The Reluctant Queen

The Road to Barnet

How peaceful it was within those convent walls'. I was dazed by all that had happened and although in my heart I knew this was only a respite, there was an overwhelming comfort to be on dry land, away from violent conflict, able to listen to the low soft voices of the nuns and the sound of the bells calling them to prayer.

They had cared for us tenderly since our arrival on the orders of the King of France that they should succour us and give us all we needed to restore us after our ordeal. But I like to think they would have been good to us without that command.

For the first days I just gave myself up to the luxury of that peaceful ambiance; it was only later that I began to ask myself, for how long?

After the burial of the child, we had continued at sea. My father was very angry that he had been denied entry into Calais, and for this he blamed the Duke of Burgundy; he had to appease that anger, and he made a point of sailing along the coast and taking any Burgundian vessel in sight.

We had grown accustomed to the sound of gunfire ... of the rejoicing when another prize had been captured as we sailed along the Channel, flying the emblem of the Ragged Staff. Warwick, fleeing from his country, denied entrance to Calais, throwing himself on the mercy of the King of France, must show Burgundy and Edward and Louis that he was a force to be reckoned with.

There we were three helpless women, my mother, my sister and I only half realising what was happening to us. It seemed we had lost our home ... lost everything ... and were doomed to sail forever on an unpredictable sea.

But it could not last. Of that we were certain. And it was a great relief to us when we sailed into Honfleur harbour, honoured guests of the King of France.

What I did not know then was that my father had needed that time he spent on plundering to make up his mind. While he ranged the seas like a pirate, he was coming to a conclusion. He was too ambitious to be easily defeated. He had gambled with Edward first and misjudged him; then in desperation he had turned to Clarence. He was a kingmaker by nature. He himself wanted to rule, but the rights of kings came through inheritance and for that reason he could not be king but he could make a king who should rule through him.

Now there was only one way he could turn. It must be a complete contradiction of all that had gone before. It needed a great deal of consideration before he embarked on this road. He hated the Lancastrians. Henry was mad and there was his difficult and domineering wife to deal with. Could he do it? That was what he had to decide while he roamed the seas. And when he went to Honfleur, he had made that decision. Perhaps it was fortunate for me that I did not know of it, but if I had I should never have guessed what effect it was going to have on me.

But when we came ashore at Honfleur, nothing seemed of any importance but the blessed relief of escaping from the sea; but before we could land we had to have the permission of the King of France to do so and the prizes our father had taken were a stumbling block. The relationship between Louis and Burgundy was considerably strained and the King of France could scarcely receive with honour one who had perpetrated such acts of war upon the duke. So the fleet was sent off while we remained in harbour awaiting Louis' pleasure.

Louis heard of Isabel's condition and declared that ladies should not be subjected to more hardship. He would arrange for us to be housed in a convent while the earl came to his court for discussion between them which he was sure would be advantageous to them both. Thus for us to the convent and temporary relief.

Under the care of the nuns, Isabel grew a little better. She was more frail and needed to rest often. Deeply she mourned the loss of the child and talked of him often. The fact that he had been aboy made it even harder to endure. He would have been everything that she had hoped for.

"All those months of discomfort and then ... nothing. she mourned.

"You can have more children. People often lose one." I comforted her.

"I don't want to go through all that again. But I suppose one has to do it. It is one's duty ... especially when ..." I knew she was thinking of Clarence as King of England. She seemed to have forgotten that we were in flight from England, that Edward was king and unlikely to lose his throne to Clarence. Had she not realised yet that her husband was weak and vain, that my father was getting impatient with him and was regretting he had ever thought of putting him on the throne? She would not accept that, of course, and it was perhaps better to let her have her dreams, particularly when the reality was too bleak to contemplate.

My father was in constant touch with our mother. I always felt uneasy when letters arrived at the convent; and I think she did, too. I was always afraid that they would contain orders for us to pack and depart perhaps go to sea again.

I wanted to stay here. I loved the quiet life, but I knew it was asking too much that it should last.

One day my mother received a communication from my father and she sent for me. As soon as I saw her face I was filled with misgivings.

"There is something I have to say to you, Anne."

"My father.."

"I have heard news from him. He mentions you." But why?"

"Because it is something that concerns you." I stared at her in amazement.

"Your father has spent some time with the King of France. Louis is a strange man but he and your father have always been good friends. Part of the trouble was Edward's friendship with Burgundy, and for a long time there has been discord between the kings of France and the dukes of Burgundy."

I knew her well enough to realise she was putting off telling me this news which concerned me, and that was because it was something which I was not going to like. I was beginning to feel more and more uneasy.

"As you know." she went on, "your father was badly deceived by Edward."

"You mean his marriage?"

"It was most unsuitable. Not so much because he married so much beneath him, which he did, of course, but because of those greedy Woodvilles."

