The Red Rose of Anjou

IN THE TEMPLE GARDENS

From Dublin Castle Richard Duke of York was watching events in England with great attention. As soon as any messages arrived he scoured their contents for news of the rebellion.

This Jack Cade – impudently calling himself Mortimer – had risen. With what purpose? He asked Cicely, his clever and most forceful wife.

Because, was the answer, the country was ripe for rebellion. The King was no King. He was tolerated because rumour had endowed him with certain saintliness. His great delight was in building colleges and attending churches. Laudable in a priest but hardly suitable for a king.

‘Sometimes I think Fate likes to play a joke on us. It selects the most unlikely man to wear the crown when…’

“When there are those with as much right…some would say more…to wear it,’ finished Cecily who did not believe in diplomacy.

Her husband, this great Duke of York, had far more right to the crown than Henry of Lancaster and what a King he would make!

‘Henry is heading for disaster,’ went on the Duke.

‘Greatly aided by that little virago from Anjou.’

‘And my lord Somerset.’

‘Do you think the rumours about him and the Queen are true?’

‘I know not, my love, but it serves the lady right that they are circulated against her. She is too affectionate to her friends and too vindictive to those whom she dislikes.’

‘I fear we fit into the second category,’ said Cecily.

‘Rather rejoice in it. The day will come...’

‘It may well,’ answered Cecily. ‘It is a pity that they banished you to this God-forsaken place.’

‘Knowing, of course, that we shall never have peace with the Irish. The Irish are a versatile people. They love many things but what they love beyond everything is discord. They are born with the desire to fight. You can see it in the babies even.’

‘I always thought it would be a good plan to leave them to fight among themselves.’

‘That, my love, is what I am considering doing.’

She waited. Richard always talked to her of his plans and listened to her advice. He appreciated her. She had earned the nickname of Proud Cis and she definitely deserved it. She was no brainless female fit only for the bearing of children— although she was quite good at that too. She came of a fruitful family. She was one of the Nevilles and her mother had been Joan Beaufort, daughter of John of Gaunt and Catherine Swynford. So she was royal—for the Beauforts had been legitimized and she could not forget it. Her mother had borne ten children of whom she was the youngest; and before he had married her mother her father had sired eight children on his first wife, the daughter of the Earl of Stafford.

We have reason to be ambitious, thought Cecily. Our children have royal blood from both parents.

Richard was steeped in royalty. He was descended from Edward the Third by both parents. His father had been the second son of Edmund of Langley who had been Edward the Third’s fifth son; and his mother was a daughter of Roger Mortimer, a grandson of Lionel Duke of Clarence, second son of Edward the Third, Lionel’s daughter Philippa having married Edmund Mortimer the third Earl of March. Lionel had been older than John of Gaunt so if Henry the Fourth had not usurped the throne from Richard the Second, Richard Duke of York would certainly have come before the present King.

It was a fact to be proud of It was something they would never forget and since this affair of Jack Cade, Richard had been thinking a great deal about it.

Clearly the people of England were not satisfied with their King and consequently the Duke of York was feared in some circles which was why he had been sent to Ireland. And what was more clear than anything was that the time might be getting ripe when something could be done about ridding the country of an incompetent ruler and replacing him by someone who could rule well and in any case had more right to.

Cecily followed his thoughts.

Richard went on: ‘It would be advisable for me to return to England to clear myself of this suspicion which Jack Cade has aroused against me.’

‘The rogue! To dare to call himself a Mortimer.’

‘Rogue indeed but a shrewd one. The name of Mortimer would bring many to his banner.’

‘Because they would think that you were behind the rising.’

‘It might well be. So you see, my dear, I must go home to face my accusers.’

Cecily nodded sagely.

‘I am of the opinion, my lady, that that will not inconvenience you greatly.’

‘I shall welcome it. I long to see the shores of England once more. It will be good for George. Poor little mite. He has never seen his native land.’

‘I doubt he will notice where he is.’

‘Even babies would detest this country.’

‘Then I am to take it that you will rejoice to return to England.’

You may indeed.’

‘There might be difficulties . . .’

‘You mean the King will be suspicious of you. Poor fool. Has he the wits to be suspicious of anyone?’

‘Don’t underrate him. He is simply not fitted to be a King. He is quite a scholar, I believe. He loves his books.’

