The Reluctant Queen

The Lord Protector's Wife

What joy to be away from the intrigues and troubles of the court! And there was our family eagerly awaiting us. What a pleasure to slip into the lives of a country nobleman and his wife, to be chatelaine of the castle, to immerse myself in domestic matters! We must, perforce, frequently entertain, but what enjoyable occasions they were! There would be dancing and singing; and often, to the delight of the children, the mummers came to perform.

I would accompany Richard on his various progresses through the northern towns. I enjoyed these visits, especially those to York, which city was the very bastion of the House of York. It was always thrilling to approach those white walls with their battlements and barbican gates.

York was the important town of the north. Some said it was as important as London. The minster, which had only recently been completed, was the glory of the city. The wealth of York was due to its merchants, who carried on a thriving trade, not only throughout the country but on the continent.

The people of the north appreciated Richard's steadying influence. There was always a great welcome for us and I was always thrilled to hear the shouts for Gloucester as we rode along. Richard received this homage with a restrained dignity, but I knew he was proud of what he had been able to achieve in keeping the north peaceful and content for Edward.

We endeavoured to be there during the week after Trinity, so that we could witness the miracle plays which were often performed in York at that time, when the actors were the traders of the town and they enacted scenes from the Bible.

This state of utter contentment could not be expected to last for ever. There was trouble with the Scots.Messages came from Edward. He believed that Louis was contemplating the situation in Burgundy and was getting restive. Maximilian was an energetic young man but he lacked the money which he would need if he were to hold out against Louis, and once the French king had brought Burgundy under his control, he would set himself free from the treaty with England. Paying the pension to Edward must rankle: and Edward was sure he was persuading perhaps bribing the King of Scotland to harry the English on the border.

James the Third of Scotland was something of a weakling, a man of little judgement, but he might believe that with the backing of the French king he could achieve victory over his old enemy.

The trouble began with border raids which went on from time to time. However, Edward had information that this was just a preliminary exercise, and he wanted Richard to get an army together and march.

This was a bitter blow. War had come to our beloved north. It continued sporadically over some months, which kept Richard away from home; and at length came the summer and he was ordered to come to Edward because their sister Margaret was paying a visit to England. Richard must be there to greet her and plans for a Scottish invasion could be discussed at the same time.

So even at Middleham it was impossible to find absolute peace.

I accompanied Richard to London where lavish celebrations were in progress to welcome the important lady, Margaret of Burgundy. However, Richard reported to me that there was a certain coolness between her and Edward. She asked a great many questions about her favourite, George. Edward had allowed him to become a prisoner. She found that hard to understand. She knew well her brother. George was just a charming, mischievous boy. It was difficult to make her see that mischief which can be charming in the young can take on an alarming quality in the mature. But so blinded was Margaret by her love for George that she was determined to defend him without reason.

Richard said it was not a happy meeting. Margaret, of course, had had a purpose in coming, and she was disappointed in the outcome.

"She fears that Burgundy is weak," said Richard.

"Maximilian desperately needs help and she has come to ask Edward for it.

"Help against the King of France!" Edward cried.

"He is my benefactor." It's true, of course, and Margaret must have known that the enmity between France and Burgundy was England's strength as it had ever been. And yet she was asking him to take up arms against the King of France!

"What of my pension?" demanded Edward.

"Are you prepared to replace it?" Well, he did not expect an answer to that question, I am sure. So, Margaret, who has come to England to ask for aid for Burgundy, will be disappointed."

She returned to Burgundy, hurt and disillusioned; and we went back to Scotland and the war.

Two years passed. Richard and I had been married for ten years and there was no sign of another child. That was a source of great sorrow to me. Moreover, my fears regarding my son's health were growing. He was a dear boy quiet, gentle and loving but it was very clear that he lacked the strength and vitality of his half-brother and sister.

As for myself, I was often overtaken by lassitude which tired me, and I would have to retire to my chamber to rest, though I tried to keep this a secret from Richard. How thankful I was when he brought the war with the Scots to a satisfactory conclusion. It was a great joy to see more of him, but there was a constant nagging fear for my son's health ... and now my own.

Richard would not have our boy forced to take part in military exercises. He remembered the days of his own youth when he had striven to keep up with the boys of his age. Our son was more inclined to study and Richard said he must follow his inclinations. Little Anne Mowbray, the.child bride of the Duke of York, died. I heard it said that the queen genuinely mourned her, for she had taken her little daughter-in-law into her household after the marriage: but she was heard to comment that, in spite of the child's early death, her fortune had passed to the Duke of York and that clearly gratified her.

There was another death, and that was to have a startling effect on us all.

It happened at the end of March of that year '82, but we did not hear the news until some weeks afterwards, and even then I did not realise the importance to us.

Mary of Burgundy, out riding, was thrown from her horse and died from her injuries. She had left two children, a girl and a boy. Now Maximilian must bear the burdens of state alone. Margaret wrote to Edward begging for help, and Maximilian added his pleas to hers; but there was nothing Edward could do while he had his treaty with the King of France to consider.

We were expected to travel to the court at Westminster to celebrate Christmas. Edward sent for us with an affectionate message. He wanted to thank his beloved brother in person for the splendid victories over the Scots.

Richard and I with our son set out for the south.

That was to be a memorable Christmas. It was the beginning of change a sad and unhappy change for me, in spite of the worldly glory it brought. I had no wish for it; all through it I yearned to be back at Middleham: but alas we cannot order our lives and must accept what comes to us.

The king greeted us effusively. He was as magnificent as ever. True, he had grown fat, which was not surprising if what one heard of his self-indulgence was accurate. His complexion was florid and his magnificent eyes faintly bloodshot. Yet he still looked like the model of a king, in spite of the pouches under his eyes. He was distinguished among all those surrounding him: he was smiling, benign, friendly, jocular and approachable. I have often thought that no monarch could have been more loved by his people. They would always smile on him no matter what they heard of his countless mistresses, and his unpopular marriage. Yet there was the queen, as beautiful as ever, the years seemingly unable to touch that ice-cold perfection; and all her children two sons and five daughters were as beautiful as their parents.

The king embraced Richard.

"My brother," he said.

"My dear, dear brother. God strike me if I ever forget what I owe to you! Welcome. We see too little of each other. And Anne, Anne, my dear sister. We are going to put some colour into those cheeks; we are going to make you dance the night away; we are going to put some flesh on those beautiful bones of yours. You don't look after this dear girl enough, Richard. I must have a word with you on that score."

"I am well, my lord," I insisted.

He kissed me.

"We are going to make you even more so. And my nephew ... welcome, fair sir. We are delighted to have you with us. Your cousins are waiting to greet you."

He exuded bonhomie and goodwill and I believe it was genuine. He loved people and he wanted them to love him. It was impossible not to fall under his charm.

Little did we know then that the blow was about to fall.

Richard was with him when the news came. He was glad of that. He told me about it afterwards.

"Messengers arrived from Burgundy," he said.

"I could see that my brother was not very eager to receive them. He was ever so. He hated bad news and always wanted to hold it off, even for a little while. He had been thinking of Christmas and the festivities. You know how he always enjoys revelry and such. Perhaps he had an inkling of what was to come.

"What think you this news from Burgundy may be?" he said to me.

"It is doubtless Maximilian begging again." I replied, "What will happen to him now? He is not strong enough to stand against Louis."

"He's energetic enough," said Edward.

"What he needs is arms and men. A war cannot be fought without them."