"I know all this," I said.

"I have heard it many times. Please tell me what it is that concerns you."

"You are of a marriageable age."

I felt terror grip me. They had found a husband for me. A French husband. I should be torn from my home ... from my mother, from Isabel... from Middleham. I had always dreaded it and here it was.

"Many girls in your position would be betrothed by now. It has been been a great joy for me to be able to keep you with me."

"Tell me ... tell me who it is .."

"You will be surprised. Your father has always been such an ardent Yorkist. But things have changed. There has been too much perfidy. Your father has decided to support King Henry. After all, as the son of the late King Henry the Fifth, he is the rightful inheritor of the throne. He comes before Edward of York. Now Henry has a son "Henry's son! Prince Edward!"

"That is so. I heard he is a handsome boy, perhaps a year older than you ... which will be just right. You are really very fortunate."

I could not believe this. I had always heard that Henry was mad: Queen Margaret was a virago; their son Edward, a vapid youth of no importance. My father had changed sides ... so blatantly. How could he? We had been brought up to believe that the Lancastrians were our enemies ... and now they were planning to make me one of them.

"It cannot be true!" I gasped.

"My dear child, it is true. Your father is going to put Henry back on the throne and he wants you to be the wife of the Prince of Wales."

"Oh no ... please ..." She took me into her arms and I saw the tears on her cheeks.

She said: "We have to accept our fate, my dearest. It is what we are born for. It happens to all of us."

I said: "Isabel was happy in her marriage."

"Poor Isabel! That should never have been. You will be happy, my dearest child. It is just at first that it is a little shock, that is why your father wanted you to be prepared."

A little shock! I felt as though the world I had known was falling about me.

There was only Isabel to whom I could talk. She was resting on her bed. She looked beautiful with her long fair hair loose on the pillow; but she was pale and still very frail.

"What has happened?" she asked in alarm.

"I have just been told I am to marry."

To marry! I expect our father has made some arrangement with the King of France. Who is it?"

"The Prince of Wales."

"The Prince of Wales? He must be a baby."

"Not a son of Edward but King Henry's."

She looked at me in blank amazement.

I went on: "Our father is arranging it with the King of France."

"Why should it concern the King of France?"

"I think it must be that he is going to help our father put Henry on the throne."

"How can he?"

"With arms and money supplied by Louis, I suppose."

"He... he can't!"

"Then why should he want his daughter to marry Prince Edward?"

She lifted her head and, resting it on her elbow, stared at me.

"What of George?" she asked.

"The plans have evidently changed."

"How can they change?"

"Easily. If our father and the King of France decide to change them."

"I can't believe this. Our father has always been for York. How could he change like that?"

"Because he has quarrelled with York. He can no longer make York kings, so he will make a Lancastrian one. After all, as my mother says, Henry is the true king."

"It's nonsense."

I shook my head.

"How I wish it were."

"George is to be king."

I did not say so but I thought, that was never a wise plan and could not have succeeded. I could not imagine how my father had ever thought it could. How could he have controlled the volatile George whose only concern would be for his own glory?

I could see the reasoning behind all this. My father must make kings through whom he could rule, and Edward had shown that he would not allow that. But if he could succeed, proud Margaret and Henry could be malleable in his hands.

It made sense; and I had become a necessary part of my father's schemes.

Why had I been unhappy on those violent seas? I should have been more at peace there than I now was in this quiet convent.

My one hope was that it would not be yet. My mother had thought it best to warn me and I could not make up my mind whether it would have been better not to know, so that I could have enjoyed peace a little longer, or to be prepared for the blow which was to come.

Isabel tried to comfort me, but I think she was more concerned as to what it would mean to George. I myself wondered that, too, for if my father were supporting the House of Lancaster, where would George come into this? He would be our enemy. How could there be such conflict within the family, for his marriage to Isabel had made George one of us?

My hopes that the project must fail were short-lived. Once the bargain had been struck my father would be eager to proceed with it. I learned later that I owed the delay to the fact that there was difficulty in persuading Queen Margaret to accept my father as her friend. But I suppose his reputation and power, and the men he could command to serve him, made it difficult for her to refuse him as an ally; and eventually she gave way to what must have been very distasteful to her: accepting me, Warwick's daughter, as her daughter-in-law.

My mother, my sister and I were all in a very melancholy mood while we waited for developments. Within a few days of my mother's telling me of the plans for my future, my father arrived at the convent. He had come to take his family to Angers, where I was to be betrothed formally to the Prince of Wales.

My mother must have told him how worried I was at the prospect, for he sent for me.

I went apprehensively, expecting to be peremptorily told to hide my repugnance to the match: but it was not quite like that.

My father was not an unkind man and I believe that, as he studied me, he was thinking of the ordeal he was about to thrust on me. Ambition was the great force in his life and nothing could deter his following it wherever it led, but, at the same time, he could spare a thought for those whom he used to further his ends particularly if they were members of his family.