‘Books don’t hold kingdoms together,’ said Cecily scornfully. Then she added: ‘I look forward to .seeing the children.’

They had a full nursery. There was Anne aged eleven, Edward aged eight, Edmund seven, Elizabeth six, Margaret four, and little George who had been born in Ireland. A pleasant family and what one would expect of a daughter of a very fruitful mother. There had been sorrows in the family. Three little boys Henry, William and John, had not survived their infancy. But they had three left to them which was comforting for it was good to have boys. The joy of Cecily’s life was Edward—her eldest boy since the death of little Henry; and Edward seemed to be growing into a true Plantagenet. He was going to be very tall; there were signs of that already. He had the strong blond looks of his ancestors. He was remarkably like Edward the First; and that was a good sign. He was lively, demanding his own way, excelling at outdoor exercises and charming all the servants. A worthy successor to his father—and who knows, wondered ambitious Cecily, what his father would have to leave him when the time came.

Richard nodded. He too was eager for a sight of the children. ‘So,’ said Cecily, ‘we are to return to England.’ ‘How soon can you be ready?’ asked the Duke. ‘I can be ready as soon as you give the order to leave.’ They laughed together. He could read the exhilaration in her eyes; she could see the dreams in his. Who knew, they might be going home to fight for the crown.

Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset was riding through the streets of London towards the palace of Westminster. He was the most unpopular man in England and he was on his way to see the most unpopular woman. He hated the mob. Unthinking idiots, he grumbled to himself. They judged a man by his victories and his defeats. It never occurred to them to consider extraneous circumstances. How could any general succeed in France at this time? Everything was against him. Charles of France—that weak and ineffectual Dauphin—had suddenly shaken himself out of his torpor and was roaring like a lion. The English had lost heart since Joan of Arc had appeared to tell them that Heaven was on the side of the French. It was all hopeless. Somerset wanted to shake the dust of France off his feet for ever.

He had returned not exactly in disgrace but somewhere near it. He had been obliged to relinquish Rouen and that was tantamount to losing Normandy. He was blamed for the disasters of the last few years. Bedford was dead; Gloucester was dead...though Gloucester had not helped them to success...but now people were talking of him as though he were a martyr. They believed he had been murdered and they accused Margaret of having a hand in that.

Margaret it seemed was his one friend, an important one it was true for Henry relied on her completely and he obeyed her wishes in every respect. So if he had only one friend yet she did happen to be the most powerful in the Kingdom.

It will blow over, he thought, unless of course this rumour about York is true.

Margaret was delighted when she heard he had come. Somerset was a true friend as the Suffolks had been. She was sad thinking of Suffolk, that dear man who had come to France and brought her to England and had been so kind to her. And Alice too...poor broken-hearted Alice. It infuriated Margaret to think of the dastardly way they had murdered Suffolk. She could grow white with anger at the thought and could only be appeased by telling herself what she would do to those who had murdered her dear friend if ever she got the chance.

Henry was so mild of course. She had had great difficulty in persuading him to allow harsh sentences to be passed on those who had been caught taking part in the Jack Cade rebellion. It was true they had been given pardons. That was the rabble, the mob, who followed blindly. It was the leaders who had to be severely punished. She was sorry Jack Cade had not been brought before his judges alive. Henry shuddered at the thought of bloodshed. He really was becoming more and more aloof from life. He wanted to be alone with his books and the time he spent on his knees made her wonder whether his brain was softening. There was one virtue in all this, it did give her a free hand. He rarely questioned anything she did but when it came to punishment he did raise a feeble voice and utter the only oath he used, which was ‘By St. John’ and if he were greatly put out he would mutter ‘Forsooth and forsooth’.

Henry lived like a recluse and a very pious one at that. He did not dress like a King but like a townsman with a round cape and a long cloak of drab colour; he refused to wear the fashionable long pointed shoes and wore the round ones which countrymen wore. When he had to be attired for State occasions he wore a hair shirt under the glittering robes. Margaret herself loved to be arrayed in splendid garments. Of course she did. Had she not suffered poverty all her life before she came to England and was she not the Queen? Moreover she was beautiful and naturally she wanted to make the most of her charms.