"He was thoughtful and, I could see, a little worried. I said to him, "Why not send for the messengers? Why not see what they have to report?"

"He looked at me steadily.

"You speak sense as always, Dickon," he said, calling me by my childhood name.

"We'll send for the men."

"And when they came?" I asked.

"I had never seen him so affected. The men had letters from Margaret. My brother read them and I saw the blood rush into his face; his eyes seemed as though they would burst from his head. I said to him, "What is it, Edward? You can trust me." He put out a hand and I took it. I had to steady him. I thought he was going to fall. His face was suffused with rage. I led him to a chair and forced him to sit down. He did so. He continued to shake. He thrust the letter into my hand.

"Read that," he said.

"I read the letter he gave me. I could not believe those words. Maximilian, unable to go on without help, had given up and made peace terms with Louis. There was to be a marriage between the dauphin and Mary's young daughter, Margaret; and the little girl's dowry would be Burgundy and Artois.

"The letter fell from my hand," went on Richard.

"I was as stunned as Edward. My first thoughts were of my niece Elizabeth, known throughout the court as Madame la Dauphine. Another would have that title now. I was not surprised at my brother's wrath. This alliance between Louis and Burgundy would mean that there was no longer any need for Louis to keep the peace with England."

"Will this be the end of the king's pension from France?" I asked.

"I could see that that was what was hurting Edward most. I was very alarmed for him, Anne. I have never seen him as he was then. It was always his way to shake off trouble. He had always been optimistic ... even at the worst of times. Then ... he leaned forward in his chair, and suddenly I saw his face suffused with purple blood. I loosened the shirt at his throat as he gasped for breath. Then I shouted for help. When they came in he had slipped to the floor. He looked so big, so helpless, so different from himself."

Richard put his hand over his eyes.

"I love him, Anne," he murmured.

"He was always my wonderful brother. So big, so strong ... so powerful. It was heart-breaking to see him thus."

I tried to comfort him.

"Richard," I said.

"This cannot be ... the end."

"The physicians are with him. They say it is a seizure. He clings to life. He knows he must not leave us."

I prayed with him and we waited for news.

The king had recovered. He sent for Richard, and I waited in trepidation for his return. It was very relieved when I saw him for I knew that the news was good.

Richard was smiling.

"He is magnificent," he said.

"He looks almost his old self. He says that the Christmas festivities are to go on as usual and he wants them to be more splendid than ever."

"He has completely recovered then?"

"It seems so. I wonder if he feels as well as he implies, for he did speak to me very seriously. He said, "My little Edward is but a child. He is twelve years old. He is young to have responsibility thrust upon him." I said, "But that will not be for many years."

"Oh yes, yes," he replied. But I saw the clouds in his eyes and he went on slowly and thoughtfully, "I have had a seizure, Dickon. When this sort of thing happens, it can be called a warning. Oh, I don't mean I am going to die tomorrow. I have years yet. I must have ... because Edward is so young."

"I said, of course he would fully recover. He is as strong as an ox. We could not do without him. Little Edward could not. I could not. England could not. He took my hand and pressed it. He told me he had known all through his life, which had been a somewhat turbulent one, that he could rely on me. I had never failed him. Some had and he was sorry indeed for what happened to them.

"My good friends at one time," he mused.

"Warwick, George, they betrayed me. But never you, Dickon, never you." I was deeply touched, and I told him how I had always loved and admired him. He had been the hero of my childhood, I said, and he continued to be.

"We sat in silence for a long time. Then he said, "I want you to promise me this. If I were to have another seizure, and if that time ..." I shook my head and said, "No, it will not be so." He ignored that and went on, "I want you to be the one to look after Edward. Guide him ... you shall be Protector of England until he is of an age to govern. Then I want you beside him." I assured him that I would follow his wishes. Whatever he asked, I would do for his sake. He seemed contented then. I said, "But you are going to live for a good many years yet, Edward."

"At least twenty," he said with his old jocularity. He seemed happier then."

"He must be worried about his health."

"Yes ... he began to talk about his achievements, as though he wanted to justify himself."

"Perhaps," I said, "he felt a twinge of conscience about taking the throne from Henry who was the rightful king."

"I guessed it was on his mind. It was right that Edward should take the crown for England's sake ... but as you say, Henry was in the direct line. He did not speak of Henry. He went on to stress the improvements he had brought to the country. Trade had increased.

"I always had sympathy with the merchants," he said.

"And some of their wives," he added, trying to introduce a lighter note. I said in the same mood, "I believe Jane Shore is still in favour."

"Perhaps that was not wise, since he was stressing his virtues."

"Oh, he never looked on his amorous adventures as sins. They were natural, he would say, and gave not only pleasure to himself but to his partners in the exercise.

"It is a king's duty to please his subjects," he always said. No, he did not mind the reference to Jane; he is always happy to speak of her. I believe he cares very deeply for that woman.

"He went on to say that he understood business, which most kings did not.

"There is more to governing a kingdom than going to war and giving pageants," he said. I replied, "Well, trade certainly has improved and you have brought law and order to the land."

"And," he added, "I have started to build St. George's Chapel at Windsor which will be a splendid asset to the nation. I have built libraries. And who was it who brought Caxton with his printing to these shores? Did I not do that?"

"You have done a great deal for the nation," I assured him.

Then he went on to talk of that which had always been a matter of contention between us: the French pension. He said, "I know you disapprove most heartily of that. I understood your feelings. But it was the right thing to do at the time. I had the money for my country, Dickon: Louis' money. True, it is over now. Louis won't pay another crown. Why should he? He is no longer in fear of Burgundy, and it was Burgundy he was thinking of all the time. It made him my enemy and Warwick's friend ... for a while. But Louis' friendship swayed this way and that. Well, after all, he is a king. But let me tell you this: I had Louis' money which meant that I did not have to tax my own people ... merchants and such like. That is another reason why trade prospered. So who shall say it was wrong? The money was better spent that way than in profitless war." I said: "It is significant that he should talk to you thus. Do you not think it implies that he is in fear of sudden death?"

"He always opened his heart to me."

"He is anxious. The queen will be deeply hurt and humiliated about the Princess Elizabeth. It is a pity she was so insistent on her being known throughout the court as Madame la Dauphine."

"The queen allowed her avarice and pride to overcome her sense of propriety. She ought to know that royal alliances can never be counted on until they are completed. However, the anxiety over the king's health has overshadowed that other disappointment." The queen must be relieved that he is still alive."

"It will make her realise how much she depends on him."

"I think she has always been aware of that," I commented.

During Christmas the king was as merry as ever and the anxiety about his health began to wane. What could be wrong with a man who danced as he did, ate as heartily and indulged in the usual flirtations with the ladies of the court? It had been a temporary indisposition and the king's strong body could shake off such an inconvenience with ease.

He was determined to promote that theory; and to see him dancing in the great hall with his beautiful eldest daughter now shorn of her grand title and merely Princess Elizabeth implied that it was the right one.

Richard's fears were allayed.

"It is true," he said.

"He has the strength of ten men. He will be all right."

After Christmas we left court for Middleham, and once more I experienced the joy which never failed to come to me when I returned to my home.

It was the middle of April and two months since we had left Westminster. We had settled down once more to the peaceful life my greatest concern being for my son's health.

He was coughing now and then and I did not like that. It was a continual anxiety. How I wished that I could have other children, but that seemed one of the blessings fate had denied me. Isabel had had four, only two of whom had survived, it was true, but Margaret was by all accounts a bonny child and Edward was in good physical health. Why could I not conceive? Sometimes I kind that he did not show it.