"I hear, daughter," he said, "that your mother has told you of the glorious future which awaits you."

"She has told me that I am to be betrothed to King Henry's son." That is so. Henry is to be returned to the throne and in due course his son will inherit it. It is a great opportunity for you."

"It is difficult for me to think of him as a husband."

"I'll swear it would be difficult for you to think of anyone as a husband, as one has never been proposed for you before."

"But we were always brought up to hate the Lancastrians." He waved his hand impatiently.

"This will be a great match for you. The best you could possibly hope for. You will see your son on the throne of England. Is that not enough?" I looked at him blankly and he smiled at me.

"Your betrothal will take place very soon." he went on.

"You should prepare to leave this place."

I wanted to plead with him. I wanted to explain what this prospect was like for a young girl who had not seen very much of the world until lately (when I had witnessed some of the less pleasant aspects of it), who had lived most of her life at Middleham and who had on those rare occasions when she had thought of marriage had one in mind who had always been her friend and who, she was sure, had some affection for her.

But how could I explain to this man? He was my father; he was fond of me in a way; but to him I was just an object to be moved around to whatever position could bring most gain to him. It was an unfair world. It terrified me. I did not want to marry yet. I wanted to go on being a child. I had seen what marriage had done to Isabel and she loved her husband.

I wanted to go back to Middleham, to live quietly there; and vaguely, in my dreams, I had thoughts of Richard's coming there and saying, "Marry me, Anne. I love you and you love me and we both love Middleham. Let us live there happily ever after."

What foolish dreams! How could I ever have thought I could make my father understand them? How could I expect him to abandon a plan that was important to him, for the sake of making me happy and allaying my fears?

I left him and made my preparations to leave.

My mother came to me just before we left. She looked as though she had good news to impart, and she had.

"The wedding cannot take place until there has been a dispensation from the Pope, and that, as you know, takes a little time to come by."

"Then why do I have to leave here now?"

"Because there must be a betrothal before plans go ahead. You see, the marriage is very important to your father, and Queen Margaret is not very eager for it. She has to be persuaded that it is her only chance of getting the throne."

"She does not want me." I said.

"And I suppose Edward does not either."

"They will want you when they realise what this marriage means."

"It is hateful. I am not like a real person. I am just tolerated because of a treaty."

"Marriages of people in high places are often like that, my child."

"I hate it. I hate it."

She put her arms round me.

"It will take a long time for the dispensation." she said, "and you cannot be married without it. Perhaps it will never come."

I looked at her wonderingly, and she tried to brush aside that last remark. But at length she said: "Well, King Edward would naturally try to stop it if he could, wouldn't he? And you know what popes are. They fear to offend people in high places. I am just saying that it may not be easy to get the dispensation." "But I shall have to go through with this betrothal."

"Yes, you must do that."

"Does that mean I am married to him?"

"In a way, but the marriage is not consummated until the ceremony takes place. That means that you will continue to live under my care until you are actually married."

I must say I felt a little better after that. The marriage was not imminent. Fervently I hoped the pope would refuse to give the dispensation.

We were an unhappy party which left the convent on that June day. Isabel was bewildered, still weak from mental and physical exhaustion, still mourning the loss of her child. I think she was not ambitious for power; but she wanted grandeur and excitement; she had dreamed of herself as a queen and now it seemed that role might well pass to me. That I was reluctant to receive it was of no importance.

I wondered what Clarence was doing. He did not come with the party to collect us. I was shocked by the manner in which my father could coolly cast him aside. I knew that he had been assured that he would be well treated in the new reign. He was to have vast lands which would bring him wealth and a certain amount of power: and if the Prince of Wales and I died without heirs, he was to have the throne. Poor consolation for a man who had so recently been promised it unconditionally.

Poor Clarence! Poor Isabel! But I was far more sorry for myself.

We were going first to Blois, where I was to be presented to my formidable mother-in-law-to-be and my future husband.

Blois is one of the most impressive chateaux in France, but I was overcome with dread as we approached those magnificent grey stone walls emblazoned with the swan and arrow, the emblem of the counts of Blois. I felt as though I were going into a dark prison.

Aware of my fears, my mother tried to reassure me and I noticed that even my father watched me with some concern in his eyes. That was because, I told myself with some bitterness, I was important to his schemes. If only King Edward had not married Elizabeth Woodville, this would not have happened.

The dreaded moment arrived, and I was face to face with Margaret of Anjou. She was seated in a chair which looked like a throne, but perhaps that was because she was in it and made it seem so. She was intimidatingly regal a tall, stately woman with remains of beauty still visible in her ravaged face. There was a hardness of expression which could have been induced by suffering. I felt a twinge of pity for her. What bitterness must have been hers, proud woman that she was! She had married a poor weak man and tried to maintain him in his place. I believe she must have given the whole of her married life to fighting for his crown and my father had been the one who had taken it from him and put it on Edward's head. Now that was changed, which was, of course, the reason why I was here.

