the niece of the Duke of Somerset.’

‘Margaret Beaufort! She is a much sought after little girl. I remember the Duke of Suffolk wanted her for his son.’

‘I think she would be inclined to take Edmund...if you would consider it. After all, Edmund has royal blood through his mother.’

‘I have no doubt that the Queen will arrange that matter. Now send my brothers to me. I would see them.’

‘They want to assure you of their devotion. If ever you should need them, they are at your service.’

Owen knew that the Queen was watching him closely. The

King might not want to think of the possibility of war but it was there and the Queen knew exactly what he meant.

When the two young men were brought to the King he received them with emotion. His half-brothers—Edmund and Jasper Tudor. They reminded him so much of their mother— who was Henry’s mother too—and he was glad that he was related so closely to them.

They were a handsome pair – a few years younger than Henry who was at this time thirty-three years of age. Edmund must be about twenty-five and Jasper twenty-three or -four. They both had reason to be grateful to Henry who had made sure that they were adequately educated, first by the Abbess of Barking and later they had been put in the care of priests. Moreover Henry had bestowed titles on them—Edmund was the Earl of Richmond and Jasper the Earl of Pembroke. He would have given the youngest, Owen, a title if he had not gone into a monastery. The most fortunate of them all, in Henry’s opinion.

Margaret eyed the three men with approval. Firm strong supporters of Lancaster and held together by ties of kinship.

Henry was happy to drop all ceremony and to talk to his stepfather and his brothers as equals. They talked for a while of the old days, which was sad because they must think of the death ()( Katherine their mother.

‘How happy she would have been if she could be here with us thus,’ said Owen.

‘She sees us from Heaven,’ answered Henry.

‘I here is one matter which grieves us all very much,’ Edmund told him. ‘It is the .scandal which has been spoken about our mother and the slurs that are cast on us...’

‘They call us bastards,’ said Jasper.

Owen said: ‘There was a marriage, my lord. 1 assure you there was. It took place just before Edmund’s birth but when he was born I and your mother were married.’

Henry looked at Margaret, who said, ‘There could be a declaration in Parliament. Why not? It has been done before. Why, Margaret Beaufort herself comes of a line which began as a bastard sprig and it was long alter the birth ol the Beauforts that John ol Gaunt legitimized them. I see no reason why there should not be a declaration in Parliament.’

‘We shall see to it,’ said Henry.

Margaret rejoiced. It was the first time he had mentioned sitting with a Parliament.

There was no doubt that the Tudors’ visit had done some good.

When they had left after giving a firm indication of their loyalty to Henry and Lancaster, Margaret talked of them to the King.

‘They are fine men...all of them. Owen is getting old of course but you need strong men Like Edmund and Jasper.’

‘Owen did not seem to me an old man but I believe he was the same age as my mother and she was twenty-one when I was born.’

I would trust them all to serve you well,’ said Margaret, ‘and that makes me warm towards them. I will arrange a marriage for the girl and I see no reason why Edmund should not have Margaret Beaufort.’

‘Then, my love,’ said Henry, ‘if you decide it shall be so, it will be.’

There could no longer be any delay. Henry was weak still but Margaret insisted that he should be taken to the House of Lords and when he arrived there he dissolved Parliament.

The reign of the Duke of York was at an end. The King was returned and York had known his power was of a temporary nature.

It was unfortunate for the King and Margaret that York’s period of supremacy had been long enough to show the people that he was a good ruler. Law and order had been restored to the country and York’s rule had been seen to be just and firm.

Now it was over, but York would not lightly relinquish what he had cherished so much and for which he had an undoubted aptitude. Yet he must. He had taken on the Protectorate on the understanding that he must give it up as soon as the King was well.

The first act of the King’s—or rather Margaret’s—was to get Somerset released from the Tower. Shortly afterwards Exeter followed him.

Margaret now reinstated Somerset and he was the most important man in the country under the King.

There was of course a fierce hatred between Somerset and York. Somerset would never forgive York for imprisoning him; and York despised Somerset and wondered whether he ought

to have taken advantage of the situation and finished him altogether.

The feud between those two was irreconcilable and would only end with the death of one of them.

Meanwhile Margaret was revelling in the return to power. She indulged in her favourite pastime of matchmaking. Margaret Beaufort was married to Edmund Tudor and for Jacina she found Lord Grey de Wilton.

She was delighted with her efforts and she knew that if they were needed the Tudors would be on Henry’s side.