Henry wanted nothing for himself but he gave freely to others. He never wanted to punish evil doers—even robbers and such malefactors. He found excuses for them. It was very benevolent but it did nothing to deter the criminals. The fact was that he was a good man; he would have been at home in a monastery and it was a pity fate had set him on a throne.

He was at this time taking a great interest in his half-brothers, the Tudor children. He himself would supervise their education and make sure that they were provided for. ‘It is what my mother would have wished, God rest her soul,’ he declared. She had lived with Owen and he remembered Owen with affection. Owen was still somewhere in Wales. His mother and Owen might not have been married but, as he said to Margaret, that was no fault of the children.

Margaret shrugged her shoulders. The Tudors were of no interest to her. She had to concern herself with governing the realm, for it was becoming increasingly obvious to her that Henry was incapable of doing that.

Yet the people loved him. Everything that went wrong in the nation’s affairs was blamed on others—and particularly on the Queen.

They hated her and with every month that hatred grew.

The English were losing their French possessions to the French—and she was French. They looked for scapegoats. They had had Suffolk but they were not satisfied. They wanted others and their thoughts had come to rest on Margaret.

Who had given Maine to the French? they demanded. Who had betrayed the armies? Margaret. Of course she had. She was not working for England. She was working for her father, René of Anjou, and her uncle Charles, the King of France. What had happened to the Duke of Gloucester? He had died mysteriously when he had been arrested on the way to Bury. She had had a hand in that.

So there she was. The French spy in their midst, the murderess, the arrogant little Queen who ruled the poor saintly King who was too virtuous himself to see sin in others.

The rumour had started that she was a bastard and not the daughter of René of Anjou. What had her relationship with Suffolk been? It was useless for anyone to point out that Suffolk had been an old man and that Margaret had been on terms of great friendship with his wife. They wanted her to be not only illegitimate but immoral and they were going to do their best to make others accept this view. She was certainly the most unpopular woman in England.

She received Somerset with a show of affection. She never sought to hide the love she bore her friends any more than she did her hatred towards her enemies. Margaret prided herself on her honesty and nothing should curb it, no matter how the display of it might wound others.

‘My lady,’ said Somerset kneeling, ‘you sent for me.’

‘Rise, Edmund,’ she said. ‘It is good to see you. At least I have a friend in you.’

‘Until the end of my days.’

‘Edmund, there are disturbing rumours. Is it true York has left Ireland?’

‘I believe it to be so.’

‘For what purpose? Has this anything to do with Jack Cade?’

‘I fear it may have.’

‘Cade called himself Mortimer but it has been proved he had no connection with the Mortimers.’

‘I would not be so sure of that.’

‘Then if it was so York is a traitor to the King.’

‘York is an ambitious man.’

‘We did well to send him to Ireland. He has no right to return without our permission.’

‘What does the King say to this?’

‘The King!’ Margaret’s lips curled. ‘He says that York has been in Ireland, has proved himself a good administrator.’

‘All the more reason why he should be kept there.’

‘That’s what I tell Henry. But you say York is already on his way over.’

‘That is my information.’

‘Do you think he will make trouble?’

‘I think he is coming to prove that he had no part in the Cade rebellion. That would suggest he comes to assure you and the King of his loyalty.’

‘He had better,’ replied Margaret grimly. ‘I will take you to the King. He is very kindly disposed towards you, Edmund.’

‘For which I believe I have to thank your good grace.’

‘Henry is always ready to love my friends,’ she answered complacently.

It was true. He doted on her. Nothing would ever mean so much to Margaret as her royalty, and although sometimes she forgot that Henry had bestowed it on her, she was fond of him. Secretly she rejoiced in his weakness which enabled her to develop her strength. She never had to light Henry and never found it difficult to impose her views on him; she might have had to persuade him at times, but that had always been easy. He was delighted that he had acquired such a beautiful wife who could take her place in public affairs in fact take his place, so that he could often elude that which was distasteful to him. She was always gentle with him for the reason that he never gave her cause to be otherwise. He was not demanding in any way. He was very grateful for Margaret and he thought her interest in those about her was wonderful. She had arranged several marriages for the women of her household. If she liked them she liked them a good deal and brought those tremendous energies of hers to work for what she considered their good. She would naturally be offended if they did not agree with her and sometimes rebelled against the plans she made for them. She could become angry then, and a friend could become an enemy. She would do a great deal for her friends but she never allowed an enemy to be unaware of her resentment.

