The Red Rose of Anjou

MARGARET AND HENRY

The King was riding from St. Albans to Westminster. He was waiting impatiently for the return of Champchevrier. The thought of this young girl whose father had become impoverished through a series of misadventures appealed to him. Henry was always sorry for the failures. Perhaps it was because he sometimes felt he was a failure himself. He often wished that fate had not made him a King. Sometimes he imagined what he would have been if he had not been born royal. He might have gone into a monastery where he could have spent his days illuminating manuscripts, praying, working for the poor. He would have been content doing that and he would have done it well.

But he was the son of a King, a King in his own right, and as such was burdened by responsibilities which he could not endure.

He had not been formed to be a King – and a Plantagenet King at that. He did not belong with those blond long-legged giants who only had to wave a banner to have men flock to them. They had imposed their iron rule on the people – or most of them had – and the people had accepted it, almost always. Edward Longshanks; Edward the Third; his own father, Great Henry the Fifth. They were all kings of whom England could be proud.

And then had come Henry, a King at nine months old, surrounded by ambitious men all jostling for power. No, he was apart. His ancestors in the main had been lusty men. They had scattered their bastards all over the country. But he was different. He believed in chastity and the sanctity of the marriage vows. He was acutely embarrassed when women approached him seeking to tempt him, as they used to. They did not do it so much now because they knew it was useless; but there would always be women who would be delighted to become the King’s mistress. Never, he had said, and turned disgustedly away.

He remembered one occasion when some of his courtiers had arranged for dancers to perform for him and they came before him, their bosoms bare. So horrified had he been that he had quickly quitted the chamber muttering the nearest expletive to an oath of which he was capable, ‘Forsooth and forsooth.’ And then ‘Fie, for shame! You are to blame for bringing such women before me.’ And he had refused to look at them.

It needed incidents like that to assure those about him that he really was a deeply religious man of genuine purity.

Very laudable in a priest. But a King!

All he wanted was to live quietly, in a peaceful household; he wanted no more of the conflict in France. Did he want to be King of France? He did not want to be King of England even! His great uncle Cardinal Beaufort had assured him that with the death of his uncle Bedford the hopes of retaining a hold on France had ended. Everything had changed since the glorious days of Barfleur and Agincourt. Then England had had a great warrior King and had he lived doubtless France and England would be one by now. But he had died and Joan of Arc had come forward and changed the war. She was dead now...burned as a witch and he was still horrified by the memory of that deed. He had seen her once when he was a boy and had peeped at her through an aperture in the wall and looked into her cell; he had never forgotten her. He was certain now that she had been sent from Heaven. It was a sign that God wanted France to remain in the hands of the French. Henry wanted it too.

The great Cardinal on whom he relied had said that the time had come to make peace with the French—an honourable peace before they had lost too much.

Heartily Henry agreed with that. Others did too. There was one notable exception: Henry’s uncle Gloucester. Henry disliked and feared his uncle Gloucester. He was nothing but a troublemaker and his wife was now a captive in one of the country’s castles because she had indulged in witchcraft in an attempt to destroy Henry’s life.

For what reason? So that Gloucester could be King as he was the next in line.

No, Henry would never trust Gloucester. He did not want him near him. He had given orders that he must have extra guards and if ever his uncle Gloucester attempted to approach him they must watch most carefully.

It was the Cardinal who had suggested that a marriage with Margaret of Anjou might be a good thing. A French marriage was necessary. The King of France was disinclined to offer one of his daughters. ‘At one time we could have insisted,’ said the Cardinal, ‘but times have changed and the sooner we take account of this the better. Margaret is the niece of the Queen of France; she is a Princess even if René is only titular King of Naples. She is young and could be taught. It seems to me, my lord, that Margaret would be a very good proposition.’

He had agreed as he invariably did with the Cardinal and the fact that he knew his uncle Gloucester would be against the match made it seem doubly attractive.

And because of that he had sent Champchevrier to France to bring to him, secretly, a picture of Margaret, for it must not yet be known that a match was being thought of. He wanted to make sure that his prospective bride was indeed a young pure girl. He wanted no brazenly voluptuous woman, but he would like one who was beautiful; he had a great love for beauty, usually in painting, poetry and music, so his wife must appeal to his aesthetic tastes. He planned to live with her as a good husband and if she would be a good wife to him they would remain faithful until death parted them and in the meantime give the country the necessary heir.

The Duke of Gloucester was in favour of a match with one of the daughters of the Count of Armagnac. Armagnac was not at this time friendly with the King of France and the last thing Gloucester wanted was peace with France. Henry was not sure whether Gloucester wanted the conflict to persist because he saw himself as a great warrior like his brother Henry the Fifth and had dreams of bringing the French crown to England or whether he wanted the match because the Cardinal was against it. But any match that Gloucester would arrange for him could never please Henry. He had, however, diplomatically dispatched Hans to the Court of Armagnac, telling him there was no need for haste, and at the same time had sent Champchevrier out in secret and in all speed.

The Cardinal had seen and conversed with Margaret and had reported that not only was she a beautiful girl but she was an intelligent one.

When Champchevrier returned he would first make his way to Westminster and Henry wished to be there when he came, to save delay. It was for this reason that he was now on his way.

As he approached the capital he was recognized and cheered by a few people. They were not wildly enthusiastic for he was not a man who could inspire that frenzied admiration in them which they had accorded to some of his ancestors and it was always difficult in any case for the living to compare favourably with the dead.

Coming into Cripplegate something stuck on a stake caught his eye. He looked at it in puzzlement not recognizing it for what it was. Then he turned to one of his attendants and said: ‘What is that revolting object?’

‘My lord,’ was the answer, ‘it is the quarters of some wretch who has been punished for treason to yourself.’

Henry covered his eyes with his hands. ‘It disgusts me,’ he said. ‘Have it taken away. It does not please me that my subjects should be so treated for my sake.’

‘This man was a traitor, my lord. Proved to be so.’

‘Traitors should die mayhap, but not in such a way. Have that rotting flesh taken down at once. I never want to see the like again.’

His orders were obeyed but he knew they were asking themselves, What manner of King is this?

On to Westminster. Champchevrier had not yet arrived. Henry settled down to wait with patience.

He had so much to absorb his interest at this time. He was deeply involved in plans for founding colleges at Eton and Cambridge. One of the greatest joys in life was learning and he wanted to do all he could to promote it. The planning of these colleges pleased him more than anything at this time and he dearly wished that he could give more time to such projects instead of the continual preoccupation with continuing the war in France. He saw quite clearly that no good could come of this war. It had been going on for a hundred years and still nothing was resolved. It was like a seesaw, first England was in the ascendant and then dashed down to the ground; up went France and then down...It would go on like that and it meant nothing but bloodshed for the men who went to France and excessive taxation for those who remained behind.

There was no joy in war. He would like to end it as soon as possible and this French marriage would be a step towards it.

He was delighted when Champchevrier finally arrived in Westminster with the picture. He had pilfered it from the castle of Tarascon, he explained, where by strategy, posing as a traveller, he had spent a night.

Henry seized the picture eagerly. A pair of gentle blue eyes looked at him out of a heart-shaped face; the brow was high, indicating intelligence, the expression serene and her hair hung about her shoulders—fair with tints of red in it.

‘My lord, you like the picture?’ asked Champchevrier.

‘By St. John, yes I do.’

It was the nearest Henry could come to an oath but it meant that he liked what he saw—he liked it very much.

The Cardinal Beaufort was riding to Westminster. He had urgent business with the King but before he went to Henry he wished to sound the Earl of Suffolk, for the Cardinal had selected the Earl as the most suitable of all the English nobles to conduct the business ahead of them.

The Cardinal was thoughtful. He was getting near to the end of a full and very satisfying life. Born bastard son of John of Gaunt and Catherine Swynford he had been legitimized by his father and had enjoyed many honours. He had played a large part in the government of the country since his half-brother Henry IV had taken the crown from poor ineffectual Richard and so set up the House of Lancaster as the ruling one.