Even as she looked at me, I could see why she hated me, as she must have hated everyone connected with the House of Warwick. Coldly she extended her hand. I knelt and took it. Her eyes assessed me, summing up every little detail of my appearance. I could feel those cold eyes attempting to pry into my mind.

"You may rise," she said at length.

I heard that when my father had first seen her she had been so determined to refuse his offer that she had kept him waiting for hours before she would receive him, and when she did she made him kneel for fifteen minutes before bidding him to rise. I could imagine how my proud father relished that. But he was a man to whom the project of the moment was of paramount importance and he would endure a great deal to succeed in his plans. How I wished they did not include me!

"Sit beside me," she commanded.

"I would speak with you." I obeyed in silence.

"Your father has told you of the great honour which awaits you."

"He has told me I am to be married, your grace." To the Prince of Wales," she said.

"You will be presented to him shortly. Your father and I have agreed to this marriage. You are indeed fortunate. I trust that we shall soon be back in England, in our rightful place. In the meantime you are to be betrothed. I have told your father that there will be no marriage until the kingdom is in King Henry's hands."

That was the best news I could have, and I hoped it took a long time, and my hopes that it would were high. Edward was not going to relinquish it easily. Richard would be beside him to hold it with him. Indeed, even with all my father's power, it was going to be a hard task to wrest the crown from Edward. And I was not to enter into this odious marriage until they did!

She clapped her hands suddenly and imperiously.

"Tell the prince that I wish to see him," she said to the woman who came hurrying to her.

My heart was beating fast. She did not like me. She hated this marriage. She was accepting it under duress because it was the price my father demanded for helping her husband to regain his crown and she would suppress her dislike of anything connected with Warwick to realise her greatest ambition. As for my father, he wanted revenge on Edward; he wanted to set up his own puppet. But how would he fare with such a woman as this? And, of course, he wanted to see his daughter on the throne, so I was to be used to bring about his desires. I must marry this prince whom I had never seen. I must provide heirs to the throne that my father might be satisfied and the future kings of England would have Warwick blood in their veins. I had never felt so humiliated. I was just a creature to be used to satisfy their ambitions. It was a sordid bargain, and I was at the centre of it.

He stood before me my future husband. He was of medium height and tolerably good-looking; his chin was weak and there was a slackness about his lips and a glint in his eyes as he studied me. I did not like his manner.

I suddenly realised that I was comparing him with Richard; and I faced the truth then that, up to this time, I had -cherished the thought that marriage with Richard was feasible. The brother of the king and Warwick's daughter. Yes, it could have been a possibility. Was I not as Isabel had reminded me one of the richest heiresses in the country?

I was afraid of this man. I tried to remember what I had heard of him and could not recall. Few people had talked of him; they had believed that his mother had left the country for ever. Edward of York appeared to be firmly on the throne and had heirs to follow him so why should people be interested in Henry's son?

"The Lady Anne Neville," said Queen Margaret.

"Lady Anne, the Prince of Wales."

He took my hand and I wondered if he were aware that I cringed. Perhaps he was, for he looked faintly amused.

I wanted to shout: I cannot marry you. I will not. There was a hint of derision, even of cruelty in his smile. I knew that I had been a fool to show my fear.

Angers is a beautiful city situated on the left bank of the River Maine just before it joins the Loire, but to me it will always be one of the places I most wish to forget.

My mother might try to soothe me with assurances that the ceremony which was about to be performed was not in itself a marriage. Queen Margaret herself had insisted that that should not be performed until her husband was firmly -on the throne of England. I kept reminding myself of that. On the other hand, betrothal was binding and was in some respects tantamount to a marriage.

The massive moated castle, with its seventeen towers, was like a prison to me. How often I thought of Middleham during those dark days! Oh, to be there ... to be young again ... getting to know Richard ... forming that friendship which, as far as I was concerned, would last through life!

But what was the use of dreaming of Middleham? I was at Angers where I was to be the sacrificial lamb offered to my father's ambitions.

And there I was at the altar. All present were required to swear on the relic of the True Cross to be faithful for ever to King Henry the Sixth. The betrothal ceremony followed and all the time I was thinking: I shall never be happy again.

When it was over, I was to be in the care of my future mother-in-law until that time when I should be truly married. I was glad there were those two events which must take place before that could be: my father must win the crown for King Henry and there must be a dispensation from the pope. I prayed fervently for the delay of both of them.

There were festivities to celebrate the. occasion. Let others celebrate! I could not do so.

