The Red Rose of Anjou

LOVE DAY

Margaret had a strong purpose now. Revenge on her enemies. She was going to destroy those three men. York, Salisbury and Warwick. They were her enemies as Gloucester had never been, and she would not rest until she had had her revenge on them. This was something she could not do alone. She realized this. If the King lost his reason completely or died she would be desperately alone with a son to fight for and without adequate means to do so. She needed Henry, a sane Henry, but not too strong because he must be guided by her.

She was going to make the crown safe for her son.

Henry’s state of health gave her great cause for alarm. He must not be allowed to drift into that torpor which amounted to idiocy. She was prepared now. She would recall William Hately and together they would bring Henry back to health, for Hately’s sensible advice had worked wonders before and it still would, she was sure.

She sought to interest Henry in their child. The little boy was very useful. His charming ways enchanted all, and Margaret was more passionately devoted to him every day, loving him with all the fierceness of her nature. Nobody was going to take the crown away from him.

So she needed Henry, a live, sane Henry.

Once more she devoted her days to the care of these two. She discussed with William Hately the best course of action and because of Henry’s passionate love of music, on the doctor’s advice she sent her sheriffs out into the country to look for musicians. She thought young ones would interest the King because he so much enjoyed encouraging the young.

‘Go into the villages and hamlets,’ she said, ‘Search out boys with talent. Let them know that if they want to become musicians there is a place for them at Court. They will be paid good wages and will never want.’

When the boys began to arrive Henry showed an interest in them and their studies. He had always believed in teaching and bringing out the abilities of any who possessed them. There was J no doubt that this had been an excellent idea.

There were some who wanted to go into the Church. Henry had a special interest in these. He promised to advance them and did so, and took a great interest in their progress. Margaret moved to Greenwich to be nearer London—but not too near for the Londoners were ardent Yorkists, and she was anxious not to attract too much attention to herself and the King at this stage. It was important, she felt, to lull the Yorkists into a sense of security. Let them think they were in command. So they were, but not for long, she promised herself.

She rejoiced in Henry’s definite recovery, slow though it was: People were drifting to Greenwich. There were the sons of fathers who had been slain at St. Albans. They thirsted for revenge with a passion which almost matched Margaret’s. She encouraged them. One day it will be a different story, she told them in fervour. It will be for us to command them. And then it will be to the Tower in preparation for the scaffold for some.

York, Warwick and Salisbury, they haunted her dreams.

The day will come, she promised herself And then no mercy. She found pleasure in inventing torments for them. Henry would have been horrified if he knew what was in her mind. He had always been squeamish. Perhaps that was why he had all but lost his throne.

Never mind. He was a good and loving man. He would obey his wife. And then when her son was of age he would be a fine strong King, for she would bring him up to be just that.

In the meantime it was a matter of treading warily—which was very difficult for a woman of her temperament. But she was doing well.

In Greenwich they talked constantly of the day when they would be strong enough to defeat York.

‘We’ll have his head on London Bridge, never fear,’ said Margaret. ‘But not a word of this before the King. The King

is a saint. He would die himself rather than shed anyone’s blood. That is why he needs us...to help him govern.’

They were beginning to see in Margaret a leader. It was incongruous that this small woman with the dainty hands and the long fair hair and the eyes which flashed blue fire when she talked of what was in store for her enemies, should be the one to lead them. But such was the power of her resolution, such her eloquence, such her burning determination that they were beginning to accept her.

Henry the new Duke of Somerset had recovered from his wounds and was constantly at her side. She was going to put him in his father’s place as soon as possible. It was the least she could do for dear Edmund; but apart from that she loved the new Duke for himself. He was her ardent supporter and like her he thirsted for revenge.

There were three who were very welcome at Greenwich; Henry’s stepfather, Owen Tudor, and his half-brothers, Edmund and Jasper. Henry was always delighted to see them and would be happy recalling the days when he was a little boy and Owen Tudor had taught him to ride.

But the Tudors did not come merely to talk of old times with Henry. They were staunchly for the Lancastrian cause. They were strong men—all three of them, ready to face hardship, ready to risk their lives; and for the sake of Katherine, beloved wife to one and mother to the other two, they were firmly behind Henry.