At one time it had seemed that the dream of capturing the crown of France would be realized. And so it would have been if Henry the Fifth had lived. Henry had a genius for war and when he married the French Princess and it was agreed that he should have the throne on the death of mad Charles it seemed that the war was virtually over. But change comes quickly and unexpectedly especially in the history of countries at war. Who would have believed twenty years before that the crown of France should have been saved for the French by a peasant girl and that Charles the Dauphin, indolent, careless of anything but his own pleasure, listless, indifferent to the fate of his country, should become one of the most astute Kings that France had ever known?

There was one truth which had been apparent to the Cardinal for a very long time and that was that England had lost the war for France and that the sooner this was realized and the best terms made, the better.

But there was certain to be differing points of view and the Duke of Gloucester, in spite of everything that had happened, was still a force to be reckoned with.

Gloucester did not want peace with France. He still dreamed that he was going to win spectacular battles like Agincourt. He really believed he was a military genius like his brother. Even Bedford had not been that, great soldier though he had been and wise administrator too. There was none to compare with Henry the Fifth. His kind appeared only once in a century. And Gloucester thought he could achieve what his brother had! It was contemptible.

It was a pity Gloucester had not been found guilty of practising witchcraft when his wife had.

But for some reason Gloucester was popular with the people. It was some strange charismatic quality he had. Many of the Plantagenets had it—it was a family gift, though it missed some. For all his excellence Bedford never had it. Henry the Fifth had had a double dose of it. And oddly enough, Gloucester, who had a genius for backing the wrong causes and made a failure of everything he tackled, who had married a woman far beneath him socially who was now charged with sorcery...all this and the people still retained a certain tenderness for him. So in spite of everything Gloucester still had to be reckoned with.

And Gloucester wanted to continue this disastrous war.

Therefore there must be a certain secrecy about these arrangements for Henry’s marriage. A Princess of Anjou was the best they could hope for. It was no use trying to badger Charles for one of his own daughters. England alas was not in a position to make demands any more. A marriage with Armagnac would be tantamount to a pledge to continue the war, so that was the last thing they needed. Charles might be pleased to permit the marriage of his niece—she was in fact his wife’s niece—and he might consider that it was a very good match for Margaret of Anjou, which it was. She would be Queen of England and if that was not a dazzling prospect for the younger daughter of an impoverished man who was only titular King of Naples, Beaufort did not know what was.

He had selected the man who should be the chief ambassador to the Court of Anjou and he was going to see him before he went to the King. Indeed, he thought they should go together without

delay to the King so that the negotiations could be put into practice immediately.

When the Cardinal arrived at Westminster he went at once to the Earl of Suffolk’s apartments before seeking an audience with the King.

Suffolk was delighted to see him while at the same time he wondered if this might mean trouble or some unpleasant task for him. He and the Cardinal worked closely together; and they were both sworn enemies of Gloucester.

William de la Pole had become the Earl of Suffolk when his elder brother was killed at Agincourt. He had had a distinguished military career and after the death of Henry the Fifth had served under the Duke of Bedford. He had been with Salisbury at the siege of Orléans. He had seen the mysterious death of Salisbury and the coming of the Maid.

He knew, as the Cardinal did, that those English hopes which had seemed so bright before the siege of Orléans, had become depressingly dim. England should slip out of France and try to keep as many of her old possessions as possible. Only hotheads like Gloucester would disagree with this.

Since his marriage he had formed a connection with the Beaufort family for his wife was the widow of the Earl of Salisbury and she had been Alice Chaucer before her marriage. Catherine Swynford—the mother of the Beauforts—had had a sister Philippa who had married the poet Geoffrey Chaucer and so there was a family connection.

His long military career made him feel very strongly that peace was necessary and he and the Cardinal had often discussed the best way of achieving this.

Now the Cardinal thought he had found a way.

‘A marriage with Margaret of Anjou could be a stepping stone to peace,’ he told Suffolk when they had exchanged the customary pleasantries.

‘And the King, will he agree to marriage?’

‘He wants it. He knows he has to marry sooner or later. It is his duty to provide an heir and though he has little interest in women he will do his duty. We can count on him for that. In fact he has sent a secret messenger to France to find a picture of her and he is delighted with what he sees.’

‘The pictures of Princesses have been known to flatter.’

‘Well, what would that matter? He would be half way in love with her before she arrived and that can do no harm. Moreover, I have seen her. I found her good-looking, intelligent and vivacious. In fact, everything that Henry needs in a wife.’

‘And of course there are the marriage terms to be arranged.’

‘What we need is a peace treaty. I want this marriage to mean that we abandon our claim to the crown of France.’

‘And do you think the people will accept that?’

‘They have to be convinced it is best.’

‘They are intoxicated by victories like Agincourt and Verneuil. They do not understand why we don’t go on providing them with glorious occasions like those.’

‘The people will accept what has to be done. Give them a royal wedding and they will be happy.’

‘They do not like the French.’

‘They loved Katherine of Valois.’

‘She came in rather different circumstances. When she married Henry it was in victory. He had won France they thought, and was taking the French Princess to make a happy solution for both countries.’

‘What is wrong with you, William? It almost seems that you would put obstacles in the way of this match.’

Suffolk was silent. Then he said: ‘I have a notion that you have decided that I shall go as the King’s proxy to Margaret of Anjou.’

‘Who would be better?’

‘I knew it. It is why you wished to speak to me.’

‘You are a man of maturity and wisdom, William. It is clear to me that you are the one to go to Anjou to treat with the King of France, for that is what it will mean.’

‘You know. Cardinal, that the King of France is a shrewd man. It is not the old Dauphin we have to deal with. Whenever I think of Charles of France I say to myself "There is Joan of Arc’s miracle."‘

‘Yes, Charles has changed. There are such changes. I remember my own nephew, Henry the Fifth—a profligate youth who filled us all with misgivings and then once the crown was on his head he became the hero of Agincourt.’

‘I shall have to barter with the King of France.’

‘It will certainly come to that.’

‘And we shall have to sacrifice something for Margaret. And it will be land, castles...you can be sure of that.’

‘But of course.’

‘And the people are not going to like the sort of sacrifice for which Charles will ask.’

‘Nevertheless the sacrifice will have to be made.’

‘And they will blame the one who made it. Not the King, not the Cardinal, but their ambassador Suffolk. I can imagine what Gloucester will make of that.’

‘So that is what holds you back.’

Suffolk was silent for a few moments.

‘I feel that the people will not like a French marriage and when they hear we have had to sacrifice territory won in battle they will blame the one who made those concessions, that is the King’s ambassador, otherwise Suffolk...if he goes.’

The Cardinal moved closer to Suffolk.

‘But have you thought how grateful the new Queen will be to the man who brought her to England and so skilfully arranged the necessary details for her marriage? The man who has the Queen’s favour will be fortunate indeed. The King is not a very forceful character, is he? I can see him relying on his Queen and then the one she favours will be in a very happy position indeed.’

Suffolk was thoughtful. There might be something in that but there were too many conditions attached. No, he would prefer not to be involved in anything like this. He was getting too old. He would be forty-eight in October. Not that he wanted to disengage himself from politics, but at least he did not want to run into anything that might be uncomfortable or even dangerous.

‘I would rather not be the King’s ambassador on this occasion,’ he said.

The Cardinal shrugged his shoulders.

A few days later the King sent for Suffolk. He wanted him to undertake a delicate mission and Henry was sure he was the best man for the task.

He did not have to ask. He knew the nature of the order. He was to go to France, leading an embassy to arrange terms for the King’s marriage to Margaret of Anjou.

It was on a windy March day when the embassy landed at Barfleur. Still uneasy, Suffolk congratulated himself that at least he had the King’s assurance that no charge should be brought against him if he ran into danger, which meant that he should not be blamed if this proved to be an unpopular move.

They joined the Due d’Orléans at Blois and from there sailed down the Loire to Tours where the Court was and in due course Suffolk was presented to Charles at his Château of Montils-lès-Tours.