This was not exactly marriage, I kept telling myself, though it was as binding as marriage. The difference was that there had to be a marriage service before we could live together as husband and wife. How I rejoiced in that! Perhaps, I thought, it will never come to pass. I had to tell myself that. It was my only consolation.

I was now to live with Queen Margaret. Under her protection, they said; but in truth I was a hostage. I was there to remind my father that it was his duty to restore Henry the Sixth to the throne and remove Edward whom he had put there.

Isabel had gone to my mother. How I longed to be with them! Here I was among strangers.

My father meanwhile, with the Duke of Clarence, had set out for England to keep his promise.

By the grace of the King of France, Queen Margaret was allowed to keep her little court at Amboise where I should be until the marriage. I had said goodbye to my mother and Isabel, which was a terrible wrench for us all, but everything had been arranged and agreed by my father who was now with Clarence making his way to the coast in preparation for the onslaught on England.

I had never felt so lost and alone. Everything familiar was gone and in place of my gentle mother who loved me was this fierce woman who, in spite of her truce with my father, hated everything connected with him.

Amboise is beautiful perhaps one of the most beautiful small towns of France and the chateau is one of the country's most impressive. I shuddered as we approached. To me it looked like a fortress standing on its rocky eminence. It must have held many prisoners and I wondered how many of them had lain forgotten for ever in its gloomy oubliettes. The feelings of those prisoners as they entered that place must have been similar to my own. It was an ancient place. I remembered hearing that Julius Caesar had been here and had made the caves famous because he had used them to store grain, and ever after they were called Caesar's granaries. When one is on the brink of disaster such inconsequential thoughts will come into the mind.

The grey walls, green with moss, looked impregnable, and as we went under the arch towards the castellated walls, a terrible feeling of dread came over me.

The days that followed were some of the most unhappy in my life. More were to come as I grew older, but then I was prepared for evil; and had grown a protective shell of stoicism. At that stage I suppose life had been too easy for me ... until that terrible day when we had taken ship to France. Always my mother and Isabel had been with me. Now I was parted from them, to be in hostile company a hostage while my father redeemed his promise.

When I heard that the Prince of Wales was not leaving for England I was dismayed, but relieved when I discovered that he was not living with his mother. He was going on a mission, with Louis' blessing, to raise men for the armies which would be needed to defeat Edward. I had thought at first that I would have to endure his presence and that had alarmed me. It was amazing what pleasure even the smallest relief could give me.

I tried to find out all I could about this man who was to be my husband. It was not easy, for the queen's attendants regarded me with the same suspicion as Margaret did. They were very much in awe of her, which did not surprise me.

There was one thing I heard about him which filled me with apprehension, and made me feel that I had summed up his character correctly.

"The prince is a real warrior," I was told by one of the women who could not resist the opportunity to tell me.

"It was after the battle of St. Albans. Two of the enemy were captured ... both men of high rank. They were brought before the queen because the king was too feeble at that time to take his place. So there were these two ... proud gentlemen ... Yorkists who had been fighting against the king and queen. It was his mother's wish that the prince should be with her in place of the king at such times, and she turned to him and said: "What shall be their sentence?" The prince was only eight years old, but his mother thought he would have to grow up quickly and he did not disappoint her.

"They must be sentenced to death," he said.

"By what means?" the queen asked him. And what do you think the prince said?"

"I do not know. Tell me."

"He cried, "Cut off their heads!" There! And him only eight. His mother said that, as he had passed sentence, he must watch it carried out."

"And... did he?"

That he did, my lady. He sat there clasping his hands and smiling as the blood spurted out."

I shuddered. And this was the man they had chosen to be my husband!

Looking back, I do not know how I managed to live through those days. I dreamed of the wildest means of escape running away, joining gypsies, casting aside everything I had ever known ... anything to be free. I was terrified of this marriage. I waited in trepidation each day for the return of the Prince of Wales and for news of what was happening in England. My father would land: he had been well supported by the King of France; he had men and money. Could he overcome Edward? And when he did? I should be married then in very truth to this young man who, in my mind, was fast becoming a monster.

I could not bear it. I felt frustrated and so vulnerable. If only I could have talked to Isabel... explained to my mother ... pleaded with my father.

But in my heart I knew that none of these could avail me in any way... except give a grain of comfort to share my fears and sorrow. I was doomed.

I found a secluded corner in the grounds where no one went very much. A seat was cut into the thick stone of the castle. Overgrown shrubs surrounded it. I could be almost sure of a little solitude there and went there often to brood and ask myself if there was anything I could possibly do to avoid my fate.

I was sitting there one afternoon, and the hopelessness of my position swept over me afresh. My father could not fail to succeed. Very soon would come the news of his victory; then this sad frustrated life would change ... to something worse.

I could not bear it. The desperation of my plight swept over me and I began to weep silently. I sat very still and allowed the tears to trickle down my cheeks.