They were pleasant days for Henry who was ignorant of the revengeful plans. He did not want to think of that fearful time in St. Albans. The wound on his neck had proved to be slight and he could not bear to think of poor dear Somerset lying dead under that inn sign. He never wanted to go near St. Albans again. He just wanted to forget the horrible sounds and sights of war.

Forsooth and forsooth,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Why do men make war when all know we are always better off without it?’

Let York be protector of the realm. Why not? It was what York wanted; it stopped war. A number of the people wanted it. They said York managed very well and as long as he went on doing so there need be no trouble. York had been most respectful to him and he had stressed the fact that he regarded him as the sole King of the realm. It was only because he needed to recover from his illness—which had been aggravated by events in St. Albans—that York was installed as Protector. It was only a temporary measure.

But Henry was very happy for it to continue.

So he listened to the music played by the boys who had been brought in to be taught and gently remonstrated with them when they did not play correctly. He loved to hear them and they loved to play for him.

Then there were those who wanted to go on pilgrimages to holy shrines. They came and discussed their projects with the King. He delighted to hear them. He himself would like to go on a pilgrimage.

‘That might be an excellent idea,’ said Margaret. They would travel through the country and the people would be delighted to see them, particularly if they had the little Prince with them—their gentle King who wished no ill to any and their charming Prince who could always captivate with his innocent manners. And her .. . well, they might not like her so much. There was a good deal of prejudice to overcome. But they must applaud her devotion to her family.

This was not the time though. Margaret had other plans...just at first.

‘When you are well enough,’ she told Henry, ‘we will make our pilgrimage.’

‘I feel well now,’ said Henry. ‘Well enough to make a short journey.’

‘We will see,’ said Margaret.

Not yet, she thought secretly. Not until the people can see you as their ruler. Not until York is no longer Protector. In a little while perhaps, but not yet.

The visitors continued to come. Margaret held her secret meetings and the King listened to his music, discussed possible pilgrimages, spent a great deal of time with his confessor, prayed and meditated.

Alchemists came to him who believed that they could discover the philosopher’s stone by which they could turn base metals into gold. ‘It would be a miraculous discovery,’ said Henry, thinking sadly of his depleted exchequer and how wonderful it would be if the country did not have to inflict such heavy taxation on its subjects.

He would visit the royal laboratories and spend hours with the alchemists. They arrived at Greenwich from all over the country. They were all on the verge of discovering the secret formula; but none of them ever found it.

And so the King’s days passed pleasantly, while the Queen gathered about her a formidable force.

The King’s health was greatly improved but he was easily tired and there was no doubt that the battle of St. Albans had had some effect on him. However he was well enough to take to the saddle; his mind was clear; and although he would never be robust, he was in good health.

The time had come, thought Margaret.

She did not discuss the next step with Henry. She wanted to present it to him as the considered opinion not only of herself but his friends.

Young Henry Beaufort, son of Edmund and now himself Duke of Somerset, was a bright young man of about nineteen or twenty. Understandably, he hated York with a venom equalling that of the Queen.

‘It is York’s contention that he is only Protector of the Realm during the King’s indisposition,’ said young Somerset. 'If the King is no longer indisposed there is now no need for York to hold that position. It seems, my lady, that all we have to do is announce that the King is well.’

Margaret was thoughtful. That was as it might be. But there would be fierce opposition, she knew. York, Warwick and Salisbury had gathered their troops and come to oppose Henry.

‘It was done with speed and shrewdness,’ she reminded them.

With the Lancastrian lords they discussed how the desired effect should be brought about. York was not in London at the time. He must be kept in the dark as to the King’s progress. If he knew that Henry was recovering he would be on the spot.

‘We must choose our time with care,’ said Owen Tudor.

Jasper thought that the King should go unexpectedly to one of the sessions of Parliament over which York and his immediate cronies did not preside, and make the announcement that he was now well and capable of taking over the government of the country.

‘It is the way,’ said Margaret. ‘Now we have to persuade the

That was not quite so easy. Henry enjoyed his life at Greenwich. He loved his music, his conversations with those who were almost as religious as himself; he loved the company of his son and he was grateful that he had a Queen who could care for him and keep unpleasant business away from him.

She reminded him gently that he was the son of a King; he had been a King since he was nine months old and the people wanted him. It was time now to take on his duties. She would be beside him, always ready to help him. He need have no fear.