I was in the solarium when I heard the sound of horses' hoofs. I looked down and saw a messenger. He had apparently ridden far and at great speed.

I ran down. Richard was already with him.

The man gasped out: The king is dead."

We were stunned. Richard went pale and shook his head. I could see he was clinging to disbelief. He could not speak for a few seconds, then he cried: "When?"

"On the ninth of April, my lord." The ninth of April, and we were now half way through month.

"You come from the queen?" asked Richard.

"No, my lord, on the command of my Lord Hastings."

He produced a letter which he handed to Richard. I stood beside him and read it with him.

"The king has left all to your protection ... the heir, the realm. Secure the person of the new sovereign, King Edward the Fifth, and come to London with him at all speed."

When the messenger had been sent to the kitchens to refresh himself, I said to Richard: "What now?"

Richard was thoughtful. Then he said slowly: "The young king is at Ludlow with Lord Rivers. I think my best plan is to send to him there. I will tell him that, as Lord Protector and his uncle, I should be the one to conduct him to London and to decide by what route we shall go. I could meet him on the way. In the meantime I must prepare."

"Oh, what bad news this is, Richard. I know what you felt for him."

Richard was too full of emotion to speak. He went back into the castle and set about making plans to collect his men together so that they might be ready to start as soon as possible for Ludlow.

For several days nothing happened. Richard was growing restive when there was a further message from Hastings warning him that the Woodvilles were bent on getting young Edward to London and there crowning him that it might be said he needed no guidance from his uncle.

Richard was uncertain. He could not understand why there had been no news from Westminster. He had thought his brother's council would have informed him immediately of Edward's death and the fact that they had not done so, together with the communication from Hastings, meant that the situation was beginning to look alarming.

He decided to write to the queen and the council and no sooner had these letters been despatched than messengers came riding into the courtyard. This time they came from the Duke of Buckingham.

It was clear that Buckingham expected trouble, but Richard was wary of him. He was very different in character from Richard. Buckingham was adventurous, taking a delight in being at the centre of some daring enterprise. It was understandable that Richard was a little suspicious of him. He knew he bore a grudge against the Woodvilles and would seize any opportunity to strike at them, because he had never forgiven the queen for forcing him to marry her sister Catherine. Buckingham had been only twelve years old at the time and had bitterly resented being used. He belonged to one of the most noble families of the realm and had been married merely to further Woodville ambitions.

Buckingham's message was that he was ready to serve Richard and he believed it was imperative for him to come to London without delay.

Richard now realised that it was time he left. He sent Buckingham's courier back with a message that he was leaving Yorkshire for London at once and would meet Buckingham on the way.

I was uneasy. I did not like the manner in which things were working out. It seemed more and more strange that no word had been sent to Richard from London; also, in the messages from both Hastings and Buckingham, there appeared to be a warning.

Richard knew of my fear.

I said: "I am glad you have friends in Buckingham and Hastings."

"I am going to need all the friends I can find, Anne." he said gravely.

"I would I could come with you."

"I too wish that could be so. But not this time. It would not be wise."

"What will you do?"

"As Hastings suggests. Secure the king and ride with all speed to London. I am coming to the conclusion that if I do not do this the kingdom will soon be in the hands of the Woodvilles."

He was ready to leave. I felt sick with anxiety as I watched the White Boar banner fluttering in the breeze. Then he rode away at the head of three hundred men. He would take no more. He did not want it to appear that he came with an army.

Edward was holding my hand firmly. John and Katharine stood beside him; and we watched until they were out of sight. I knew this was the end of the cosy life at Middleham.

After Richard had left I grew increasingly concerned. Our king was a boy in his thirteenth year, King Edward the Fifth. I had often heard how disastrous it was for a country when a king was a minor.

There were always too many powerful men trying to manipulate the boy king. Poor Henry the Sixth had been a baby when he came to the throne. How different the history of our country might have been if his father had lived longer! There would have been no War of the Roses, no kingmaker. Perhaps my father would have lived the life of an ordinary nobleman, spending more time with his family on his own estates. We could have been a happy family. Perhaps Isabel would not have died. Certainly she would not have lost her first child at sea. My mother would never have been a prisoner at Beaulieu. I should never have been affianced to the Prince of Wales and put in a cookshop from which, without good luck, I might never have escaped.

It was all conjecture, but what else was there at such a time? I was in ignorance of what was happening. I feared for Richard. The king had appointed him Protector of the Realm and guardian of the king, but I knew full well that there would be opposition to this, and the Woodvilles, headed by the queen, would do everything in their power to get the king in their control.

The children asked questions.

"Where is our father? What is happening?" Katharine was getting too old to be put off with easy answers. She talked to the women. She knew something of what was going on; and she would tell John and Edward, I said: "Your father has gone to London because there is a new king."

Edward asked: "What has happened to the old one?"

"He died." I told him, "and when a king dies, if he has a son, that son becomes the new king... even if he is only a boy."

"How old is the new king?" asked Edward.

"Twelve years old."

"I'm ten," he said proudly.

"It is young to be a king," I went on.

"Your father has gone to help him."

"Then everything will be all right," said Edward.

I wished I could have shared his confidence. I was convinced that the situation was fraught with danger. What a tragedy that Edward had died! He was not old. He had lived just over forty years and had seemed so strong, indestructible, until he had had the seizure at the end of the previous year. But of course he had never denied himself anything that his deeply sensuous nature demanded and hearty eating and insatiable sexuality had taken their toll. Now he had left us with a twelve-year-old boy to rule us, and powerful families attempting to take power.

These were days of deep anxiety and my cough was always worse at times of stress.

I yearned for news. Visitors to the castle were very welcome for they all talked of the death of the king and there were various versions of what was happening or about to.

There were some who came from London, and they were only too eager to tell us all they knew. We learned that there had been much speculation as to how the king had died. The general view was that he had caught a chill during a fishing trip he had taken with a few of his closest friends. The rain had been torrential and they had been in wet clothes for several hours. In view of his recent illness, they said, the king should have been more careful of his health. There were some who said he had never recovered from the tertian fever which he had caught when campaigning in the French marshes; others said he had lived too well; and, of course, there was the inevitable murmur of poison. But the prevailing verdict was that the king had died through an excess of living.

I learned that he had been ill for ten days, during which he had busied himself with setting his affairs in order.

"They laid out his body on a board in Westminster," said one informant.

"He was naked, all but for a loin cloth a splendid figure of a king, even in death. The Lords Temporal and Spiritual came to gaze at him, and after that the corpse was embalmed and lay in state in St. Stephen's Chapel for ten days before it was taken to Westminster Abbey. A life-sized model of him was placed beside the bier. The figure was dressed in royal robes holding the orb and sceptre ... so lifelike that it might have been great Edward himself. Then he was taken to Sion House where the cortege stayed overnight, and then on to Windsor to be placed in the king's own chapel of St. George."

I said: "It was what he would have chosen. He would have wanted to go in splendour."

"I have it on authority, my lady, that the cost was one thousand, four hundred and ninety-six pounds, seventeen shillings and two pence."

"He would have liked that, too." My thoughts were all for Richard and some time later I was to hear the truth of all this from his lips. Then I learned how near he had come to failure; and had things gone against him at this time our lives might have-turned out to be entirely different.