Suffolk was amazed by the change in the King of France. Here was a shrewd and resolute monarch, and it was an astonishing fact that the change had been brought about by women. First the Maid and then his wife and his mother-in-law Yolande of Aragon; and now, it was said, Agnès Sorel.

That the new Charles was going to drive a hard bargain was apparent. He would not give Henry one of his own daughters which he could easily have done; but Margaret, he implied, was good enough for Henry. She was a French Princess and the French were no longer in the position they had been in when Katherine the present King’s sister was given to Henry the Fifth.

Charles was not inclined to agree to a peace treaty. Why should he, with everything going in his favour? He would agree to a truce, of course; but he implied that the only thing which could bring about peace was for England to give up all claim to the French crown.

René of Anjou expressed himself dubious. Could he give his daughter to one who had usurped his hereditary dominions of Anjou and Maine?

This was an indication of what terms would be demanded.

Suffolk was relieved to escape from the conference and return to his wife. He was glad he had brought Alice with him for he could talk to her as he could to no one else.

‘I like not this matter,’ he said. I can see what will happen. The French will make great demands and the King will accept them because he wants peace and Margaret. And later when it is realized what we have had to pay for her, the people will blame me.’

‘You have the King’s assurance that no blame shall be attached to you.’

‘The assurances of Kings don’t account for much in matters like this.’

‘What can you do?’

‘I cannot agree to give up Anjou and Maine, of course. I don’t know whether a truce will be acceptable when peace terms were required. I have achieved very little advantage for ourselves.’

‘And what is Margaret’s dowry to be?’

‘There again, they seem to set a high store on this young girl who has only recently acquired the status of Princess and even then her father has nothing more than a hollow title.’

‘Alas,’ said Alice, ‘it shows how low England has fallen when you remember it is only a little more than two years ago when it was England who was calling the tune.’

‘Which brings us back to the Maid of Orléans who brought about the change. Charles is a different man from the Dauphin.’

‘They say it is Agnès Sorel who has changed him.’

‘It is amazing that women should have had such an effect on men.’

‘It often happens,’ retorted Alice, ‘although less rarely so spectacularly. Perhaps it is because Charles is a king that it is so noticeable. But what will you do, William?’

‘I can see only one course of action. I shall return home and put the proposals before the council.’

‘Very wise,’ she commented. ‘Let it be their decision not yours. It is well in such matters to be only the ambassador.’

So they travelled down to the coast and set sail for England.

Suffolk faced the Parliament. He had already laid the proposition before the King and the Cardinal. The French were asking a great deal but the King was becoming more and more enamoured of the idea of marriage with Margaret of Anjou and the Cardinal saw it as important to peace and although the demands for Maine and Anjou had startled them at first, they were wavering and were coming to the decision that anything was acceptable which would bring about the marriage.

To make matters worse, Margaret’s dowry was to be the islands of Majorca and Minorca which were of no value at all, for although René claimed to have inherited them from his mother, Yolande had had no jurisdiction over them. In fact all René had to offer was titles. There could rarely have been a man who had so many titles and so few possessions.

The Duke of Gloucester stood up and loudly opposed the marriage.

It was humiliating, he said, for the King of England to contemplate marrying a lady without possessions whose title to Princess was suspect, who demanded everything and gave nothing. He and his party—which was quite significant— opposed the match. He would do everything in his power to prevent it. It was giving way to the French; it was playing into Charles’s hands. They could be sure their enemies were laughing at them. Forget this marriage with Anjou. Let the King take one of the daughters of the Count of Armagnac and then let them prosecute the war and win back all they had lost because of the weak policy they had followed since the death of his brother the Duke of Bedford.

The Cardinal rose to oppose Gloucester. The enmity between them which had lasted for years was as strong as ever.

The Cardinal pleaded for peace. The country needed peace. Those who thought otherwise had no knowledge of what was happening in France.

Gloucester was on his feet. He was a soldier, he reminded them, a man who had conducted campaign after campaign.

‘With considerable failure,’ commented the Cardinal.

Gloucester, red in the face, almost foaming at the mouth, spat out at his uncle, ‘And you, my lord, you man of the Church, what do you know of military campaigns?’

I know, my lord, whether they succeed or not and we cannot afford more failures. The people will not agree to go on being taxed for a war that brings us no gain.’

‘My brother the King...’

‘Your brother the King was one of the most successful generals the world has known. Alas, he is dead, and his victories have gone with him. Times have changed. The French are in the ascendant. To carry on a war in France with all the attendant difficulties of transport and supplies is impossible. We need peace. And if the French will only give us a truce let us take it.’

The Parliament had grown accustomed to listening to the Cardinal. The late King and Bedford had relied on his judgment. He was known to be a man who served the Crown well, whereas Gloucester, popular as he might be in some quarters, was renowned for his rashness.

And the King clearly wanted the marriage.

The Parliament was therefore persuaded that the marriage with Anjou would be good for the country and it was agreed that the terms for a truce would be accepted and the question of Maine and Anjou should be left open to be discussed at some later date. So Suffolk was sent back to France to arrange the marriage by proxy.

For his services in this matter he was awarded the title of Marquess.

Theophanie was in a state bordering between bliss and sorrow. She was going to lose her charge and yet the young girl, who had so little in possessions to offer a bridegroom, was going to make a brilliant marriage, for although she was going to marry the enemy she would be a Queen and a real Queen at that. Not like her father and mother who called themselves King and Queen and had no country to rule.

Oh, she was proud of her Margaret. So would her grandmother the lady Yolande have been if she could see her today.

Margaret herself did not seem greatly impressed.

‘You don’t seem to want to be Queen of England,’ Theophanie complained.

‘England has been our enemy, Theophanie. Have you forgotten how we used to watch out for the soldiers and how alarmed everyone was when they were near?’

‘Young ladies like you were born to end these wars. I always reckoned you did more with your pretty looks than the men did with their cannons and cross bows.’

‘You mean alliances. I am just a counter in the game, Theophanie.’

‘Oh, you’re more than that. You’re like your mother and your grandmother. You’re going to be one of those women who do the ruling. I’ve always seen that in you.’

‘It will be strange to be in a foreign country away from you all.’

Theophanie was saddened and put up her hand to knock away a tear with a degree of impatience. ‘It’s always the same with us nurses,’ she said. ‘We have our babies and then they are snatched away from us. Kings and Queens and noblemen lose their daughters when they become ready for marriage. It’s only the poor who can keep their children with them. You’ll have to promise me never to forget old Theophanie and what she taught you when you are Queen of England.’

Poor Theophanie, she felt the parting deeply. Margaret did too. It was the end of her girlhood. She was going to a new country and a husband. She wondered a great deal about Henry.

Her parents were to escort her to Nancy where the proxy ceremony would take place. The King of France would attend, for her marriage was of importance to France. She knew that. She would see her aunt Marie and Agnès again.

Her father talked to her about the marriage as he painted, for he was loth to leave the picture he was working on.

‘It never seems the same when one comes back to it,’ he said. ‘When people produce works of art they should live with them, stay with them night and day until they are completed.’

‘Dear Father,’ she replied, ‘I am sorry my marriage is taking you away from the work you love.’

‘I was joking,’ he said. ‘Of course I want to be at my daughter’s wedding. Do you realize what you are doing for France...for us all by this marriage?’

‘Yes,’ she answered.

‘You will be in a place of authority. You will be able to guide the King to act in favour of your country.’

‘Do you think a King of England would be guided to act against his own country in favour of France?’

‘Not really, of course, nor could we expect him to. What I mean is a little gentle persuasion eh, when some matter arises.’

‘I shall have to wait and see what matters arise.’

‘You will delight him I know. And he must want this marriage very much to consider giving up Maine and Anjou for it.’

A few days later her father was disturbed. Since her betrothal he had taken her into his confidence. It was as though he regarded her as already Queen of England and if she were going to work for the good of France she must be kept cognizant of affairs.

‘The Vaudémonts will attend the wedding and they say that it is high time that your sister Yolande and Ferri were married. Yolande is older than you and yet you are to be a bride. They want a double wedding.’

‘It will be wonderful to see Yolande again.’