It was a cold February day; the Duke of York was in the North and Warwick was in Calais for he had been given the important Governorship of that town when York had become Protector. As for the chief members of the York faction, they were all on their estates in various parts of the country.

The King rode up from Greenwich to Westminster, Margaret beside him.

He went into the House of Lords.

The assembled company, not knowing that he had left Greenwich, was astounded to see him enter thus ceremoniously.

The King stood before them, seeming in amazingly good health.

‘My lords,’ he said, as they had decided he should, ‘you see me, by the blessing of God, in good health. I do not think my kingdom now needs a Protector. I request your permission to resume the reins of government.’

The Lords rose as one and cheered him.

He was well. He was the King. It was his place to govern.

It had been completely successful. Margaret was gleeful. ‘You see, all we need is a firm hand. Our first act must be to notify the Duke of York that he is no longer Protector of this realm as it was unanimously agreed by the Lords that he cease to hold this office.’

Now they could get to work. York could do nothing. His men were scattered and the same applied to Salisbury. Warwick was in Calais so was not of immediate concern.

The Parliament had agreed that York’s services were no longer required. The King could not be turned out of his office. He claimed it. He was well now.

Henry was King again.

The King’s chief adviser should be the young Duke of Somerset. There were raised eyebrows at that. Henry Beaufort was loyal enough, but he lacked experience and his father could hardly have been called a success in the later years of his life. It was the conflict between York and Somerset which was at the root of the trouble. But Margaret, fierce in her loyalties, was scarcely shrewd in her judgment. She wanted to show this young man her compassion for the death of his beloved father;

she wanted to reward him for his friendship to her. Her emotions told her that this should be his reward; she did not pause to consider the wisdom of the move.

Henry wanted to bestow the seals on his good friend William Waynflete, Bishop of Winchester and Margaret saw no reason why Henry should not be indulged in this. Waynflete was a good Lancastrian—not fiercely against the Duke of York it was true, but believing firmly that Henry was the rightful King and should be supported for this reason. He and Henry had had many a happy hour together, discussing theology and architecture. Waynflete had often accompanied the King to Eton and King’s College and had a great interest in them.

Yes, Waynflete was the man.

The changes were completed before York could do anything about it and there was consternation in Sandal Castle near Wakefield when the news was brought to York.

His resignation demanded! It was hardly necessary. He was already deprived of his post. The King was now well enough to resume his duties.

It was a complete surprise.

The family clustered round him. Edward wanted his father to tell him exactly what had happened. He wanted to set out right away and force another battle on the King. Edmund, his brother and younger by a year, was eager to hear more of the details. George was trying to imitate Edward and talking of battle and little Richard toddled up to try and understand what all the excitement was about. Even the little girls were listening.

Cecily was furious. ‘This is that woman’s doing,’ she said.

Edward nodded. All the children knew that ‘that woman’ was the Queen and that she was very wicked. George said that she had come from France riding on a broomstick and it was only because she was a witch that she had been able to marry the King. When Elizabeth had asked Edward if this were true he had shrugged it aside impatiently.

‘When they say she’s a witch,’ he explained, ‘that just means that she’s artful and wicked and cruel and ought to be destroyed.’

The Duke of York said: ‘Of course it is her doing. Henry never has the wit to do anything alone.’

The children were overawed. Their father was speaking of the King and only their father could speak thus of the King. Everyone else had to be very careful. This was because their father

really should have been King and that was what all the trouble was about.

Even the little ones wore their white roses and they always kept their eyes open for anyone wearing a red rose; if they saw anyone—though they rarely did in Yorkshire and anywhere near them, wherever they were—Edward and Edmund always wanted to kill them.

‘When shall we be marching down south?’ asked Edward. He would be rather sorry to go because there was a certain serving-woman in whom he was interested. She was old—by his standards—but he did not mind that any more than she minded his youth. She had so much to teach him; he enjoyed his lessons with her and did not want to break them off... even for a battle.

‘I don’t think we shall be,’ said the Duke thoughtfully.

‘You mean you are going to stand by and let that woman treat you like that?’ cried Cecily.

‘My dear, we do not want civil war.’

‘You were the victor at St. Albans. That should have been an end of it.’

‘I believe it should. But rest assured, Cis, there will be no end to conflict while the Queen holds sway over the King.’

‘What nonsense! You have shown you are more fit to rule than Henry.’