It was amazing how much force, energy and passion were contained in that small body.

Henry received Somerset with affection. Margaret was fond of him and had made Henry see what a good servant he was in spite of the unkind things which were said about him in almost every quarter.

‘We must support our friends,’ said Margaret; and he agreed with her.

‘My lord Somerset is a little disturbed about the news of York,’ said Margaret. ‘He has no right to leave Ireland without permission from you.’

‘He has done very well there,’ said Henry, ‘and I do not think he was very eager to go.’

‘Of course he was not,’ cried Margaret. ‘He wanted to be here. He liked to keep his eyes on the crown.’

‘He has been a good servant to it,’ ventured Henry.

‘He will be a good servant for just as long as it suits him.’

‘It suits all of us to serve the crown,’ replied Henry placidly.

‘It depends in what manner,’ replied Margaret shortly. ‘My lord Somerset comes here to warn us of York’s coming.’

‘Oh, we will see him when he arrives. He will bring us news of Ireland.’

Margaret raised her eyes to the ceiling in some exasperation. The gesture implied that it was useless to attempt to talk to the King.

It would be up to her...and Somerset...to act whenever York presented himself.

Richard knew that he was coming into trouble. He had two very good excuses for returning to England. One was that if he were to keep order in Ireland money must be sent to him. This had not been done. The other was that accusations which had been made against him as the man behind Jack Cade’s rebellion must be refuted.

He was in need of money. Although he was the greatest landowner in England his income was not enough for the upkeep of his vast estates, and since he had not been paid for his work in Ireland, he must come home to sort out his affairs. But chiefly of course it was to quell these suspicions of his being behind the uprisings. At least both these were good enough reasons. Another was too dangerous to discuss with anyone but Cecily.

‘The King manages to retain a certain popularity but will he continue to do so when the affairs of the country go from bad to worse?’ he asked her. ‘The whole of our French possessions —or almost all—are lost. During the last reign we were the rulers of that country; now we have nothing...not even that which is our rightful inheritance. The people will turn against Henry. They are already against his wife. Somerset is unpopular. And then...’

‘And then,’ went on Cecily, ‘it will be your turn. They cannot get a son.’ Fruitful Cecily was scornful. ‘I should not be surprised if Henry is impotent. No son...a virago of a French wife and a King who finds it hard to say boo to a goose. It won’t last, Richard. Oh no, it can’t last.’

‘So think I. The people want a strong man...who is yet through his birth fit to be their King.’

‘Closer to royal Plantagenet than Henry himself,’ added Cecily.

Yes, Cecily knew that he was returning not only to see to his estates, not only to vindicate himself but with a very brilliant prospect in his mind which could leap to glory.

They set sail from Ireland and landed in Wales where friends awaited to tell him that the Queen was denouncing him as a traitor. It seemed they were not unaware of the reasoning behind his actions.

Very well, he would go to London and with feigned humility assure them that he had no knowledge of the Jack Cade rebellion, which was true. If he had meant to set an insurrection in progress he would not have used a rogue like Jack Cade for the purpose. He wondered what the mood of the country was and his instincts told him that the time was not yet ripe.

Henry still retained a certain popularity; there was the hope that Margaret would produce an heir; as for the unpopularity of the Queen, queens had often been unpopular and it would be unwise to put too much stress on the people’s suspicions of this one.

As he began to march towards London men joined him.. They wanted a strong King and they were alarmed at the loss of the French possessions and the influence of the Queen.

Richard’s spirits were rising particularly when he heard that William Tresham who had been Speaker of the House of Commons was on his way to meet him. Tresham’s differences with Suffolk had deprived him of his post. He had turned against the Court party led by Margaret and now clearly saw that there was a chance of the Duke of York’s becoming a power in the land.

It was obvious that when he had heard of York’s landing he had decided to join him. What could be a better indication of the support Richard would get from those who were dissatisfied with the present régime?

Alas, a great disappointment was to follow for Tresham never reached him. He was intercepted by Edmund Grey, Lord Grey de Ruthin, in Northamptonshire and in the encounter was slain.

So, thought Richard, although there would be some to support him, there would be powerful men against him. He would have to go warily.