‘Margaret, I always intended that this wedding should never take place. Yolande...my daughter...to marry my great enemy.’

‘But it was the terms of peace. Father. You agreed to this marriage.’

‘Because I was forced to.’

‘But it was for this reason that you were released.’

‘Yolande was only a child then. I was determined that the marriage should never take place. I am still determined. And now the Vaudémonts will be coming to your wedding and they are making plans for Ferri de Vaudémont to marry Yolande at the same time.’

Margaret was astounded. She was very uneasy when she saw the look of determination in her father’s face and she wondered whether he was planning some wild action to prevent the marriage of Yolande and Ferri de Vaudémont.

Margaret said a sad farewell to Theophanie, who was in tears knowing that it was highly improbable that they would ever meet again, and with her parents set out on the journey to Nancy.

The whole neighbourhood was en fête. This was going to be the grandest wedding they had seen for a long time. It was true the bridegroom would not be present and there would be a nobleman of high rank to stand in for him but the King and all the Court would be there, among them the famous beauty and counsellor of the King, Agnès Sorel, who, it was said, he loved more than his life.

There would be festivities which would last for days and already the traders in the neighbourhood had profited by all the work this had brought them.

Crowds of people were converging on the town of Nancy from all over France and the people even cheered the English delegation.

When Margaret appeared riding between her father and mother the people went wild with joy. ‘Long live the beautiful bride!’ they shouted; and Margaret was thrilled for the first time by the acclaim of the people. It was then that she realized the importance of the occasion. She was going into a new country as its Queen and silently she vowed that she would never forget her native land.

The King and the Queen were already in the castle. Margaret sank to her knees and was lifted up by the King and warmly kissed. Her aunt Marie glowed with affection too and there was Agnès standing beside the King, dazzling as ever with that rather unearthly beauty of hers.

They were making a very important occasion of it.

Then she was presented to the English embassy headed by Suffolk. He introduced her to his lady to whom she immediately took a great fancy. She liked Suffolk too. There was a kindliness about him and he had such a protective air.

The King told her that jousts and all sorts of entertainments were being planned to celebrate her nuptials.

‘Dear niece,’ he said, ‘this is going to be an occasion you will never forget.’

‘I suppose, Sire,’ said Margaret, ‘that few forget their wedding days.’

‘This is but a proxy marriage and there will be the official ceremony when you get to England. I want you to remember this as your last ceremonial occasion as a Princess of France.’

He placed his hand over hers and patted it. She sensed that he was very pleased with the wedding.

It was a great delight to see Yolande again.

At first the sisters did not recognize each other, which was natural since it must be twelve years since they had been together. They both remembered though vaguely the upheavals in their lives which young as they were had made a deep impression. There was that journey to France undertaken when Margaret was two and Yolande three to go with their mother to plead with the King. They remembered how shortly afterwards Yolande was taken away to go to live with the Vaudémont.

‘And now we are both to be married,’ said Yolande.

‘You too?’ asked Margaret.

‘Ferri is determined on it. He has said we have waited over-long. Every time it is suggested our father makes some excuse why it should not take place.’

‘You want to marry then, Yolande?’

‘But of course,’ said Yolande. ‘Ferri and I have grown up together. We have always been good friends. It is different for you, Margaret. You have never seen your bridegroom.’

‘The Marchioness of Suffolk tells me a great deal about him. She says he is handsome though gently so...if you know what that means. In fact, everything about him is gentle. He is kindly and hates being cruel to anyone even his enemies, and he is a great scholar and interested in poetry, painting and music’

‘That should suit you,’ said Yolande, ‘and if you are anything like our mother and grandmother—which I suspect you are— you will be able to tell him what he ought to do.’

‘The more I talk of him the less apprehensive I become. What of Ferri?’

‘Ferri is bold and romantic and I would not have him otherwise. I am fortunate not to be going to a man I do not know.’

‘But I feel I already know Henry through Alice.’

‘Who is Alice?’

‘She is the Marchioness. I call her Alice. She asked me to. She is a very pleasant woman. I have taken a fancy to her and I think she has to me.’

‘Most people would be ready to take a fancy to their Queen.’

‘I have no doubt, but I do feel friendship for Alice. She is different from any woman I have met. Perhaps it is because she did not descend entirely from the nobility. Her father, she tells me, was Thomas Chaucer, the eldest son of Geoffrey Chaucer who made a name for himself with his writing. He married a sister of Catherine Swynford who was John of Gaunt’s third wife. You see the connection.’

‘Ah, she climbed into the nobility.’

‘Her father was a very rich man. He was Speaker of the House of Commons and the Marquess of Suffolk is her third husband.’

‘What a lot you know about her.’

‘We talk and it comes out. She was an only child and I suppose she had a fortune. She was married to the Earl of Salisbury before she married Suffolk. I like her very much. In fact I like Suffolk too. I feel in them I shall have good friends in my new home.’

‘You are excited about this marriage, Margaret. I wish mine could be settled. Father is going to stop it again, I believe.’

‘Perhaps if you spoke to him...’

‘I have done so. He hates the Vaudémont, Margaret.’

‘I suppose it is natural. They were really the beginning of his troubles. If they hadn’t claimed Lorraine...’

‘They had a right to,’ declared Yolande. ‘The Salic Law does exist and their claim for Lorraine comes before his.’

‘You will never get our father to see that.’

‘But he agreed to the terms...marriage for Ferri and me.’

‘I am sure Father will relent. It would be pleasant to have the two marriages together.’

‘We are going to insist on it.’

‘Then I am sure it will take place.’

But René was adamant when it was suggested.

‘There is so much that has to be arranged first,’ he insisted.

But those who knew him well fully understood that this was another example of his procrastination. The fact was that he did not want his daughter to marry into a house which he considered an enemy. That he had promised, that the marriage had been one of the terms of an agreement did not worry him. René was accustomed to waiving an agreement when it suited him.

But he had reckoned without a hot-blooded, romantic lover. Ferri was making plans and if he could get no satisfaction from his prospective bride’s father he intended to carry them out.

The dark November weather had no effect on the ceremonies.

In fact it accentuated their brilliance and crowds witnessed the proxy marriage of Margaret with the Marquess of Suffolk standing in as her bridegroom when the Bishop of Toul performed the ceremony in the church of St. Martins in Nancy and in the presence of a most illustrious assembly presided over by the King of France.

The King had said that this should be an occasion to be remembered and he was determined to make it so. René was nothing loth. He was eager that no expense should be spared— even if it was the expense of others—and with the King of France giving the orders it was very grand indeed.

There must be a tournament in honour of the new Queen of England and all the most famous champions of France must perform in it. Margaret could not help being thrilled by the sight of the pavilions flying their pennants and the numbers of chivalrous knights who wore the daisy. She had chosen this symbol because her name was Margaret which meant a daisy and she had always loved the flower because of that. From now on it should be her emblem and this exhibition of chivalry should be the Field of Daisies.

She sat with the two Queens—her mother and her aunt Marie of France and watched the jousting. The King himself took part more than once and René also rode into the lists.

Margaret had never seen anything like it in the whole of her life and the fact that it should all be in honour of herself—a fifteen-year-old girl—was overwhelming.

There must be eight days of revelry the King had decreed, and each day should be better than the one before. There was one occasion when a figure clad in armour set with jewels appeared at the tournament and when the visor was thrown back the most beautiful face in France was revealed. Agnès Sorrel had appeared thus at the request of the King who wished the whole of France to know how much he revered her.

Charles rode round the field with Agnès and even the Queen joined in the applause.

It was while this was happening that there was a sudden commotion around the royal loge where the ladies were seated. Ferri de Vaudémont had stepped up to Yolande and taking her hand had walked with her across the field. Intent on the glittering Agnès and the homage done to her by the King, few had noticed. And then Ferri had set Yolande on a horse and himself mounting behind her, with a company of five or six friends began to gallop away.

René was the first to notice. He shouted: ‘After them!’ And several of his men gave chase.

The King was astonished. Instead of admiration for his beautiful Agnès there was a tittering in the crowd and everyone was agog to know what had happened.