What was happening was that when Richard was approaching Northampton, he received a message from Lord Rivers saying that he had left Ludlow with the king in the hope of reaching Northampton on the twenty-ninth of April. He asked Richard, if he reached that town first, to wait there for him, Rivers, to arrive with the king. If Rivers arrived there first, he would wait for Richard. That seemed a very desirable arrangement, for Richard could then take the king to London.

But when Richard reached Northampton, there was no sign of Rivers, and, having settled his followers in the outlying district, Richard went to an inn where he proposed to spend the night. While this was happening, Rivers arrived. He was very respectful to Richard, hailing him as the Lord Protector and explaining that, as he had been unable to get accommodation for himself and his party in Northampton, he had gone on to Stony Stratford. He himself had ridden back to Northampton to explain to Richard what had happened.

Richard was immediately suspicious of this story, but gave no sign of it. The account of lack of accommodation was false. Richard had been able to find room for his men. However, he invited Rivers to sup with him.

While they were talking, the Duke of Buckingham arrived and the three of them supped together.

It was quite a merry party and after they had retired Buckingham came to Richard's room, and they discussed the situation. It was clear that Rivers had been deceiving them, said Buckingham. He had obviously planned to get the king to London before they arrived there, and to crown him so that he, being the anointed sovereign, would decide whether to accept the guardianship of his uncle. And, of course, he would be primed by his mother not to do so.

"You can depend upon it," said Buckingham.

"Rivers has already sent a message to Stony Stratford telling them to leave at once."

Richard was too astute to have allowed that to happen, and immediately Rivers had arrived at Northampton, he had ordered that no messages were to be sent from the town until he gave permission. So, he assured Buckingham, the king would stay at Stony Stratford until he arrived to conduct him to London.

Buckingham was impressed by such sagacity and again pledged his support to Richard.

Richard's next step was to arrest Rivers and to ride to Stony Stratford with Buckingham where the king, with Lord Richard Grey and the aged Sir Thomas Vaughan, whom Edward had appointed to be young Edward's chamberlain and counsellor, was eagerly awaiting the return of Lord Rivers.

I was sorry for that young boy when I heard this. He must have been bewildered to have kingship thrust upon his young shoulders. What had he thought, expecting to see his genial uncle, to find the Duke of Gloucester in his place? He would have been dismayed, I knew.

Richard acted promptly. Richard Grey and Thomas Vaughan were arrested, and Richard took charge of the king. The next move was for Edward to enter his capital in the company of the man whom his father had appointed Lord Protector of England and the guardian of his son.

It was others who told me of that ride into London. The king won the hearts of the people, as children do. He must have looked charming, dressed in blue velvet, riding between Richard and Buckingham, both clad in sombre black. It was a colourful occasion for the City fathers were present in their scarlet trimmed robes, with several hundred leading citizens in purple gowns all come to greet the new king. There were cheers for the king and the Protector and murmurings against the hated Woodvilles. The queen had already fled to sanctuary with her younger children. The new reign had begun.

A message came from Richard. I was to prepare to leave for London without delay. The coronation of the little king was to take place on the twenty-second of June, and naturally I must be present with our son. Richard was living in Crosby's Place and was occasionally at his mother's residence of Baynard's Castle. When I was approaching London I should send a message to him and he would meet me.

It was news I had been longing to hear. The first thing I did was go to my son's apartments to tell him we were going to join his father. I heard him coughing as I approached. He smiled at me, almost apologetically, as he did when I found him coughing. My love would overwhelm me at such moments. I was deeply affected that he should have thought he must feel ashamed of his weakness.

I embraced him and said: "How are you today, my son?"

He said, gasping a little, but brightly: "I am very well, my lady."

I knew this was not the case.

I asked John how his brother was when they were together.

"Oh, he gets tired quickly, my lady," he said.

"He only has to do a little and he must rest."

I sent for one of the physicians and asked him to tell me truthfully what he thought of Edward's condition.

"He is not strong, my lady," was the answer.

"He needs great care."

"I know that. I am proposing to take him to London to join the duke."

The physician looked grave.

"In my opinion, my lady," he said, "that journey might tax his strength too far." Too far ..." I echoed in dismay.

"It is just that he needs much rest and when his cough is bad it is not good for him to be sleeping in strange places and facing all kinds of weather which he might encounter on the roads."

I was in a quandary. I must join Richard but I dared not risk my son's health by taking him with me.

Edward wanted to come and I did not know what to say. If his health suffered through the journey I should never forgive myself for putting him at risk. Richard would be bitterly disappointed. As I did, he tried to convince himself that Edward would grow out of his weakness. Richard himself had done so. He had been delicate as a child, yet he had grown healthy, even though he lacked the strong looks of his brothers. And what had happened to them? Excesses had killed one, folly the other. Richard, happily, was given to neither of these weaknesses.

I knew in my heart that I must not submit my son to the rigours of the journey, and when the time came, I set out, leaving injunctions that Edward was not to tire himself and that I must be sent news of him regularly. So I rode south to join Richard.

He met me on the outskirts of London. I thought immediately that the last months had aged him. He looked drawn and there was a new wariness about him. He was bitterly disappointed, as I had known he would be, that Edward was not with me, but he thought I had been right not to bring him.

We rode together through the city to Crosby's Place. Much as I missed my son, I was glad to be with my husband, though I was not sure at that time who had the greater need of me.

When we were alone together Richard told me how glad he was that I was with him.

We did not speak a great deal of Edward. I think we were both afraid to face our fears and were trying to convince ourselves that he was merely suffering from an illness common to many children.

Richard then told me about the manner in which he had brought the king to London and added that the relationship between them was not a comfortable one.

"I see nothing of my brother in him," he said.

"He is all Woodville. I fancy he resents me. He blames me for the fact that his mother is in sanctuary and Rivers, Vaughan and Grey are imprisoned. It was necessary, Anne. There would have been war. They will have to lose their heads ... and soon, I think. I wish the king would trust me."

"Poor child, this is too much for him. He ought to be spending his time in childish pastimes, rather than finding himself the centre of intrigue."

"I would Edward were here. None of this would have happened if he had lived."

"How I wish that too!"

"Anne, what am I to do? It is my duty to my late brother who suspected something of this might happen. He has left me a sacred duty. It is England which is important. There must not be a civil war again."

"I am sure you will prevent it, Richard. You are wise and calm. You do not seek revenge on these enemies ... only that what is done to them shall be to the benefit of the country."

"That is so. But I do not know whom I can trust, Anne. What joy it is to have you with me! To you I can open my heart and speak as though I were communing with myself. Every man about me could be a potential traitor."

"You have good friends. Buckingham, Hastings ... and what of Francis Lovell, who was with us in the old days at Middleham?"

"Francis is a good friend, yes. Oh, there are a few, but I think of those powerful men in high places who could do me much harm. I never trusted Lord Stanley. He is shifty. This side one day ... the other the next. You know he was connected with our family at one time?"

"He married my father's sister."

"And now he is married to Margaret Beaufort. She is a strong-minded woman and Stanley is easily swayed. Moreover, she is the mother of that young man now skulking in Brittany, but methinks with an eye on the throne."

"Not Henry Tudor!"

Richard nodded.

"I suppose he considers himself the Lancastrian heir now."

"How could he? He is of such dubious birth." Then such as he is brush aside such matters. King Henry allowed Margaret Beaufort's marriage to Edmund Tudor, whom he called his half-brother, and Edmund Tudor may or may not -have been the legitimate son of Queen Katharine, Henry's father's widow, by Owen Tudor."