‘I think the people know that. They will remember...when the time comes. But that time is not yet.’

It was not long before Salisbury arrived. He had heard the news too.

‘What does it mean?’ he asked.

‘That the King is in better health. He must be, to have presented himself to the Parliament. He is King once more which means that I am no longer Protector.’

‘And what do you propose to do about it?’

‘Nothing,’ said York. ‘Remain here in the country...and wait.’

Salisbury was in complete agreement. ‘And wait,’ he said, but there was something ominous in the words.

Margaret was gratified when York made no attempt to dispute the fact that it was the King’s right to rule and that he was fit to do so.

‘He knows when he is beaten,’ she remarked to young Somerset. ‘Though he is wrong if he thinks I shall ever forget what he has done. I shall remind Henry for he is apt to forget that whatever York says, he took up arms against his King at St. Albans.’

‘We shall have the traitor’s head yet.’ Somerset promised her.

‘I am determined on it. York need not think that all is forgotten and forgiven. That shall never be. I am going to discover the mood of the country and I shall take Henry and the Prince on a long progress. I want the people to see their King, that he is well and that he is able to rule them. He is never averse to these journeys and if he can visit the churches and the monasteries, he will be happy. The people like that too. It pleases them that they have a saintly and virtuous King.’

It was agreed that such a progress would be beneficial to the Lancastrian cause and the Queen would be able to assess what subject she could rely on. She dreamed ol leading a triumphant army against York.

With characteristic energy she set about planning the tour. They would ride slowly through the country, pausing at great manor houses and castles on their way where they would stay a few days and let the people see them. I hey would make their way to Coventry which had always been a loyal city. And when the time had come...when the country was behind her she would strike.

So the progress began. The King was sincerely welcomed; the little Prince was cheered wherever they went; and if the greeting for Margaret was less exuberant, she could bear that. These people would understand in the end, she promised herself.

They came to Coventry and there held Court. The ladies of the castle worked a tapestry in honour of the visit. It was beautiful and depicted Margaret at prayer in a head-dress decorated with pearls and a yellow brocaded dress edged with ermine. The King was shown beside her and the tapestry was hung in St. Mary’s Hall as a token ol the town’s loyal regard for its sovereigns.

While they were at Coventry Margaret advised the King to send for York, Salisbury and Warwick to come to them there. They all declined, sensing trouble. How could they go, asked York, without taking an armed force with them? And if they did that it would not look as though they came in peace. Salisbury agreed with him. As for Warwick, he was too busy in Calais where his duties would not allow him to leave.

‘They are afraid to come,’ exulted Margaret, and from what was to be called the Safe Harbour of Coventry she went on with her plans.

Steeped as she was in plots for revenge she could still spare time for romance. She liked to discuss her plans with Henry because he always agreed and smiled at her tenderly calling her the Royal Matchmaker.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘now that dear Edmund has been murdered...’ She always referred to Somerset’s death in battle as murder and the murderer-in-chief as York—’I feel it is my duty to look to the welfare of his sons.’

‘I think you could have been said to have done that, Margaret,’ replied the King.

‘They are good boys. If Edmund had lived they would have been married by now.’

‘I daresay they will in due course.’

‘They should have the best possible matches and I think I have found the answer. The King of Scotland has two daughters. I thought it would be a good idea if they were married to Henry and his brother Edmund.’

‘King’s daughters!’

‘Well, why not? The Beauforts are royal are they not? The family has been legitimized and they are in a direct line from John of Gaunt.’

‘Yes, but what will James say...?’

‘James of Scotland could, I am sure, be persuaded. We owe it to Edmund, Henry, to look after his sons.’

‘My dear Margaret, if this were acceptable to the King of Scotland I would raise no objection.’

‘I should think not,’ cried Margaret. ‘Such marriages could bring us nothing but good.’

‘I do not think the King of Scotland would agree.’

‘He certainly cannot if he does not know what is proposed.’

‘My dear, if it is your wish...’

‘It is and it should be yours. Have you thought what these marriages could mean to us? There is always trouble on the Border’ With Henry Beaufort up there and his brother with him, we should have friends, not enemies, in the Scots.’

‘If it would mean peace, my dear lady, I would give every encouragement to it.’

Margaret was pleased. The King’s approval was not necessary to her but she always felt that she liked to have it.