He ordered that a troop of guards be sent out to see what the disturbance meant and to bring back the fugitives.

Ferri’s attempt to abduct his bride was short-lived; perhaps he had intended it should be so and his motive in making it had merely been to call attention to his case. Within a few hours he was brought before the King.

‘What did you mean by behaving in such a way at my tournament?’ demanded Charles.

‘Sire,’ replied Ferri, ‘I had to call your attention and that of others to the situation in which King René has placed not only me but his daughter. Yolande was sent to us as a child. We have grown up together. She wants to marry me as I do her and yet again and again the ceremony is put off simply because the King of Naples does not wish to honour his agreement.’

‘I will speak to the lady,’ said Charles and ordered that Yolande be brought before him.

‘You have been the victim of an abduction,’ said Charles. ‘How do you feel about that?’

‘I was very willing that the abduction should take place. Sire.’

Charles began to laugh. ‘And doubtless planned it with your abductor?’

‘You are right. Sire.’

‘And you want to get married. You are a year older than your sister, eh, and she is now marrying. Is that what you feel?’

‘It is, my lord.’

‘For my part I see no reason why we should not have a double wedding. Perhaps I should speak to King René.’

The two young people fell on their knees and kissed the King’s hands.

‘Enough,’ said Charles. ‘I know you will be grateful if I persuade René to allow the marriage to take place. So, let me see what I can do.’

He sent for René. Agnès was with him when René arrived.

‘So your daughter was abducted?’ he said.

‘It is an outrage. It changes everything. It releases me from my bond. I shall take my daughter back with me.’

‘Nay, nay. You go too fast. In the first place it does not release you from your bond. The marriage was at the root of the agreement you made with the Vaudémont when you were beaten in battle by them. You must remain faithful to the laws of chivalry, brother-in-law.’

René was silent. He had always prided himself on keeping those rules.

‘Be reasonable. The marriage must take place if you value your honour. The young people are eager for it. Why delay?’

‘There are certain matters which have to be arranged.’

‘Oh come, René, how many years have you had to arrange those matters?’

Agnès said: ‘If I may say it, my lord, it would seem to me that much expense would be spared if Yolande and Ferri were married now. Margaret could share her celebrations with those of her sister.’

Charles laughed inwardly. Trust Agnès to find the right answer.

René was wavering. The expenses of a daughter’s wedding were great. He was deeply in debt everywhere. Of course if the wedding took place now Charles would be paying for everything.

He said: ‘To abduct her in that way...’

‘Poor young man. He was desperate.’

‘You must forgive him,’ said Agnès gently. ‘Remember it was for love of your daughter.’

‘Well,’ said René, ‘since it appears to be your wish, Sire, and yours my lady...’

‘Let us send for the happy pair and tell them the good news,’ said Agnès.

So Yolande and Ferri were married and the jousts and the entertainments continued.

Charles talked to Agnès about the alliance of Margaret and Henry. He was sure it was a good thing for France.

‘It is an indication of the change which has come about since his father married a French Princess. The Fifth Henry had the daughter of the King of France. Our dear Margaret is a very minor Princess—in fact some would say no true Princess at all.’

‘Well, her father is the King of Sicily and Naples.’

‘Poor René, do you think he will ever see Sicily again?’

‘No, but it gives him some satisfaction to call himself King.’

‘And it has brought a crown for his daughter. I doubt she would have been considered if she had not borne the title of Princess...minor though it is.’

‘I hope the dear child will be happy.’

‘She will rule Henry, I am sure of that. He is a weakling, you know, and she is the sort of woman to rule. I shall never forget her grandmother...’

Agnès put her hand over his. ‘I know how dear she was to you.’

‘She was such an extraordinary woman. I was sad to lose her. Thank God I had you, Agnès, then.’

‘I shall always be beside you.’

‘It must be so,’ he said. ‘It would be too hard for me to live without you.’ He was thoughtful for a while. Then he said: ‘It is very good for France to have a strong Frenchwoman Queen of England.’

‘Remember she is very young.’

‘I do. But she is clever, and I think she will remember her duty to France. I will send for her and talk to her, and then you shall tell me if you think she will be good for France when she is in England.’

Margaret was pleased to be summoned by the King. She had become very fond of him. He was always kind and treated her as though she were his daughter. He had made a great effort to give her a splendid wedding and, although she knew that this was to impress the English, at the same time he had delighted to please her. Moreover he had brought about the marriage of Ferri and Yolande, for if he had not made it his business René would have found excuses to put it off again.

He received her informally and kissed her tenderly. Agnès did the same.

‘So,’ said the King, ‘we now have before us the Queen of England. How does it feel to be a Queen?’

‘I am scarce that yet.’

‘‘Tis true you have not seen your bridegroom and have had to take old Suffolk in his stead.’

‘The Marquess of Suffolk has been a good friend to me, as has the Marchioness.’

‘It is well that you make friends. You may need them when you get to your new home. So you have taken a fancy to the Suffolks. And the Talbots too, I believe.’

‘I have found them to be very kind to me.’

‘So they should be...to their Queen. It is going to be a difficult path you have to follow. Sometimes it is necessary to pursue a devious policy. You are very young and there are those who will seek to exploit your youth. You will have to be watchful, Margaret.’

‘I know that it is not going to be easy...’

‘But you are a clever girl. Often I see your grandmother in you and your mother has always had my greatest admiration. You are another such as they are, and I can tell you that you will find the King easily led. Margaret, make sure you are the one to lead him.’

‘Do you think he will listen to me?’

‘Of a certainty he will. You will be the nearest to him. He is a gentle person, they tell me. He does not care for brilliant ceremonies and all the pomp of kingship. He is a good young man. You will have no difficulty with him. It is those around him of whom you will have to be watchful. You must influence him in the choice of those close to him and let me tell you something I have learned: walk very warily at first. Let them see you as the young girl...the child...a little bewildered by her new home, anxious to please. But all the time you will be watchful. Make sure you are friendly with those closest to the King. At the moment he is ruled by them. One of whom you will be particularly careful is the Duke of Gloucester. He was against the marriage, and he will be unfriendly to you. He will try to prove that it was a mistake. Watch him but do not be afraid of him. If you are clever there will be nothing to fear from him. He is popular—for some odd reason—but his wife was accused of witchcraft which she was using to destroy the King. He is losing his power, but watch him.’

‘I will do as you say, dear uncle. I can see I shall have to learn a great deal.’

‘Then you have made the first step. Is that not so, Agnès?’

‘Yes,’ said Agnès, ‘the first lesson is always learning that there is much to be learned.’

‘It is never wise,’ went on the King, ‘to give too much power to the nobles. Then they will vie with each other. It sets up rivalries between them. It is better to give posts of authority to those who come from less exalted beginnings and have shown by their talents that they can excel in them. Above all, dear child, remember that you are French. Never forget your native land.’

‘I could never do that. I shall always love France. England will be my adopted country but France is my own.’

‘That is right,’ said the King. ‘And your marriage has brought about a truce between us. They wanted a peace but they shall not have that until they withdraw all claims to the crown of France. In the meantime they are holding on to Maine and Anjou. Margaret, they must give up these provinces and in particular Maine. Only when Maine is in our hands can we be certain of driving them out of France. You must persuade the King to give up Maine.’

‘You could not take it?’

‘At great expense of life and money and then perhaps not succeed. No, I want them to give it back to us in exchange for peace.’

‘I will do what I can...for France,’ said Margaret.

‘Bless you, my child,’ said the King. ‘Our love and faith go with you.’

It was time to leave and her father very solemnly handed her over to the Marquess and Marchioness of Suffolk. The King was present and he was seen to wipe away a tear when he took his niece into his arms and kissed her tenderly.

He whispered to her as he held her against him, ‘Remember us. Remember France.’

And she replied: ‘I will. Oh, I promise I will.’

When the cavalcade went out from the castle, the King rode with Margaret for two leagues and then he said he must take his last farewell of her. They embraced and they were both weeping.