"But it is very dubious indeed. Oh, Richard, I should not concern yourself with such a man."

"You are right. My enemies are closer at hand. There is another who gives me cause for uneasiness, and that is John Morton."

"You mean the bishop?"

"Of Ely, yes."

"Did he not work with your brother?"

"Yes, but only when the Lancastrian cause was lost. He is ambitious, as so many of these churchmen are. They disguise their lust for power under a cloak of piety. They are the ones I do not trust, the ones to fear most."

"Dear Richard, you are overwrought. The death of your brother has affected you more deeply than you realise. I know how you cared for him, how he was always in your thoughts." That is so."

"Once the little king is crowned and on the throne you will have about you a council whom you can trust and your cares will be lifted."

"You may be right. How pleased I am that you are here!"

I was greatly cheered, but I wished I could dismiss any anxieties about my son.

Trouble came from an unexpected quarter. Richard said to me: "Jane Shore is now Hastings' mistress."

"I have heard that she is very beautiful," I replied.

"And I remember her having been wooed by Hastings in the first place.

Then your brother saw her and forced Hastings to give up the pursuit."

That may be true. Hastings and my brother revelled together. They had similar tastes for women and fast living. I think that was at the root of the friendship between them."

"So now Jane has gone to her original wooer."

"She will no doubt pass from one to another. She is that sort of woman."

"I have heard that she is kindly and that her lovers are men whom she esteems. She was obviously devoted to the king and completely faithful while he was her lover."

"She would not have dared be anything else."

"I think we should not judge her too harshly, Richard, if we are going to exonerate your brother for his part in the liaison. Rumour says she was faithful to him and he was hardly that to her, even at the height of his passion." That was his way. It was different."

"Different laws for the sexes. Well, that seems to be an accepted idea. In any case, why worry about Jane Shore and Hastings? Your brother is past caring."

"It seems ... disrespectful... in some way."

"Oh Richard!" I laughed at him and he laughed with me. But the affair of Jane Shore and Hastings did not rest there. Jane Shore was the sort of woman whose actions would be widely noticed and talked of. Her close relationship with the king had made of her a prominent figure. It was such women who often received confidences sometimes indiscreet from their lovers and through them could become involved in intrigue.

I had thought, from what I had heard of Jane, that she would be the last to be caught up in such a situation, but it seemed I was wrong. After the king's death it was revealed that she had briefly become the mistress of the Marquis of Dorset the queen's son by her first marriage to Sir John Grey. Dorset had received the promotion meted out to all the Woodville family. He had become a great friend of the king which was not surprising. He was extremely good-looking, like most of the Woodvilles, adventures, profligate, amusing, the sort of man Edward liked to have about him. It was well known that they indulged in adventures together and, knowing the two men, it was easy to guess the nature of these adventures.

Dorset had apparently admired Jane for a long time and, if it had been left to him, he would have tried to wean her from Edward, but Jane was too faithful, and perhaps wise, to let that happen. But on the king's death, there was no reason why she should not go to Dorset.

Richard shrugged his shoulders when he heard of that liaison. He found such gossip tasteless: he did not want to be reminded of I that flaw in the character of his dead brother. I But this relationship between Dorset and Jane could not be lightly dismissed when it was learned that he had vessels in the Channel which he was equipping. This could only be for one purpose: war.

Lord Rivers and Lord Richard Grey were prisoners. Elizabeth and her family with the exception of the king were in sanctuary. Dorset would have his reasons. He knew he was in danger and escaped to the continent. It was just before this that Jane Shore became Hastings' mistress.

With a woman like Jane this seemed natural enough, but what was surprising was that she was found to be visiting Elizabeth Woodville in sanctuary, and these visits had begun before Dorset left the country. And now she was living with Hastings.

"The wife and the mistress, what can that mean?" said Richard.

"The queen never interfered with the king's mistresses," I said.

"No. We all know that. She is a wise woman. We must be watchful of this. We must find out why Jane Shore is visiting the queen."

At the time I thought it was perhaps not so strange that Jane should go to see the queen. Jane was a refined woman. She had been the wife of a goldsmith a rich man and she had been well brought up by her own family. She had not been accustomed, of course, to living in royal circles until she met the king, but she had been with him for a long time and would have become conversant with the manners of the court. She could well become on friendly terms with the queen.

The matter flared into significance one day when William Catesby came to see Richard.

I had heard of Catesby. He was well versed in the law and was a protege" of Lord Hastings, through whom he had acquired a high position in Nottingham and Leicester.

I knew that Richard thought highly of his abilities.

Richard spent a long time with him, and after he had left remained shut in his apartments, seeing no one for about an hour.

I was getting anxious about him. I guessed that Catesby had brought bad news. So I went to Richard's private chamber and scratched lightly on the door. There was no answer so I opened it and went in.

Richard was sitting staring before him.

"Richard!" I cried.

"What ails you?"

He looked at me blankly and said: "I cannot believe this, Anne. And yet..."

Tell me,"I begged.

Then it came out. That arch plotter, Dorset, with whom it seemed Jane had become obsessed, had prevailed on her to win Hastings to the side of the Woodvilles. It had not, apparently, been a difficult task, as Hastings was already wavering. Dorset had insisted that Jane become Hastings' mistress, so that she could discover whether it might be possible to break his allegiance to Richard and get young Edward crowned and rule through him with the Woodvilles.

I said: "I cannot believe this."

There is evidence," Richard told me.

"Undeniable evidence. Catesby was aware of the plot. Hastings has betrayed me, Anne. Dorset has escaped to France and Hastings is plotting with Elizabeth Woodville. Jane Shore has been carrying messages from Dorset first and then Hastings ... to the queen."

"But Hastings is your friend, Richard. He was the one who came to tell you of the king's death and warned you against the Woodvilles. He was one of Edward's best friends."

"In depravity." said Richard bitterly.

"It was more than that. They trusted each other. Hastings knows that you are the king's choice. You are the one he chose to look after the young king and the state."

"Anne, I have evidence that he is a traitor. I know he is plotting to thrust me aside ... to crown the king and then he, I presume, with his dear friends the Woodvilles, will set about ruling the country."

"Are you sure?"

"I have proof. Catesby has shown me a letter which Hastings would have sent to the queen. There can be no mistake. Hastings sought to embroil Catesby in the conspiracy, but he would have none of it."

"What are you going to do, Richard?"

"Act promptly."

So many people have heard of that dramatic meeting in the Tower. The date was the thirteenth of June and two meetings of the councillors had been called for that day. It was announced that arrangements were to be made for the coronation of the king and this was to be dealt with. There was one other matter which the Protector was eager to settle without delay.

At the meeting, over which Richard presided, were Hastings, Stanley, Morton, Chancellor Rotherham, Buckingham and a few others.

They assembled as arranged in the White Tower. Richard sat at the head of the table and the meeting began.

Later Richard told me about it in detail how they had come unsuspecting to the table. Hastings was as affable as ever; Morton talked about the strawberries in the garden of his palace in Ely Place and begged Richard to allow him to send some to Crosby's Place because he was sure they would please me.

Richard said: "I accepted his offer graciously and wondered how long I should allow this meaningless chatter to continue. I stood confronting them all ... Hastings, Morton, Stanley ... there was not one I trusted. I asked them if they were aware that before my brother died he had named me as guardian of his son and Protector of the Realm? They all looked astonished. Indeed, what I had said was true, they declared. All were aware of it.