He had one strong ally in the Duke of Norfolk. Even before the news of York’s return Norfolk had expressed his dissatisfaction with the King’s—or rather the Queen’s—rule and had summoned certain knights and squires down to his castle of Framlingham to discuss this matter.

As soon as he heard that York was in England he set out to meet him and they met at Bury where they immediately went into a conference together.

Nothing was said about York’s claim to the throne. That was too dangerous a matter and Richard had to feel his way very carefully. He had encountered certain opposition and it was clear that the nobility had not exactly rallied to his banner. He would therefore intimate that all he wanted was reforms. He and Norfolk were joined by the Earl of Oxford and Lord Scales. There would be a meeting of Parliament shortly and they decided together who should be the knights of the shire for Norfolk.

So far so good. Men were rallying round York and he sent messages ahead asking all those who wished him well to join him. By the time they reached London he had with him four thousand armed men.

He was easily able to overcome the attempt to keep him from the King’s presence and forcing his way in he confronted Henry, when he knelt with a humility which Henry was greatly relieved to see. York was his kinsman. He meant no harm, he was sure. He bade him rise and state why he had come in this manner.

‘My lord King,’ said York. ‘I come to ask for justice...nothing more. I have not been paid for my work in Ireland and I find it impossible to continue there. I have heard that there have been lies uttered against me in regard to the rogue Jack Cade and I come to assure you that this man was a stranger to me. I never knew his name until after his death and I deplore his treachery towards yourself as every right-thinking man in England must do.’

‘I believe you,’ said Henry. ‘Why, dear cousin, you are my friend, I know. We were much disturbed by this matter and have never believed you had a part in it.’

York took the King’s hand and kissed it.

‘Then my lord, these matters will be dealt with in Parliament.’

‘They must be indeed, and dear cousin, remember that when you come with an army there will be those to oppose you. That is natural, eh? But to me you come in peace and as you so rightly say these matters must be settled by Parliament.’

‘My lord, perhaps you will appoint a council.’

‘I will indeed.’

‘And in view of my position I should be a member of that council.’

‘So it shall be,’ said the King.

York bowed, well pleased. It was easy to deal with Henry. All he wanted was peace.

Inside the Temple in London where a meeting had been held between certain members of the Parliament to discuss the losses in France it had grown unbearably hot and the meeting had broken up with acrimony on both sides, chiefly between the Duke of Somerset and the Earl of Warwick.

Somerset was blamed by Warwick for the disastrous losses in France and Warwick was of the opinion that a man who had brought such ill fortune to his country should be impeached.

Both men were of overbearing natures. Both considered themselves of rare importance. Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, had the support of the Queen and through her that of the King. Moreover he was royal. His grandfather was John of Gaunt and if his father had had to be legitimized he was still royal. In his youth he had won brilliant victories in France; he had been known as one of the greatest commanders. Was it his fault if the whole battle front had changed, if some blight had settled on the English armies? He was beginning to believe that those were right who thought Joan of Arc had really been sent from Heaven, and Somerset was not going to be blamed for what was inevitable. Of course he had failed in France. No one could have succeeded in such circumstances. Secretly he believed that if Henry died—and Henry was sickly and without heirs—there was no sign of one after all these years—he, Somerset, would have good claim to the throne.

The Earl of Warwick was watching him intently as though reading his thoughts.

Warwick, thought Somerset. Who was Warwick? Of very little importance before he had had his first stroke of luck in marrying Anne Beauchamp, daughter of the Earl of Warwick. Salisbury’s son who had married the only daughter of Richard Beauchamp and inherited her father’s vast lands and title of Earl of Warwick! Strangely enough he and Somerset were related because Warwick’s grandmother had been Joan Beaufort, daughter of John of Gaunt.

These entwined branches sprang from many trees. Warwick’s aunt Cecily had married the Duke of York, and Warwick was allying himself more and more with York.

The real enemy, Somerset believed, was the Duke of York. Yes, York was determined to destroy him. Somerset knew where York’s thoughts were moving. He saw himself as heir to the throne. Sickly Henry, childless, and an unpopular Queen meant that eyes were all turned on the next claimant.

It could be York. Some would say he was the most likely. But Somerset was not without his supporters.

As they walked out into the Temple gardens for a breath of fresh air the scent of the roses was everywhere. They had been well tended and grew in profusion on either side of the path and the gardener had arranged them so that red roses were on one side, white on the other.