She set negotiations in motion. It was a disappointment that there was a lukewarm response from the King of Scots which might well mean ‘Don’t meddle in these matters and keep your matchmaking schemes within the bounds of your own country.’ If she was proposing a match with the Prince of Wales that would be another matter.

Margaret was obliged temporarily to shelve the matter. There was something of great importance with which to occupy herself, and this she determined to carry on without consultation with Henry.

She had always kept in touch with her uncle the King of France and her father the titular King of Sicily and Naples. If René was rather frivolous, the King of France was far from that. Margaret was eager to make the throne safe for Henry and she felt it could never be that while York lived. She would not be happy until she saw York’s head displayed on some prominent edifice for all to witness his defeat and humiliation. Vengeance was like a burning fire within her which could only be doused by horrible death. It did not occur to her that for the Queen of England to indulge in correspondence with an enemy of England was more than incongruous. It could be construed as treachery and in view of her unpopularity, which was already overpowering, Margaret was playing a very dangerous game.

There was one whom Margaret hated almost as intensely as she did the Duke of York and that was the Earl of Warwick. It was Warwick’s tactics which had achieved victory at St. Albans for the Yorkists. He was as dangerous as York. The only difference was that he laid no claim to the throne.

Warwick—with characteristic shrewdness—had taken over the governorship of Calais, which some said was the most important port in Europe, and if it had not been quite that before, Warwick was certainly making it so now. He was turning himself into a kind of pirate king of the Channel, and making it impossible for French ships to pass through with safety.

Margaret had already written to her uncle explaining that she did not want Warwick back in England. He was too clever, too important to the Yorkist cause and while he was in Calais he was kept out of the way. Would the King harry the port a little, making Warwick’s presence in Calais absolutely necessary to its safety. Threaten it. Make a determined set at it. At all costs keep Warwick out of England.

Again it did not occur to her that to ask an enemy of her country to attack one of its possessions was treachery of the worst |l kind. Margaret was single-minded. She wanted Henry safe on the throne and that could only be brought about by the death of York and she did not care what means she employed to bring that about.

Charles VII had changed since those days when as Dauphin he has listlessly allowed his country to slip out of his grasp. He was now reckoned to be the most astute monarch in Europe. He wanted to help his dear niece, he wrote, and he was authorizing Pierre de Brézé, the Seneschal of Normandy, who had always been one of Margaret’s devoted admirers, to prepare a fleet for the purpose of destroying Warwick’s fleet and immobilizing the port of Calais so that—so said the King of France—Warwick would be unable to use it for attacks on Margaret and Henry. He did not add that Calais was the town he most desired to get his hands on.

Margaret was delighted. Warwick would never be able to stand out against a French fleet.

It was summer when the fleet was ready. De Brézé sailed along the coast looking for Warwick’s fleet. But a heavy mist fell and visibility was poor and there was no sign of Warwick and his ships. It was a pity, thought de Brézé, for he had sixty ships manned to the strength of four thousand and he contemplated an easy victory.

Land came into sight. He was puzzled. It could only be England. He lay off the shore for a while and when the mist lifted a little he knew with certainty that he was close to the English coast.

He landed some of his men in a quiet bay and then sailed along until he came to the town of Sandwich.

He then set the rest ashore. The people of Sandwich were taken unaware. When they had first seen the ships they had thought they were Warwick’s and were prepared to give them a good welcome, for Warwick was regarded as a hero in Kent.

The raid was successful—from the French point of view, and de Brézé sailed away with booty and prisoners from whose families he hoped to collect considerable ransoms.

When it was discovered that the Queen had actually requested the help of the French—for there were spies in the royal household and Margaret, who was impulsive in her actions was also careless and some of the correspondence between her and the King of France had been intercepted—the hatred towards her intensified. She was a traitor. She was fighting for the French against the English. Their own Queen. They had never liked her. Now a wave of hatred spread through the country and nowhere was this stronger than in the county of Kent and the city of London. They blamed her for the raid on Sandwich. They blamed her for loss of trade which upset the Londoners particularly.

Margaret’s little scheme to immobilize Calais had failed dismally and had moreover harmed her reputation irreparably.

Henry was most upset and realized that Margaret, in her enthusiasm, had done a great deal of harm. He tried to explain to her and for the first time she understood that he could be firm.

He was after all the King; there were times when his royalty seemed important to him. ‘I am the King,’ he would gently remind those who sought to override him—even Margaret.