‘You are going to one of the greatest thrones of Europe, my dear niece,’ said Charles, ‘but it is scarcely worthy of you.’

‘I will try to do what is right,’ she told him. ‘And I shall always love you and France.’

The King was genuinely moved and after one last embrace turned and rode sadly back to Nancy.

René and Isabelle rode on with her. The parting with them would come later; and as they rode along it occurred to them that their daughter was very young and that they were placing her in the court of intrigue in a country which was not entirely in favour of receiving her.

They reached Bar where they were to part and when the moment came they could not speak—not one of them. They could only look mutely at each other lest their pent feelings should escape and they give way to grief.

As she rode away, not daring to look back at her father, Alice brought her horse to ride beside her. She said nothing but her sympathy and this gesture touched Margaret deeply. It meant that she had said goodbye to her family but she still had friends.

There was a long way to go yet. Her party consisted of the most important people in England, led as it was by the Marquess and Marchioness of Suffolk and the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury. The Earl of Wiltshire was also there with the Lords Greystock and Clifford. The English were as determined as the French had been to make a good impression and had sent not only guards but all the servants which the young Queen might have need of on her journey; and besides knights and squires there were carvers, grooms and servants to perform any task which she might require of them. The wages of these people in addition to the food which had to be provided for them had cost the King of England more than five thousand pounds which had to be found from a very depleted exchequer and showed, said those who knew the state of his finances, how very eager he was for the French marriage.

When the party arrived in Paris the people were out to cheer and there was a meeting in the streets between Charles Due d’Orléans and the Queen. The people were delighted and cheered madly. The Queen was so young, so appealing, so beautiful. Our little Daisy, they called her and everyone carried daisies—some of which were made of paper; and it was all in honour of the little Queen. There was a service in Notre Dame where a Te Deum was sung and there was great rejoicing in the street for the people saw in this marriage a prospect of peace; and that was what they longed for more than anything.

When the party left Paris the Due d’Orléans rode with it to Pontoise. This was an important point of the journey because it was at the border between the French and the English possessions in France. And there waiting to welcome her was Richard, Duke of York.

This was her first meeting with a man who considered himself as royal as the King. He was descended from Edward the Third by both parents, for his father had been the son of Edmund Langley, the King’s fifth son; and his mother was the daughter of Roger Mortimer, grandson of Lionel Duke of Clarence. He had come to join the party and conduct her to England.

He was immensely proud and although he was courteous, Margaret thought him arrogant and she did not like him as she had the Suffolks and Shrewsbury. However, he was a man of great importance in England and must be close to the King. She remembered what her mentor the King of France had told her and tried to win the friendship of the Duke of York.

At Pontoise she must say goodbye to the last of her personal attendants, also to her brother John and the Due d’Alençon who had accompanied her so far. She was now entirely among the English.

In a barge decorated especially for her with a fine display of daisies she sailed down the Seine to Rouen and there she was received with great acclaim.

She was taken into the city in a litter lavishly decorated with more daisies. The Marquess of Suffolk, who had stood for the King in the proxy ceremony, rode ahead of her litter, and the Duke of York and the Earl of Shrewsbury were on either side of her. The other members of the party followed behind.

She must rest awhile in Rouen and therefore perform the ceremonies which were expected of her.

Alice proved to be a good friend for Margaret was very soon in difficulty over money. René, always financially pressed himself and with many debts which he could never hope to settle, had not been able to provide her with the money she would need to defray the cost of the journey which it was her responsibility to pay.

When Alice told her that it was the custom in Rouen for royal brides to give to the poor certain articles of clothing according to her age, she was bewildered.

‘Clothing,’ she cried. ‘What sort of clothing?’

‘A gown of some sort and a pair of shoes...the shoes are very important. You must give these. The people expect it.’

‘But how many garments and pairs of shoes must I provide?’

‘As many as the years you have lived. In your case it will be fifteen. Oh, do not worry. We have arranged everything and the gowns and the shoes are all ready. They will be handed over as soon as they are paid for. The people of Rouen never trust anyone...even Queens.’

‘I can see they are a wise people,’ said Margaret a little grimly, ‘for frankly, Alice, I cannot pay for these things. If I do I shall not be able to continue the journey. There are other expenses yet.’

‘Your father will pay, I doubt not.’

‘Alice,’ said Margaret slowly, ‘my father can never pay. He is deeply in debt now and has been for as long as I can remember.’

‘I shall have to lend you the money,’ said Alice.

‘I will put some of my silver in pawn with you. You shall hold it until I can pay you back.’

‘There is no need...’ began Alice.

But Margaret silenced her. ‘I do not want to build up debts,’ she said firmly. ‘I do not want to be careless with other people’s money. I fear my father has always been like that and see what has happened to him. He is always warding off some creditor. Not that he minds. He is sublimely indifferent to such matters. Oh, he is the dearest man, the finest man...I love him very much, but he does have this characteristic...and I do not want to be like that.’

So Alice took the silver and found the money for the garments and shoes, and more also for there were all sorts of people to pay on the way and the Queen could not begin by making a bad impression by not paying her dues.

At last they came to Barfleur where two ships lay in the bay awaiting them. One was the Cokke John of Cherbourg in which Margaret and her immediate entourage were to sail and the other, Mary of Hampton, was for the rest of the party.

It was a short journey across the Channel for the strong southeast wind blew them over, but it was exceedingly uncomfortable and almost as soon as they had left the shore Margaret was dreadfully sick.

Most of the party were ill but not as violently so as Margaret. Alice, feeling dreadfully ill herself, tried to minister to her but Margaret could only murmur: ‘I never before felt so ill. I just want to die.’

It was a great relief to all when land was in sight.

Alice bent over Margaret and whispered: ‘We have arrived. This sickness will rapidly pass once we are on dry land.’

All the same she went to call her husband for the Queen seemed to her to be suffering from something more than the effects of the sea.

There was great consternation for spots were beginning to show themselves on Margaret’s face. Alice opened her gown and saw that they were also on her chest.

‘God help us,’ she cried. ‘The Queen is suffering from a plague.’

The Marquess told his wife to wrap the Queen in a blanket and he would carry her ashore. Alice did as she was bid and taking the Queen in his arms Suffolk waded through the sea with her to the beach. From the town came the sounds of revelry and many people having seen the ship lying off the land had come down to greet her.

There was a hushed silence as Suffolk placed her in a litter and took her with all speed to a convent in the town of Portsmouth. This convent was known as Godde’s House, and there the doctors attended her and under their instructions the nuns nursed her.

There was great consternation for it was believed that the Queen was suffering from the dreaded small pox which would almost certainly mean her death or at best her disfigurement, so it was with tremendous relief that after a few days Margaret appeared to be suffering not from small pox but a mild form of chicken pox and the spots began to disappear without leaving any mark behind them and she herself, under the care of the nuns, began to recover.

Meantime Henry, all impatience, came riding to Southampton and immediately sent for Suffolk to hear the latest news of the Queen.

‘She is recovering, my lord,’ said Suffolk. ‘We have all been so anxious, but the Queen’s illness was not what we feared. There is nothing but a minor outbreak of some pox and she is recovering fast.’

‘I wish to see her. Does she know I am here?’

I think not, my lord. But you may rest assured she is as eager to see you as you are to see her.’

Fearful that he might find her hideously disfigured and might not be able to hide his revulsion, Henry said on impulse: ‘I will not come to her as the King. I wish you to tell her that I am a squire who has brought a message for her from the King. Then I may see her as she is...naturally...without ceremony, you understand.’

‘Perfectly, my lord. I will tell her that the King’s squire has brought a letter from him.’

Margaret was seated in a chair. She was pale and wan and had a rug wrapped round her. Suffolk came to her and told her that the King had sent one of his squires with a message for her. Did she feel well enough to receive him?

‘But I must receive the King’s squire,’ she said.

‘Then I will bid him come to you.’

Vaguely she saw a slight young man, simply dressed, with a self-effacing manner. She scarcely looked at him as he knelt before her and presented her with a letter. She took it while he watched her as she read it.