Warwick approached Somerset and there was no mistaking the hostility in his eyes.

‘My lord,’ said Warwick, ‘you should count yourself fortunate that you walk freely in these gardens.’

‘I understand you not, my lord,’ retorted Somerset.

‘Ours is a sad country these days, my lord. How long ago is it since the streets of this city were ringing with triumphant bells and there were processions there to celebrate our victories?’

‘You would know that, my lord Warwick, as well as I and I cannot think why you should ask such a question of me.’

‘Of whom else should I ask it, since you are the author of our troubles?’

‘You go too far.’

‘I will go as far as I consider seemly.’

People were beginning to gather round sensing a growing excitement. A quarrel between two of the mightiest nobles in the country.

Somerset’s hand was on his sword. He was notoriously quick-tempered. The Duke of Buckingham caught at his sleeve to restrain him. Warwick looked him steadily in the eyes.

‘My lord,’ said Warwick, ‘I see plans in your eyes.’

There was no mistaking his meaning. Somerset felt an uneasiness creeping over him.

‘I am loyal to the King,’ he cried. ‘I am his servant as long as he honours me with his commands.’

‘We are all good servants of the King and this realm,’ retorted Warwick. ‘But methinks, lord Somerset, that there is one who comes before you in his closeness to the King.’

‘So you are for York, are you, Warwick? You have decided j to take sides in this quarrel you seek to ferment.’

‘It is not of my fermenting but when there are those who concern themselves with great projects it is the duty of all honourable men to support that which is right.’

Somerset was seething with rage. He was alarmed. The country was against him. Unfairly they blamed him for defeats in France. He only had the support of the King and the Queen to rely on. But no, there were others. There must be some who did not want to see York rise to power.

He moved away from Buckingham’s restraining hand and plucking one of the red roses, the symbol of the House of Lancaster since the days of Edmund, Earl of Lancaster and brother of Edward the First, he cried out: I pluck this red rose. The red rose of Lancaster. I am for Lancaster and the King.’

Warwick turned away and immediately picked a white rose —the symbol of York—the white rose worn by the Black Prince himself. He held the rose on high. ‘I pluck this white rose,’ he said. ‘The white rose of York. Let every man among us choose his rose. Let him declare himself with these fair flowers. Then shall we know how we stand together.’

There was a shout of excitement as all began plucking the roses until the flower beds were completely denuded. Their cries filled the air.

‘For York. For Lancaster.’

This was the prelude. The curtain was about to be raised on the wars of the roses.

The Duke of York had gone off to his castle of Fotheringay on the banks of the river Nen in Northamptonshire which had become a favourite seat of the House of York since Edmund Langley had taken possession of it. There he was joined by the Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Salisbury and Salisbury’s son Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick.

They had gathered together to plan how they should act at the forthcoming session of Parliament.

‘The King cannot continue to reign unless he ceases to be guided by his wife,’ declared Warwick.

Since the scene in the Temple gardens he had set himself up as an adviser to York on whose side he had now proclaimed himself so openly to be. York was a strong man he believed and what the country needed was a strong man.

‘Poor Henry,’ said York. ‘‘Tis a pity he cannot go into a monastery. It would suit him better than his throne.’

‘It may well be that in time he will,’ added Warwick.

The others were silent. Warwick was perhaps being impulsive not in having such an opinion, but in voicing it.

‘If the Queen were to have a child...’ began Salisbury.

‘My lord, do you think that possible?’ asked York, desperately hoping to hear that it was not, for if Margaret did bear a child all their scheming would come to nothing.

‘Hardly likely,’ said Salisbury. ‘Not after all this time. The King is too deeply concerned with his prayers and the Queen with being Queen. She divides her Ume between instructing her seamstress on the making of extravagant garments and arranging the marriages of her serving-women. The Queen is a meddler.’

‘Better for her to meddle with her needlewomen and serving-wenches than with the affairs of this country,’ put in Warwick.

‘But she meddles in everything. And Somerset is her darling.’

‘Do you think...?’

A fearful thought had come to York.

‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘Even Margaret would not go as far as to foist a bastard on the throne.’

‘But Somerset—if he were the father—would salve his conscience by declaring—to himself of course—that it was a royal brat.’