"Then I said, "You know it well, but there are those among you who would seek to deprive me of these rights given to me by my brother." They all continued to look astounded. I looked straight at Hastings and said, "And you, my lord Hastings, what think you of these plots of treason?" Even then he did not realise what was behind this. He looked bland enough, sleek and contented, plotting with the Woodvilles by day and indulging in night sports with Jane Shore, I thought.

"What say you?" I insisted; and he had the temerity to reply, "But if they had done this that your lordship suggests, they should be punished."

"With death, my lord Hastings?" I asked.

"With death," he repeated."

"He must have realised then that you knew of his perfidy."

"I am not sure that he had till then, but in the next moment he must have, for I cried: "There are some among us who stand against me. Jane Shore, who was my brother's mistress, is involved. She visits the sanctuary and is in league with the queen ... and there are others." I was looking straight at Hastings and he knew then that I had uncovered the plot and that I was aware that Jane Shore was his messenger and the nature of her mission. I said, "Lord Hastings, tell us again what the fate of those who scheme against the government should be."

"If they have done such things," said Hastings slowly, "and if such things can be proved against them..." I could contain my anger no longer. Smooth-voiced traitor that he was, he enraged me, the more so because he had feigned to be my loyal friend.

"I shouted at him, "Enough of your ifs and ands, Hastings. You are the traitor. You have done these things and you are guilty of treason." He was stricken. I saw the shame on his face. I thought of the worthlessness of his assumed friendship, and I wanted revenge. I said to him, "I swear I will not dine while your head is on your shoulders." Then I rapped on the table and shouted: "Treason!" The guards, warned what to expect, came in.

"I pointed to Rotherham and Morton, for they were involved in the plotting, though not as deeply as Hastings. I said, "Arrest these men and take them to the Tower." I was not sure of Stanley. When could one ever be sure of Stanley? I did not want to be unjust. Nothing had actually been proved against him. Yet I suspected him.

"Put him under house arrest," I said. Then it was Hastings' turn. He was a proved traitor and I ordered that he should be taken out to the Green at once and his head severed from his shoulders."

I could not believe this. I stared at Richard in dismay. Knowing him, I was well aware of the depth of his feelings. He had liked Hastings: Hastings was the kind of man whom people did like.

"It had to be," said Richard.

"They took him to the Green. They found a priest and he was shriven; they could find no block, so they used a piece of wood which was lying around, intended for repairs that were due to be done to the chapel. And there Hastings lost his head."

I covered my face with my hands and Richard put his arms about my shoulders.

"It had to be, Anne." he said.

"You do not understand how ruthless these people can be."

"Oh, Richard." I said.

"I understand too well."

I learned what happened after that dramatic scene; how the cry of 'treason!' had been heard coming from the Tower and was carried through the streets of London; how the people crowded into the streets; how they brought out their weapons to protect themselves and their homes because they feared there might be riots.

Richard had sent for the Lord Mayor of London, Sir Edmund Shaw, a goldsmith, highly respected in the city.

"There must be no trouble," he said, and a proclamation was prepared at the instigation of Sir Edmund who read it aloud in the streets of London.

"Lord Hastings has been executed," ran this statement.

"He was a traitor to the Lord Protector and the Government. He was planning to rule all England through the new King. He had enticed the last King into evil living and he had spent the last night of his life in the bed of Jane Shore, the whore, who was herself involved in plots against the government."

The trouble was subdued, but Richard's conscience continued to trouble him. He knew how fond Edward had been of Hastings; he himself had liked the man. But he had acted in the only way possible, and by doing so he had killed a man he had thought to be his friend. He took Hastings' widow Katharine under his protection. She should have her husband's property; he would always make sure that the child of the marriage a boy not yet of age -should be cared for.

I was glad of that; and I think Richard felt a little better after it was arranged; but I doubted he would ever be able to banish from his mind the memory of Hastings' perfidy and his tragic end on Tower Green.

Richard had no wish to punish Jane Shore but her share in the conspiracy could not be ignored. His brother had really loved that woman. She had not been one of his light loves. She and Elizabeth Woodville stood apart from the myriads of women in Edward's life, and Richard felt he would be haunted by his brother's reproachful ghost if he harmed her.

He was in a quandary. Her name had been mentioned in connection with treason. She had carried messages, knowing full well what she was doing, and it must be made clear that those who indulged in such practices could not go unpunished.

She was a harlot and there was a recognised treatment for harlots. Richard did what others had done before him; he decided that he would not judge her himself. He would pass her over to the Church.

She was brought before the Bishop of London's court which sentenced her to suffer the penance demanded by the Church for such as herself. She should be deprived of her possessions, those which had been bestowed on her by her lovers and were therefore tainted with sin; and she must walk through the streets in procession to Paul's Cross, bare-footed and wrapped in worsted, a lighted taper in her hand.

I heard from my women, some of whom had seen the spectacle, that crowds had gathered to see this notorious woman. She looked very sad, but her beauty impressed all those who saw her. Though her feet were bleeding from the rough cobbles which she had to tread, she held her head high and walked with dignity.

Poor Jane Shore, the beloved of Edward, Dorset and Hastings, too. I thought a great deal about her and wondered if she mourned the death of Hastings, and what her fate would be. I supposed there would always be men to care for her. She was that sort of woman.

There were rumours all over London. The king's coronation had been postponed until November. Hastings had been executed without trial; the queen was in sanctuary. Why did she think it necessary to seek such protection? The king was living in the state apartments in the Tower of London. And there was tension on the streets. People were waiting for something to happen.

Richard was worried. Morton and Rotherham were in the Tower, having been arrested at the time of Hastings' execution. Buckingham consulted with Richard and they decided that Rotherham was an old fool who could not do much harm, and it would be wise to release him. As for Morton, he was of a different calibre. He was a man to be watched. Suppose he, Buckingham, took charge of Morton, who was a very cultured man? If he were separated from fellow schemers and shut away somewhere in the heart of the country, he might settle down to study and enjoy it. Suppose Buckingham sent him to his castle at Brecknock? There he would live a secluded life of culture which would keep him out of mischief. From time to time Buckingham would visit him and make sure that there was always a watch kept on him. That seemed an excellent solution.

As for Stanley, they knew where they were with him. He was a man who would be where his best interests were. It was not so difficult to keep an eye on such men.

It was then agreed that the great problem was the queen. If she would come out of sanctuary and live in the manner of a queen dowager, the people would be satisfied and cease to wonder about her. She was the Protector's sister-in-law, the beloved widow of his brother who had been very dear to him, therefore he and the queen should be good friends.

When the suggestion was put to Elizabeth, she would not consider leaving sanctuary, thus proclaiming as clearly as if she had made an announcement from Paul's Cross that she did not trust her brother-in-law, nor the government.

"Then if she will not come out," said Richard, "the Duke of York must join his brother in the Tower. The king is lonely. He wants his brother with him."

Elizabeth refused to let her son go and Richard was growing angry with her.

"She has been a trouble since my brother set eyes on her in Whittlebury Forest," he said to me.

"How I wish he had never seen her! Think of it! There would never have been a quarrel between Edward and your father. Was that not all about her? And her family. They have been responsible for war and bloodshed and now here she is ... telling the world she is afraid of me, afraid of the government, seeking sanctuary, refusing to let her son go. I tell you, the Duke of York is going to join his brother in the Tower."