‘Is there an answer, my lady?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘I will write to the King when I feel a little better,’ she said.

When the squire had gone she lay back in her chair and Alice came in to her.

‘I understand,’ said Alice, ‘that a squire brought a letter to you. What did you think of him?’

‘The squire?’ cried Margaret. ‘I scarcely noticed him.’

Alice began to laugh. ‘You have no idea then who that squire was?’

Margaret continued to stare at her.

Alice went on: ‘It was the King. He was so eager to see you and he did not want to disturb you by a formal visit so he came as a squire.’

‘The King!’ cried Margaret aghast. ‘My husband. But I allowed him to stay on his knees!’

‘Serve him right,’ said Alice. ‘If he comes as a squire he must expect to be treated as one.’

‘Oh Alice,’ cried Margaret, ‘you ask what I thought of him. I wonder what he thought of me!’

Henry was meanwhile writing to the Archbishop of Canterbury. He had seen the Queen in private and he was delighted with her. She was all that he had believed her to be but it was clear to him that she was still very weak and forsooth they must wait awhile before the marriage could be celebrated.

The marriage was to take place on the 22nd day of April in the Abbey of Titchfield and the Bishop of Salisbury would perform the ceremony. Margaret was quickly recovering from her malady; she was young and healthy and the fact that her indisposition had not been that dreaded one which at first had been feared was a sign, said those about her, that she would be fortunate in her new land. Alice could not help commenting that it would have been even more fortunate if there had been no illness at all, but she did not say so to Margaret who in her weak state of health was happy to be assured of good omens.

She thought a great deal about the humble young squire who had knelt before her; she greatly wished that she had taken more notice of him; but she did know that he had a gentle face and that made her feel reassured.

Henry was thinking a great deal of Margaret. She had seemed so young and frail wrapped in her rugs and he had been overwhelmed by tenderness. She was also very pretty in spite of being pale but that somehow made her vulnerable. He was delighted with what he had seen and he was looking forward to their marriage with an enthusiasm of which he would not have believed himself capable before he had seen her.

He prayed earnestly that the marriage would be a happy one. He was, as ever, desperately in need of funds for a wedding was necessarily an expensive matter and he had been forced to raise money on the crown jewels to pay for it. He had had the wedding ring made from one of gold and rubies which had been given to him by his uncle Cardinal Beaufort. It was his coronation ring. His uncle had so often during his reign come to his aid with the money he would need. The Cardinal seemed to have inexhaustible coffers into which he could plunge in an emergency, and Henry often wondered how, without this uncle, he would have survived all the difficulties which beset him. Now he was going to use the Cardinal’s ring for Margaret.

Presents were arriving for the Queen—one of them was rather extraordinary and rather difficult to handle. 11 was a lion, which after it had been duly admired had to be sent to the menagerie at the Tower.

So the wedding took place. It was not as grand as the proxy wedding in France had been but as the bride and bridegroom held hands they ceased to be afraid of each other and they realized that affection was already beginning to grow.

Solemnly they made their vows and as they listened to the Bishop’s address they both inwardly vowed they would do their duty.

‘Blessed is everyone that feareth the Lord; that walketh in his ways.

For thou shalt eat the labour of thine hands; happy shalt thou be and it shall be well with thee

Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine by the sides of thine house; thy children like olive plants round thy table.’

They were young; there were many years before them. It was their duty to produce heirs to the crown. They both vowed they would not be found lacking.

For Margaret Henry was the perfect husband. Gentle, courteous, eager to be loved and to give her the utmost devotion. She recognized his weakness and that endeared him to her. She wanted someone to lead, to guide, to take care of. And she sensed that Henry was just the man for that.

And Henry saw in Margaret the young girl who was lovelier every time he looked at her and he could not forget the small fragile-looking creature he had first seen wrapped in rugs. He had begun to fall in love with her then.

Thus the marriage appeared to have a successful beginning.

For the first few days after the ceremony the royal pair were lodged at the Abbey. They had an exhausting programme ahead of them and Henry felt that after her short convalescence and all the ceremonies of the wedding Margaret needed a rest.

They were pleasant days getting to know each other, Henry revealing his feelings slowly, Margaret becoming more sure of herself as the hours passed.

They would have to go to London for her coronation, Henry explained, and that was to take place at the end of May.

‘But first,’ Henry told her, ‘we must make our progress through the country. Everyone will want to see you. I am anxious to show them what a beautiful bride I have.’

Feeling stronger every day Margaret was growing excited at the prospect of her life as Queen of England. She was realizing how dull it had been until now when she had been a background figure—a younger daughter of a King who was not quite a King and was always trying to find some way of avoiding creditors.

She had developed a taste for attention when she had become important in the marriage business and the King of France had seen her as a means of recovering Maine and Anjou. Now she had a country of her own. She had a husband who was already beginning to adore her, to respect her, to talk to her and listen to her opinions. The King ruled the country and the Queen would rule the King. It was a very pleasant prospect.

Alice brought her down to earth sharply.

She had been looking through her wardrobe. I had no idea,’ said Alice, ‘that you had so little with you. What of the clothes you will need for your ride to London? The people expect a show of splendour from a Princess now a Queen.’

‘But I have no more than those you see.’

‘Those with which you travelled through France. You can’t mean that you plan to wear those again. Besides...they are not fine enough. Where is the wardrobe your father must have provided for your arrival in England?’

‘He provided none.’

Alice sat down on a stool and covered her face with her hands. After a few seconds she stood up. ‘I must see my husband at once and he must see the King,’ she said.

‘But Alice, what a fuss to make about a few clothes!’

‘A fuss? By no means. You must make a good impression on the people. They are not very fond of the French you know and they must not have a chance to criticize. They will welcome you because you represent peace. But you must look like a Queen.’

Alice remembered ceremony enough to ask leave to depart. She went at once to her husband who immediately saw the

Consternation reigned when the situation was explained, but within a few hours Suffolk’s valet John Pole was riding as fast as he could to London and he was commanded to bring back with him—with all speed—a certain Margaret Chamberlayne who was one of the finest dressmakers in the City.

Within a very short time Mistress Chamberlayne arrived and with her were bales of very fine materials. Several women were immediately found to work to Mistress Chamberlayne’s instructions and gowns were made which would be considered suitable for the Queen’s progress to London.

Henry, who never cared very much about his own clothes, was delighted to see Margaret splendidly arrayed. Margaret herself was delighted. She was liking England more and more every day.

So the journey to London began. It was a triumph. Margaret was beautiful in her magnificent new garments, her abundant golden hair glowing reddish in the sunshine, streaming about her shoulders; a circlet of gems was on her head, and her blue eyes were alight with excitement; a faint colour glowed in her cheeks, and she looked every bit the fairy Queen as she rode through the countryside with her husband. The fact that she was small and rather fragilely built added to her charm for the people. She looked so dainty. Everywhere she went the daisy was displayed and people who came to see her pass all carried the flower—most of them fabricated, waving them ecstatically.

‘The war is over,’ they said. ‘This marriage means peace.’

So they cheered and the cheers were for peace as well as for Margaret; and when they shouted ‘Long Live the Queen’ they meant also ‘Prosperity is coming’.

It was a warm welcome and it was for her. They made that clear. It was time their King married and gave them an heir and here was the bride—a bride from France to settle the war. Now there would be a coronation and then a royal birth. And no more war. Good times were coming.

At length they arrived at Eltham Palace and there stayed for a few days to prepare themselves for the journey into London. Margaret knew that now the important ceremonies were about to begin. But Henry’s devotion to her was growing every day and she felt complete confidence in her power to charm his people as she had their King. She had not met anyone so far who had not expressed delight in the marriage; but she did know that there were some who were opposed to it. The powerful Duke of Gloucester was one and she must be ready for him when he appeared, as he most certainly would.

From Eltham the royal party set out for Blackheath and there coming towards them was a procession consisting of all the high dignitaries of London. The mayor, the aldermen and the sheriffs of the city made a colourful spectacle in their scarlet gowns while the craftsmen who accompanied them were in vivid blue with embroidery on their sleeves and hoods of vivid red. They had come hither, the mayor told her in his welcoming speech, to conduct her into the City of London.