Then suddenly I heard a rustle in the bushes and, to my horror, I saw the queen approaching. She stood for a moment glaring at me.

"Why do you weep?" she asked.

I could not answer. I could only cover my face with my hands while the sobs shook my body.

There was silence. I guessed how she would despise me. She would be asking herself: what is this bride we have to take for my son? What sort of queen will she be? What sort of mother for the heirs of England?

In that moment I did not care what she thought. I just sat there, holding my hands to my face, finding some small comfort in giving vent to my grief.

After a while I let my hands drop. She was still standing there. She said in a voice I had never heard her use before: "What grieves you?"

Before I could stop myself, I blurted out: "I want to be with my mother and my sister. It is so strange here ... so far from home."

Immediately I had spoken I was ashamed of myself. My words sounded so ridiculously childish, and doubly so in the presence of this woman who had been my enemy before she knew me. She would deride me, despise me. Perhaps she would think me so unworthy that her son must not marry me at any price, I thought, with a ray of hope. But a crown to her would be worth any price.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"I am fourteen."

Did I imagine it, or was there a slight softening of her features?

"I was about your age when I first went to England ... to a foreign country ... to a husband whom I had never seen," she said slowly.

"It is a fate which overtakes most of us."

"I know."

She spread her hands and lifted her shoulders.

"So why must you be so sorry for yourself?"

"I suppose because it has happened to others, that does not make it easier to bear."

Tears never help," she said, and left me.

Oddly enough, that was a turning point in our relationship and later I began to learn a little about Margaret of Anjou.

It was only a few days after the incident that I found myself alone with her. She had dismissed her attendants so that she might talk to me.

She was a strange woman dominating and single-minded. She would have been a good ruler, but she lacked that power to attract people to her which Edward had in such abundance. She was strong; she chafed against defeat. It had been an ironical turn of fate to give her Henry the Sixth as a husband. There could not have been two people less alike. Yet it emerged that in a way they had been fond of each other.

That first occasion after that scene in the gardens was a little awkward, but during it she managed to convey to me that she was not devoid of feeling and not entirely unsympathetic towards me. She could understand the terrors of a child. After all, I was only fourteen years old and she saw that it was an ordeal to be taken from my mother and sister, the companions of my childhood, to be put with those who had been the sworn enemies of my family for as long as I could remember.

I cannot recall much of that conversation, except that in a brusque sort of way she tried to cheer me, chiefly, I think, by letting me know that it had happened to her, and although she deplored my attitude towards what was an ordinary fate, she did understand my fears, for she had suffered them herself.

After that I often found myself alone with her. We were anxiously awaiting news from England and, as had been the case at Middleham, we were constantly alert for messengers coming to the chateau What Margaret wanted more than anything was news that Warwick's armies were succeeding; and this would be the signal for her to return to England with her son.

During the days that followed, I began to get a glimpse into what had gone before this terrible conflict which was called the War of the Roses and which had thrust our country into the worst of all calamities which can befall a country: civil war.

Like myself, Margaret had had a comparatively happy childhood, although her father, Rene of Anjou, had lived in acute insecurity during most of Margaret's early youth.

She spoke of him with an amazing tenderness; in fact she surprised me as I grew to know her. Her imperious manner, her fierce and passionate nature, her capacity for hatred which she bestowed on her enemies, covered softer traits; she could love as fiercely as she could hate, and as I caught glimpses of this softer side I began to change my opinion of her.

"When I was born. she once told me, "my father had only the country of Guise. He was of small importance. Then he inherited Lorraine, but there was another claimant who was victorious over him and as a result he was taken prisoner, and for a long period of my childhood he remained so. He was still a prisoner when he inherited Provence and Anjou. My mother was a woman of great spirit. My dear father was too gentle. All he wanted was to live in peace with the world. He loved poetry and such things." She spoke with an exasperated tenderness.

"How different he must have been from my father," I said.

"Ah, Warwick!" There was a hardness in her face.

"That man, your father, ruined our lives."

I was foolish to have mentioned him, for she told me no more on that occasion, and seemed to forget that there had been a little friendship between us. Foolishly I had reminded her that I was Warwick's daughter.

I remembered not to do that again.

Later it transpired that she had been brought up by her strong-minded mother, but with Rene' a prisoner, her mother must go to Lorraine to take charge there, and Margaret was sent to Anjou to be with her grandmother, Yolande of Aragon, who governed that land.

"We lived mainly in Angers." she said.

"You remember Angers?"

I shivered. How could I forget Angers?

"My grandmother was a wonderful woman. My mother was a wonderful woman. There are times when I believe it should be left to women to govern."

I looked alarmed and she gave me a somewhat pitying glance which betrayed her judgement that I was not going to be one of those.

"I was fortunate in my mother and my grandmother." she said.