There was conflict between the churchmen. Richard said that Elizabeth was using young Richard of York as a hostage and that was why she would not let him go. That could not be countenanced any longer. The Archbishop of Canterbury thought that to take the child would be going against the sacred law of St. Peter. However, the general opinion was that the situation was too dangerous to allow the queen to hold her son a hostage and he must be brought out to join his brother in the Tower.

It was unfortunate that the plan had to be carried out in the only way possible, for Elizabeth would never have let her son go unless forced to do so. Armed men were sent to the queen. The Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Bourchier, was extremely dismayed, as he believed that it was not right to remove any person from sanctuary against that person's will. But, having been overruled, he was obliged to allow the deed to be done.

He begged the queen to let her son go. She said she would not do so. She wished to keep her children with her. They needed their mother at such a time. The king was in the Tower awaiting his coronation which should have taken place by now, but some people had seen fit to postpone it. For what reason she had not been told.

The archbishop explained to her that the king needed his brother and asked for him to join him. The two boys should be together, and he feared that if she did not allow him to go willingly, he would be taken by force, which would not be good for him.

Elizabeth wanted the archbishop's assurance that her son would be respected according to his rank, well cared for and protected. He gave her this assurance and at length the archbishop took the nine-year-old Richard of York by the hand and led him out of sanctuary. Richard told me that when he was brought to Westminster Hall he had a brief interview with him.

"He was sad at leaving his mother and sisters but was looking forward to being with his brother," he told me.

"Poor child," I replied.

"It is tragic when he is so young to be taken from his family."

"Well, he will be with his brother," said Richard.

However that rather delicate incident was over, very much to Richard's relief.

There was no doubt that the treachery of Hastings had hurt Richard deeply and made him more aware of the dangers which surrounded him. More than ever I longed for Middleham and the everyday affairs of family life. Between them, Richard and Buckingham had decided that they must be rid of the Woodvilles. At that time Earl Rivers, Richard Grey and Sir Thomas Vaughan, who had been arrested at Stony Stratford, were awaiting sentence. These men were all a potential danger to the realm. The Woodvilles must be stopped from making trouble, if there was going to be a chance of governing the country without continual conflict.

Sir Richard Ratcliffe, a man whom Richard trusted, was sent to see the execution of these men carried out.

Richard had known Ratcliffe when his grandfather was comptroller of Edward's household; and later when he had fought with Richard in the north and they were besieged at Berwick, Richard had awarded him a knighthood. Richard said he was a man on whom he could depend.

Ratcliffe went to Pontefract where the executions were speedily carried out.

I wondered what the feelings of Elizabeth Woodville were at that time. So many of her family had perished. Her two sons were in the Tower and no longer under her care. She had been a very ambitious woman and she must have known when she married the king and there was so much opposition to the match that her life would be fraught with dangerous difficulties. We had all had ample proof of her ambitions but she did indeed love her family. She had made that clear enough.

Now the death of the king had brought far-reaching changes to her life. She must have wondered with trepidation what the future held.

Meanwhile rumour was rife. The young king was not crowned. Was it not time this ceremony was performed? The government announced that in due course preparations would be made for the coronation. It was unfortunate that, in view of the troubles, it had been necessary to postpone it.

There were even rumours as to what was happening to the king and the Duke of York until they were seen on the Green before the Tower practising shooting arrows. Then the rumours died. There would soon be a coronation. The Woodvilles had always been unpopular so not too much sympathy was wasted on them.

The general opinion was that the Protector was a serious man -not attractive and lovable like his brother, but serious-minded, and men seemed to respect him. Moreover, the late king had found him so reliable that he had left the government of the country in his hands.

The death of a king which left a boy on the throne was an uneasy situation. It had risen before when Henry the Fifth had left a baby to follow him. And what trouble that had caused! Now they had a wise protector. He might not be charming and handsome like his brother, but if he were a wise ruler, what did that matter?

That was the mood of the people when Robert Stillington, Bishop of Bath and Wells, made his extraordinary announcement. He came to see Richard at Crosby's Place and was with him for a long time. Then Richard sent for the Duke of Buckingham and the three of them were together all the morning. I knew that something of great importance was happening. It was much later in the day when I was alone with Richard and I begged him to tell me what was happening.

He hesitated for a moment or two and then, seeing my hurt expression at being shut out of. his confidence, he said: "It is so extraordinary ... so ... so wild. I cannot believe it, and yet Stillington knows. Do you remember, he was in the Tower for a while after George had made those statements against my mother's virtue?"

I cast my mind back. It had happened at the time the Duke of Clarence had been found dead in a butt of malmsey. We had wondered why Stillington had been arrested in the first place, and then released so suddenly.

"I remember," I said.

"I know now what that was all about, and it is disturbing, Anne. It is alarming in a way. The amazing possibilities ..."

"Please tell me calmly, Richard," I said.

"The bishop says that Edward was not indeed married to Elizabeth Woodville and that those boys in the Tower are bastards."

"But that is impossible!" I cried.

"No ... very plausible in truth, knowing Edward. And when you hear how it happened you will agree. Edward was very young at the time. You know how reckless and impulsive he could be where women were concerned. It would not the first time he had been so overcome by passion that he threw away all caution. Apparently what he did was marry a woman named Eleanor Butler, and although she went into a convent later, she was alive when he went through a form of marriage with Elizabeth Woodville ... which means that there was no true marriage to Elizabeth and her children are illegitimate."

"I cannot believe that, Richard."

"Stillington says he performed the ceremony with Eleanor Butler."

"Can this be proved?"

"Stillington swears it."

"And this Eleanor Butler... who was she?"

"She was no goldsmith's wife. She was the daughter of the great John Talbot, Earl of Salisbury, and widow of Sir Thomas Butler. She must have been older than Edward and apparently a lady of virtue because she would not submit to him without marriage. Hence he took this reckless step."

"If this is true ..."

"If this is true," he repeated, turning to me, his eyes gleaming, "you know what it means."

"It means that you are the king." He nodded.

"Oh, Richard," I cried in dismay, "it cannot be."

"If it is true, it must be."

A terrible feeling of foreboding swept over me. I tried to lose it in disbelief.

"The king would never have done such a thing."

"He would, Anne. You know he would. He chose to forget his marriage to Eleanor Butler. The affair was long over; she had retired to a convent; she was as good as dead. He became besotted by Elizabeth Woodville. She insisted on marriage, so he went through a form of marriage with her."

"And all those children ..."

"Let us face it. They are illegitimate. They must be, if the marriage to Elizabeth Woodville was no true marriage."

"What will Elizabeth Woodville do?"

"Shed some of that arrogance, that insufferable pride mayhap. The upstart is reduced to what she was before the Icing raised her up."

"Will the people accept this?"

"Everyone must accept what is true. Anne, I see you are full of disbelief."

"Why did not Stillington say this before?"

"I believe he did."

"When?"

"He must have let it out to Clarence. Oh, don't you see, Anne? That is why Clarence died in the Tower. It comes back to me now. Think back to the time of George's death."

"I remember he said that Edward himself was a bastard."

"Yes, that calumny against our mother. George said Edward was the result of a liaison between our mother and a man of low birth. You know my mother. Do you believe that?"

"I should find it very hard to."

"Exactly. That was one of George's fabrications. This is different. Casting my mind back, I remember how Edward went to visit him in the Tower. It was the night of his death. Edward came back. He was stunned. I had never seen him like that before. Now I know what happened. Stillington must have spoken to Clarence of the king's marriage to Eleanor Butler, and when Edward went to see Clarence in the Tower, Clarence told Edward that he knew this. The next morning Clarence was found dead in a butt of malmsey."