‘We go too far,’ said Warwick. ‘The Queen is not with child or likely to be, so we waste time in discussing who the father of a possible bastard might be. Let us give ourselves to matters of immediate concern. We must rid the country of Somerset. He should be impeached for what he has done in France.’

‘The Queen will never agree to it.’

‘It is a matter for the Parliament. What we shall aim for is to remove Somerset and set you, my lord York, up in his place. Protector of the realm to serve under the King, which means you will advise him, with the help of your ministers, and it may well be that we can snatch a little victory out of this morass of disaster and failure into which our once great country has fallen. We shall attend the Parliament wearing white roses. It will show clearly what our intentions are.’

‘It is not easy to come by white roses at this time of year,’ pointed out Norfolk.

‘Then they should be fabricated in paper or whatever substance can be found. Let us keep to our symbol of the White Rose. All those for us shall wear it and you may be sure that our enemies will retaliate by flaunting the red rose of Lancaster. Then we shall know our friends...and our enemies.’

So they would go to the Parliament.

Margaret was furious when she heard that Richard of York had seen the King and that Henry had agreed to call a Parliament.

‘That man is a traitor,’ she cried. ‘You know what he wants, don’t you...he and that haughty wife of his? Do you know Proud Cis is already behaving as though she were a queen and that her women have to kneel to her?’

‘She was always a proud woman.’

‘It’s because she is the daughter of that bastard Joan Beaufort,’ went on Margaret.

Henry smiled at her affectionately. She had been so fond of that other bastard, Joan’s brother, the Cardinal. Margaret was so fierce in her loyalties, her likes and dislikes, that she was not always logical.

‘You mistake York,’ he said. ‘He has been wrongfully accused of complicity with Jack Cade. He wanted to be exonerated. That is all.’

‘That is all," ‘ she mimicked. ‘And wrongfully accused. He has not been wrongfully accused. You may depend upon it, Richard of York has his eyes on your crown.’

‘How could he ever hope for that?’ asked Henry, his eyes wide. ‘I am the son of the King. I have worn my crown almost since I was in my cradle.’

Margaret looked at him in exasperation. Would he never learn? Could he not see evil when it was creeping up on him and was all around him? What a fool he was to think that the whole world was intent on good and every man as saintly as himself. It was well for him that he had a strong woman to look after him.

‘At the Parliament.’ she said, ‘the supporters of York will wear white roses in their hats or on their sleeves.’

‘The white rose is of course the symbol of York and has been for some time.’

‘They wear them in defiance. Have you forgotten that scene in the Temple Gardens?’

‘I did hear of it,’ said Henry.

‘Don’t you see it was significant? It was like a declaration of war.’

‘My dear Margaret, there is no war. There will be no war. Those who wear the white rose are proud of it because it has been their symbol for so many years.’

It was useless to talk to him, to try to make him understand.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Let them wear their white roses. We shall wear the red rose of Lancaster and show them that our red rose will never give way to the white rose of York.’

She would wear a red rose in her hair. Henry should wear one on his cloak. There should be a finer array of red roses than of white.

So at the fateful meeting of the Parliament were sown the seeds which were to develop into a bloody war—red rose against white rose—and change the course of history.

Both colours were well represented. Already men were straining to get at each other. They jostled one another, sought a pretext to fight.

It was an uneasy occasion.

Margaret was unaware of it as, looking very beautiful with the red rose in her hair, she listened to the ceremony of Parliament, during which it was agreed that the Duke of York should be recognized as heir to the throne should the King die without heirs.

The white rose faction seemed delighted with this and the Parliament broke up peacefully.

In the York apartments Cicely declared herself satisfied with the proceedings. ‘The people will not endure foolish Henry and proud Margaret for long,’ she cried. ‘Speed the day when they put a real King on the throne.’

Her fond eyes were on her husband. Of course Richard should be king!

As for Margaret, she was incensed. The impudence of York! Heir to the throne indeed. Oh, if only she could get a child!

In the meantime Henry must keep his hold on the affection of his people.

‘We will do some pilgrimages,’ she said. Yes, that was it. They would make progress through the country. The people loved to see the King; and she would appear among them sumptuously gowned, looking beautiful, and she would try to hide her impatience with the stupid people and be so gracious that they all thought her the loveliest creature they had ever seen.

Yes, that was it. They should show themselves to the people. There was nothing the people liked better.