"It was a sad blow to me when my grandmother died. But my father was free then. He came with my mother to Angers and we were all together for a while "It must have been wonderful to be united with your family."

"Such pleasures do not last. I was your age when I was betrothed to the King of England. But I had been on the verge of betrothals many times, so I was not sure whether this one would ever come to pass. It might have been like all the others."

"Why were you betrothed so many times?"

"Because my father's fortunes were ever rising and falling. In the beginning I should have had a very poor match but when he inherited Lorraine and Anjou, well, it was a different matter."

There are always such reasons why we are betrothed." I said sadly.

"But of course. My child, marriages are the strongest of alliances. Never forget that. It is the duty we are called on to accept... whatever is best for our countries at the time."

"I know."

"I thought I was so fortunate." she said.

"I was married to a man with a very gentle nature ... a good man a saint perhaps. But good men do not necessarily make good kings and saints were never meant to wear a king's crown. The outcome usually is that they have no will to keep it and do not hold it long."

"Perhaps it is good when they marry strong wives."

A wry smile touched her lips.

"My mother and my grandmother taught me self-reliance." she said.

"That is the best lesson any woman can learn."

She looked at me a little severely, thinking, I was sure, that women who had learned that lesson did not give way to tears.

But there was a hint of kindliness in her stern manner now and I began to look forward to these sessions with her. Oddly enough, I began to realise that she did also.

And so I grew to know my mother-in-law-to-be and, in place of the fear and revulsion which she had at first aroused in me, there was an admiration which was tinged with affection.

I liked to hear her talk of the past and she seemed to take a certain pleasure in doing so. Perhaps she thought it was good for me to know what had happened to others so that I might become less concerned with my own fate. I think she also wanted to stop herself starting at every sound ... to forget, even for half an hour, the desperate need to hear good news from England.

She made me see and feel her departure for England. I could picture her as a beautiful child, for she must have been beautiful. There were still remains of beauty to be seen and sometimes when she talked of the past and her eyes would soften in reminiscence and her lips would curl into a smile of remembering happiness, I would be struck by it.

Through her eyes I saw the brilliant cavalcade. It was a match desired by the French as well as the English.

She said: "The King of France took me into his arms and kissed me. That was when I was formally handed over to the Duke of Suffolk who had come to collect me. My parents were there and they rode with us to Bar where I had to say goodbye to them."

"How very sad you must have been. How frightened."

"I was sad," she said.

"I loved my parents dearly, but I knew it must be. We went to Paris. The people expressed their pleasure with enthusiasm. They love these marriages. They are a chance for revelry and they always think they will bring peace to the country. They called me the little Daisy." She gave a short, ironic laugh.

"Daisy! They do not call me that in England. Little Daisy! In England, I am the hated Jezebel. And then I met the man who ... next to your father ... was to be my greatest enemy."

"Do you mean the Duke of York?"

"I do indeed, and as I talk to you now I can see his head in its paper crown on the walls of the city of York." She had changed. She was the vindictive hating woman when she talked of the Duke of York, father of Edward who soon, she hoped, would be replaced by her husband.

"He was a rogue, though I did not know it then. And his wife ... she was worse. She gave herself airs even then."

"They called her Proud Cis." I said.

"Cecily, Duchess of York, would be mother of kings." she said bitterly.

I might have reminded her that she was indeed the mother of a king, for Edward had reigned for nearly ten years.

"I had no notion then what to expect from that family," she said.

"Nor from your father. That cursed war ... the War of the Roses. Roses should be beautiful ornaments. And they betrayed their king and went to war. They are going to regret it. Edward will go the way of his father."

"Please tell me how you felt when you first saw England."

Her eyes were hazy and a smile touched her lips, softening her face miraculously.

"The crossing! I thought I should die! And I was not the only one. I thought, I shall never see England. I forgot all my fears for the future. I thought: this is the end. This is death. They told me that as soon as my feet touched dry land the sickness would pass. It did ... for some of them. But not for me. It was horrific. My face and body were covered in spots. They thought I was suffering from the small pox. I pictured myself disfigured for ever. I thought: this is how my husband will see me for the first time. I was vain about my appearance. I knew that I had some beauty. Beauty is one of God's gifts. It is so useful. It wins special privileges. It is admired and treated with gentleness wherever it is. And I thought I should lose that. Beautiful people learn what a precious gift they have and once a woman has possessed it she will cling to it and cannot easily let it go. Imagine my feeling a young girl about to lose her beauty!"

"But you did not."

"It was not the small pox. I began to recover. My spots went as quickly as they had come, and I was myself again. I cannot The Reluctant Queen explain to you the relief, not only to me but to everyone. We disembarked at Southampton and there I was told that the king's squire had brought a letter of welcome from the king. Would I receive him, they asked? How could I not receive the king's squire? He came in so respectfully. He knelt before me. I was still feeling very weak, I remember. I was seated in a chair with rugs about me.