‘This warring can bring us no good,’ he declared with a certain strength. ‘I am eager to put an end to it.’

‘You never will while York lives,’ said Margaret grimly.

‘Margaret, I want no more killing, no more strife. York has a right to his opinions. He never wanted to take my place. He has said so.’

‘Said so,’ cried Margaret. ‘You would heed the word of a traitor.’

‘He is no traitor! Think of his conduct after St. Albans. He came to me, wounded as I was, and knelt before me. He could easily have killed me then.’

Margaret covered her face with her hands in exasperation.

Henry gently withdrew them. She looked into his face and saw a purpose there.

He will have to have his way, she thought; he is the King and now he is remembering it.

She listened to what he had to propose. He was going to call all the nobles to London; York, Warwick, Salisbury and with them lords like Northumberland, Egremont and Clifford who held grievances against them for the blood that was shed at St. Albans.

‘Do you want fighting in the streets of London?’

‘No,’ said Henry sternly. ‘That I shall forbid. These men are going to take each other’s hands in friendship. I shall command them to do so. I am the King.’

Margaret was astounded. She had never seen Henry look like that before.

Henry had realized that the path Margaret was taking would lead to civil war. She had made herself very unpopular and here were no cheers in the streets for her though they came readily enough for the Prince and Henry himself. But there was uneasy silence in the crowd when Margaret appeared. Henry feared that it could well develop into something very unpleasant and even Margaret’s life might be in danger.

He must put a stop to this conflict. He must bring about some understanding with the Yorkists. He believed in his heart that they did not want war any more than he did. It was only people who thought as Margaret did who were so thirsting for revenge that they would plunge the country into bloodshed to get it.

He decided in a desperate effort to make peace between them to summon all the leading nobles to Westminster. When they arrived they caused great consternation to the Londoners who wanted no battles fought on their precious territory. If the rival factions wanted to fight, they said, let them go somewhere else to do it.

The Yorkists were arriving in strength. Salisbury had with him five hundred men and he lodged with them in Fleet Street, and it was not long afterwards when the Duke of York came in to Baynard’s Castle with some four or five hundred.

Sir Geoffrey Boleyn, the Lord Mayor of London, was disturbed and ordered the city’s guards to watch over the property of the London merchants; he set patrols to march through the streets after dark and there was an air of tension throughout the city.

Margaret thought the King should never have attempted to call the nobles together; they would never agree; moreover the promises of the Yorkists she was sure could not be relied on. Secretly she did not want peace. She wanted revenge on York and she could not get that very easily unless there was war.

Then the loyal Lancastrians began to arrive. There were the young lords sporting their red roses led by three, all of whom had lost their fathers in the battle of St. Albans—Clifford, Egremont and Northumberland, every one of them seeking an eye for an eye. Bloodshed in their eyes could only satisfy for bloodshed.

The tension increased when Warwick, the hero of Calais, arrived in the city with six hundred trained soldiers.

Henry arranged a meeting which was to be presided over by Bishop Waynflete and Thomas Bourchier, the Archbishop of Canterbury.

The King had previously had a meeting with York, Salisbury and Warwick and was pleased to find how conciliatory they were. York insisted that civil war was the last thing he wanted. He had felt it necessary that the late Duke of Somerset should be removed from his post and it was for this reason that he had been marching to London when the affray at St. Albans had broken out. It was unfortunate that the King had been wounded and that Somerset had been killed. He was sorry too for those young lords whose fathers had been slain and could understand their grief and anger at their losses.

‘Perhaps it would be well if you showed that you truly regretted this affray,’ suggested Henry. ‘How would you feel about building a chapel at St. Albans...on the site of the battle. Masses could be said there for the souls of those men who had died there.’

The three men considered this and said they would be delighted to build a chapel for such purpose.

‘Then I think we are making some progress,’ said Henry delightedly. ‘But a little more may be demanded.’

‘What do you suggest, my lord?’ asked York.

‘I think if there was financial recompense to those families who have suffered we might get them to agree to keep the peace. Certain sums are due to you—to you, my lord Warwick, for the governorship of Calais and to you, my lord Duke, for your services as Protector. Suppose these sums were diverted to the Duchess of Somerset, to young Clifford and Egremont and others who have suffered losses.’