Margaret responded graciously and was exceedingly glad that Alice had noticed how ill equipped she would have been to face such a brilliant assembly. She could never be grateful enough for Alice’s care—nor for that of the Marquess. I shall insist that they are duly rewarded, she promised herself Henry will be willing to do anything that I ask him to.

Another party had arrived at Blackheath. This was led by a man of great importance. She could not help but be aware of that. It was apparent in the looks of almost near reverence in the faces of those about her. They were astonished too. He was old but handsome in a raddled way; he was most splendidly attired and the livery of his attendants was dazzling.

He rode up to the Queen, bowed low and made a fulsome speech of welcome.

Margaret was responding with her usual grace when the King said: ‘My lady, I should present you to my uncle the Duke of Gloucester.’

The Duke of Gloucester! The enemy! She could see the wise old face of her uncle Charles; she could hear his voice: ‘You will have to beware of the Duke of Gloucester.’

She was too young to have learned to hide her feelings. This was the man who had done everything to oppose her marriage. He was going to try to undermine her. His wife was in captivity because she had made a waxen image of Henry with the purpose of destroying him. The enemy indeed.

‘I thank you, my lord, for coming to welcome me,’ she said coldly and turned away.

Everyone about her was aware of the snub to mighty Gloucester and knowing he had inherited his share of the famous Plantagenet temper, they awaited developments in an awed silence.

Gloucester however did not appear to notice the slight. He was very gracious and when he wished to be, in spite of his ravaged looks, he could he charming.

‘What a pleasure,’ he said, ‘to find our Queen so beautiful. The King is a man to be envied for more than his dominions.’

‘There are always those to envy kings,’ said Margaret. ‘It is to be expected, and accepted as long as they do not attempt to replace them.’

Margaret had always had a ready tongue and it was something she had never learned to control, in her grandmother’s household she had never been seriously provoked; but she had heard so much about Gloucester’s opposition to her marriage and she was too young to hide her resentment.

‘Ah,’ said Gloucester, ‘that is wisdom indeed. But who, my lady, would not wish to be in the King’s place now that he possesses such a blooming bride?’

‘You are gracious.’

‘My lady, I would welcome you to the country, which I am sure you will rule well...with the King.’

He had turned so that his magnificently caparisoned horse was side by side with hers.

‘It would give me great pleasure,’ he said, ‘if you would rest at my Palace of Greenwich for some refreshment before proceeding into London. The people are going to love you so much that they may impede your progress with their cheers and their pageants. They all wish to show you how delighted they are that you have come to us.’

Margaret was about to say that she was in no need of refreshment and had no intention of resting at his Palace of Greenwich when the King said: ‘That is gracious of you, uncle. The Queen will enjoy seeing Greenwich.’

There was nothing .she could say after that but she did not glance at the Duke riding beside her and she wondered that Henry could be so affable to one who, everyone said, was his enemy.

The Duke riding beside her was smiling gaily. He talked to her about Greenwich and how fond of the place he had become since it had passed to him through his Beaufort uncle. Not the Cardinal whom she had met but his brother Thomas, Duke of Exeter.

‘I was granted a further two hundred acres in which to make a park. I have done this so we have some good hunting there. You like the chase, my lady?’

‘I do.’

‘Then you will find great pleasure in some of our forests. I always say we have the best in the world. When I was granted the land I had to agree to embattle the manor, and make a tower and a ditch...and all this I have done. So I shall proudly welcome you to Greenwich.’

She rode along in silence, her colour heightened, her head held high.

So they paused at Greenwich and afterwards made their way through Southwark and into the City of London. The pageants so astonished and delighted her that she forgot the unpleasant encounter with Gloucester. London had surpassed itself. The citizens revelled in pageantry and this show they were putting on to welcome the Queen was a prelude to all the rejoicing that would take place at the coronation.

All the tableaux and scenes which were enacted were for the union of Henry and Margaret and the theme was that for which they had all been longing. Peace. It was true they had all believed that peace would come with the conquest of France. There had been a time some twenty years before when that dream had seemed to be at hand. And then Henry the Fifth had died suddenly, cut down in his prime, and since then the scene had changed.

Well, if this was not great victory, it was peace and peace would mean an end to the exorbitant taxation which had been crippling trade and making them all poor.

At the bridge at Southwark the pageant represented Peace and Plenty. There was one puppet display with Justice and Peace as the figures. These approached each other and after much juggling met in the kiss of peace. Then Saint Margaret appeared; and there were dancers and children reciting and in the hair of every girl was a daisy.

It was a great triumph. Henry was delighted with the impression she had made on the people and refused to have his spirits lowered by the knowledge that they were cheering a peace which had not yet been made. The marriage had taken place, yes... but the only concession which had been agreed on was a truce. We must have peace, Cardinal Beaufort had said; and Henry agreed with him.

‘My brother would rise up and curse you if he could,’ was Gloucester’s comment. ‘Peace. Never. We are going to fight on until we put the French crown where it belongs: on the head of the King of England.’

Gloucester was hot-headed. He always had been. But why had he come to Blackheath and been so affable? And Margaret had shown her contempt for him. He must explain to her.

He did.

‘I could not understand,’ she told him, ‘how you could have been so gracious to him. He is no friend of yours.’

‘That I know well. I don’t trust him. I always double the guards when he is near. I am sure he would do me some harm if he could.’

‘And yet you behaved as though he were your very dear uncle!’

‘He was playing a part, Margaret. I had to play one too.’

‘I could not hide what I felt.’

He smiled at her tenderly. ‘You are so good, so honest. But, my dearest, Gloucester is a dangerous man. He has his followers. He has always been a favourite with the Londoners.’

‘Then the Londoners are false to you.’

‘Indeed not. You saw their welcome. They are powerful, you know. They stand on their own at times...If they express their disapproval we have to be wary.’

‘And you...a King.’

Henry laughed. ‘Dear Margaret, you are wise and clever. But you have something to learn.’

She did not answer but she thought: ‘I will never accept those who are my enemies. I will not pretend to love them.’

Meanwhile Gloucester was discussing the Queen with the Duke of York. There was a bond between them. They both believed they had a claim to the throne. Gloucester would have to wait for his nephew to die; but York descending on both sides of the family from Edward the Third and through his mother from the Duke of Clarence who had been older than John of Gaunt, secretly believed he had a higher claim than Henry himself. So Gloucester felt he could be sure of York’s agreement.

‘She slighted me,’ said Gloucester. ‘I wonder I did not ride off right away. The impulse to do so was there. But I restrained myself

‘You restrained yourself admirably. We were all astounded. You seemed as though you positively admired the girl.’

‘She is pretty enough, I grant you. But there is a strong will there. I can see our Henry will be as wax in her hands.’

‘Then it will be the Queen with whom we have to deal.’

Gloucester clenched his fist. ‘I will think twice before I submit to the will of a woman...and a French one at that. This is a disastrous marriage. We have given away so much and gained what? A French Queen! Mark my words, we shall be called upon to give away more. We should be waging war on France, not making a marriage with her.’

‘We have gained little, it is true. Minorca, Majorca! Empty titles! And they are after Maine...?’

‘I tell you this,’ said the Duke of Gloucester, ‘I shall not allow the daughter of so-called King René to insult me with impunity.’

‘The little girl will have to learn her place,’ agreed York, ‘and that means that although she is allowed to sit on a throne and wear a crown on her pretty head she will have to take account of her noble subjects.’

‘Ah yes, our dainty little Queen has much to learn.’

At the end of May the coronation took place. It was a splendid occasion and the people crowded to Westminster to have a share in it. There was rejoicing throughout the capital and in spite of the fact that the royal exchequer had to be drained to its dregs to provide for it, all seemed very satisfied.

Wine flowed from the conduits in the streets of London; the people danced and sang.

‘This marriage means peace,’ they declared. ‘Peace at last. Long live King Henry and his pretty little Queen.’

They would not remain for long in this state of euphoria.