"You mean Edward ordered him to be killed!"

"It was a good enough reason, surely?"

"Edward ... to murder his own brother?"

"I know Edward well; he would reason that the death of one worthless man, obsessed by delusions of his own grandeur, was necessary in order to avert a civil war and the death of thousands. Edward was right in what he did, Anne. It is perhaps wrong to condone murder, but the life of one against those of thousands must be considered."

"And Stillington was sent to the Tower."

"Yes, because Clarence betrayed that the information came from him. Indeed, he was the only one from whom it could have come. You can imagine what happened. He was immediately imprisoned in the Tower, lest he should do more damage. Then Edward relented. I imagine he would go to see Stillington who would have been very contrite and swore he would never let the information pass his lips again, and possibly to deny it if it ever came to light through any other source. Edward was never vindictive. That has been shown again and again. He was always ready to forgive his enemies and live in peace with them. It may well be that he trusted Stillington so he was released and kept his silence."

"Until now."

"Yes, till now, when it cannot harm Edward."

"But it can harm Edward's family ... his son ... who is now king."

"I shall have to do my duty, Anne."

"You think the people will want that?"

"I must do what is right."

"You mean ... take the throne?"

"I think it is the only way. The king is but a boy. It is not good for a country to have a child king. A strong man on the throne gives stability to a country."

"You will be King Richard."

"And you will be my queen."

I closed my eyes. I was overwhelmed by foreboding.

Richard's first step was to call a meeting of the council and to lay the disclosures to them.

I waited at Crosby's Place to hear the result of that meeting. I soon heard that there was unanimous agreement that Richard must take the throne.

There was tension throughout the city. One could not help but be aware of it. The citizens knew that some great event was about to happen, though they were as yet unsure as to what it was.

There was much coming and going to and from Crosby's Place and Baynard's Castle. I hoped the Duchess of York was unaware of the slander which had been uttered against her, for I was sure that proud lady would have been incensed. Richard insisted that it was a slander and, in any case, what need was there to prove Edward's legitimacy now that he was dead? Suffice it that the young king and his brother were bastards. That was enough to displace them.

It was arranged that the news should be brought to the people on the following Sunday. The mayor, Sir Edmund Shaa, had a brother Ralph, who was a friar and well known to the people of London because he often preached at Paul's Cross in a most eloquent manner, and crowds flocked to hear him. It was suggested by the mayor that Friar Ralph should make the announcement.

Richard, with Buckingham beside him, and with all the noblemen and dignitaries of the city, rode in procession to Paul's Cross. Abandoning his customary robes of black, Richard wore purple velvet, for it was not fitting for a king to be attired in sombre black.

Crowds thronged the streets and there at Paul's Cross, Friar Ralph spoke. He based his words on the text: "Bastard slips shall not take root." Then he told the crowds that Edward the Fourth's marriage to Elizabeth Woodville had been no true marriage because he had pre-contracted himself to another lady, Dame Eleanor Butler, daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury. That lady had been living albeit in a convent when Edward had gone through the ceremony of marriage with the Lady Elizabeth Woodville. Therefore that was no true marriage, and the children of the union were illegitimate. This meant that the boy whom they called king, and his brother, known as Richard, Duke of York, had no claim to the crown.

On the other hand, there was Richard, Duke of Gloucester, who, since his brother was dead and had left no legitimate offspring, was the next in line to the throne.

They had all witnessed the fine qualities of Richard. He had proved himself to be a serious man, a great ruler, and he was truly English. Of the sons of the late Duke of York now living, he was the only one who had been born in England. Did the people want an English king? Well, they had one in Richard the Third.

How I wished that I had been there then! Richard needed me. I could guess his feelings, for the people were deeply shocked by these revelations. They had loved their handsome Edward and were deeply touched by the little king, and ready to love him, too. They went quietly away, no doubt to discuss their thoughts on the new reign in the security of their own homes.

The people's reception of the news was disconcerting, and it caused Richard a good deal of anxiety.

"They said nothing," he told me.

"There was no sign of approval, or disapproval for that matter. They just seemed shocked. It was a most unusual reaction." "The news must have astounded them as it has us all. Perhaps it was that. But I wonder what it means."

"Richard, if this is true ... you must be the king."

"If only there were proof... documents ..."

"Edward would certainly have made sure that they were destroyed."

"Edward was notoriously careless about some things. He believed that people were sufficiently fond of him not to betray him. You see, it did not occur to him that Stillington would be a danger until he betrayed the secret to Clarence; and he was amazed when your father turned against him."

"Oh, Richard, if only Edward had never married Elizabeth Woodville!"

"Oh, it was the same pattern. Eleanor Butler would not submit without a contract and nor would Elizabeth Woodville. And when Edward desired a woman he forgot all else. It was that trait in him which brought so much trouble."

"What are you going to do, Richard?"

"Buckingham wants immediate action. He thinks that now Friar Ralph's announcement has been made there should be no delay." Buckingham was firmly beside Richard. He was wildly enthusiastic which was typical of Buckingham. He reminded me of Clarence, and I had learned to beware of such men.

He took immediate action. First he came to see Richard, who shortly afterwards told me what happened.

"Buckingham is going to the Guildhall with some of his followers, and he has primed them as to how they should act."

Heralds went through the streets, announcing that Buckingham would be at the Guildhall and had something of importance to tell them. The people crowded into the Guildhall where Buckingham's men were assembled in some force ... ranging themselves among the people.

There Buckingham spoke of Stillington's disclosures and made it clear who the real king was. He said they could not have a better. He was the man who had been chosen by his brother Edward to govern the kingdom and care for Edward's son. But we now knew that that young boy had no claim to the throne and he was not the legitimate heir of the House of York. But they had a king, a mature man, a man who had proved himself worthy to take the crown ... a man who had a right to it... a man who was entirely English: King Richard.

Then he cried in a loud voice: "Will you accept Richard of Gloucester as your King Richard the Third?"

I was glad I was not there. I was glad Richard was not there. The silence in that hall would have been unbearable.

One could say that the people had been taken by surprise, and their response was not immediate. They hankered for big golden Edward, and if they could not have him, they wanted their pretty little king. Then Buckingham's men began to shout: "Long live King Richard the Third, the rightful English king!"

The next day Parliament met and Richard's claim to the throne was raised before both Lords and Commons, who were together for this special occasion. The illegality of Edward's marriage to Elizabeth Woodville was referred to and the conduct of the Woodvilles and the havoc they had wrought to the country was stressed. It was God's answer to a union which was repugnant to Him, for that union had been no true marriage and consequently Richard of Gloucester, the undoubted son of the Duke of York, was the true king.

"We shall humbly beg and beseech his noble Grace to accept and take the crown and royal dignity."

Thus ran the proclamation and it was unanimously approved.

The result of this meeting and the agreement reached there was that a great company arrived at Baynard's Castle. It was composed of nobles and leading churchmen; and there the Duke of Buckingham read out the proclamation which had been approved by Parliament.

It must have been an impressive scene, with Richard standing at one of the battlements of the castle, looking down on the assembly below.

When Buckingham had finished reading the proclamation, Richard said he would accept the crown. He descended from the battlements and rode at the head of the cavalcade to Westminster Hall. There he sat in the marble chair assigned to the king and swore to dispense justice without fear or favour and to do all within his power to serve them well as their king and ruler.

A new reign had begun. Edward the Fifth was no longer the accepted king. The people had accepted Richard the Third.