York, Warwick and Salisbury said that they would like a little time to consider this.

‘Not too long,’ Henry warned them. ‘The people are restive and want a declaration of peace between you all as soon as it can be arranged.’

York laughed when he was alone with his friends.

‘The chapel...yes, we can do that,’ he said. ‘That is a small matter. The money...? Well, when were you last paid, Warwick?’

‘I never have received a groat.’

‘Nor have I. So let us most magnanimously offer to these families that which would most likely never have come to us. Let us have our wages diverted to them. They can wait for them...just as we did...and I doubt they ever see the colour of the money.’

Henry was delighted. ‘You see,’ he said to Margaret, ‘how simple it is when you make the right approach. People are at heart good, but they get carried away by their passions. If only they would pause and commune with God.’

With the Yorkists being so ready to agree to a peace there was nothing the Lancastrians could do but accept.

‘There shall be a thanksgiving service at St. Paul’s,’ announced Henry with gratification.

‘And do you believe these Yorkists?’ asked Margaret with scorn in her voice.

‘I believe they want peace. York is a good man. I know him well. He is a close kinsman, remember. He really wants what is best for this country.’

‘Not forgetting the House of York,’ added Margaret.

‘We all want to see our families well cared for.’

‘But fortunately all do not want to wear the crown.’

‘York does not think of that. He is a good man, I swear, Margaret.’

‘Oh, Henry, you are so easily deceived. And Warwick. He is the most dangerous of them all. He is the sly one. He has wormed his way into the people’s affections. They cheer him wherever he goes. They think he is wonderful because he performs piracy on the high seas.’

‘He attacks only the French who are making things uncomfortable for him in Calais.’

‘He should never be at Calais. He should be removed from that post. Henry, you could give it to young Somerset. It would show how sorry we are that his father was killed in our service.’

‘Somerset is too young for the task.’

‘How old is Warwick?’

‘He must be nearly thirty.’

‘Not so much older than Somerset.’

‘It is not only a question of age, my dear. Warwick has shown himself to be a great leader.’

‘He has shown himself to be a pirate. But I know the English love pirates.’

‘The English love law and order as do all sensible people. No, it would be wrong to take the governorship of Calais away from Warwick. The people would be angry. They idolize him in the south-east. They say when he rides up from Sandwich to London they run out to cheer him and throw flowers at him.’

‘All the more reason why he should be deprived of that post.’

‘But he has excelled in it, and you know how the people feel about de Brézé’s raid on Sandwich.’

It was dangerous ground. She had erred badly over that, they said. They blamed her, although she had never asked that the English mainland should be attacked.

However, with unaccustomed firmness Henry made it clear that the governorship of Calais should not be taken away from Warwick, and the citizens of London, who shortly before had been apprehensive, were delighted that there was to be a ceremony. The King had decided on the Feast of the Annunciation and it was to be a day of public thanksgiving. Enemies would enter the cathedral as friends—hand in hand—and they would all give thanks to God for this day.

There was a grand procession through the streets. The Duke of Somerset and the Earl of Salisbury—sworn enemies until this day—headed the procession; and behind them came the Duke of Exeter with Warwick. Henry followed in all his royal robes which he so hated to wear but he had his hair shirt underneath them and hoped that the discomfort would offset the extravagant splendour in the eyes of the Almighty. Behind the King was Margaret with the Duke of York. They held hands as they walked. She found it very hard to hide her disgust at the procedure. To walk thus with her greatest enemy, holding his hand when it was his head she wanted and that on a pike—was nauseating. She had almost refused to do it but remembering what had happened at Sandwich and the new mood of the King, she felt she could hardly refuse. But she was not York’s friend and never would be.

York however was pretending to be on terms of great friendship. Could he really want peace? Had he really given up his ambitions to wear the crown?

She could not believe it.

The whole thing was a farce.

It pleased Henry, though. Poor simple soul, he believed these people when they said there should be peace. He used himself as a pattern and seemed to think that everyone had the same motives, and was as direct and honest as himself. Poor foolish Henry! How he needed a woman to look after him. And this new mood was faintly alarming.

So they went into the cathedral and the service began.

Afterwards there were bonfires in the streets and the people danced merrily round them. Troubles were all over, they believed. The enemies were now friends. Recompense had been made to those who had suffered.

It was called Love Day. The day when the wearers of the red and white roses became friends.