"He was a very gentle young man with a soft, sweet expression; he was most humble. He handed me the letter and I told him that when I read it I would write to the king. They said to me afterwards: "Did you like the squire?" and I said: "He seemed a most modest and worthy young man." Then they laughed. The squire, they told me, was the king."

"Why did he come to you thus?"

"He told me afterwards that he had feared I might be scarred by the small pox and he wanted to see me first to realise how badly I was marked. He wanted to be prepared in case he was going to be very shocked, and he did not want to betray his feeling on first sight of me. Oh, he is a very gentle, kindly man, but She was silent and for a long time sat staring into space, reliving it all, I supposed.

At length she said: "Alas, he was not of the nature to be a king when there were others fighting for the crown."

The softness vanished. She was thinking of those hated men: the Duke of York, his son Edward and most of all my father. Suddenly she seemed to remember who I was. She peered at me, frowning.

"Why do I talk to you, Warwick's daughter? I hate Warwick. I hate him more than I hate the Duke of York. York is dead now. Never shall I forget that head. Have you ever seen a head without a body?"

I shuddered and shrank from her.

"It is a good sight when it is the head of one you hate. And the paper crown ... that was amusing. He had so longed for our crown ... Henry's crown ... and it was meet and fitting that he should die ignobly wearing a crown made of paper. I see you turn from me. I am in truth a hard, cruel wicked woman. What did they tell you of me?"

I was silent, amazed by this sudden change in her. She was a wild and passionate woman and I did not always understand her.

There was another time when she said to me: "Why do I talk to you as I do, Lady Anne? I do talk to you, do I not? Let me tell you this. You do not understand. To talk to a child is like talking to oneself. Perhaps that is it. Warwick's daughter! Daughter of the man who ruined my life. Oh, I had forgotten. He is my friend now." Then she fell to laughing.

"Oh, if only Henry were strong! I should have married a strong man ... a man like Edward who calls himself King of England. A man like Warwick. What a pair we should have made! But they married me to Henry. He knows nothing of the evil ways of men. He is a stranger to evil. For him it does not exist because he does not possess it himself. He would be every man's friend, so he believes every man to be his friend. He shrinks from punishing his enemies. Oh, why am I talking to this child of matters she cannot understand?"

"I am understanding now," I said.

"You have told me so much."

She was looking at me, but I was sure she did not see me. Her thoughts were far away.

A little later she told me about the scene in the Temple among the roses. There was a meeting in the Temple." she said.

"It was all about the losses in France. Henry's father was the great victor. He strode through France, subduing the French. Harfleur, Agincourt, Orleans, Paris. It was all his. He would have been crowned King of France if he had not died. My Henry was in fact crowned there. And all that has been lost. They blamed it on Somerset. There will always be scapegoats. But the English were beaten because of divine intervention. It was Joan of Arc, with God's guidance, who turned the English out of France and made the poor weak dauphin a wise king. But Warwick, your father, wanted to turn my Henry from the throne and put his own king there. He wanted to show the world that he was the kingmaker. It is your father I speak of. Do you hear me, child!"

"Yes, I know," I said.

She looked at me and smiled suddenly, her mood changing.

"And you are his daughter, a meek, fragile child. Life plays tricks. King Rene', my father, was a lover of peace and poetry, and he sired me. I should be more fitting to be Warwick's daughter. Is that not odd of fate, child?"

"Yes," I said.

"It is very odd."

"I was telling you. They were at the Temple. The whole company was aware of the enmity between Somerset and your father. Warwick was blaming Somerset for the losses in France, which was nonsense. Warwick was blaming him because he knew he was my man; and Warwick was laying his plans then. I do believe that your father longed above all things to be king. He could not be, so he had to be content by making them. Somerset was a Beaufort ... grandson of John of Gaunt, who was a son of Edward the Third.

"Tis true that he was born out of wedlock to Katherine Swynford, but she afterwards married John of Gaunt and the children were legitimised. So you see why the Beauforts are a proud race."

"Yes." I said.

"I have heard that."

"They make their presence felt. Somerset despised Warwick. Where would he have been but for his marriage to Anne Beauchamp and through her getting the Warwick title and estates? To come to wealth and power in such a way does something to a man. He must for ever be putting himself forward so that none may doubt that he came to greatness through his own endeavours. You may have heard the story how they walked in the gardens after the meeting, to cool their tempers perhaps, and then Warwick picked the famous quarrel with Somerset, accusing him of ambitions which I believe Somerset had never dreamed of. I knew Somerset well. They said he was my man. That was why Warwick hated him. His hatred was really directed at me."

"Why should he have hated you, my lady?"

"Because he wanted to guide the king and I had shown that it was my place to do that. He hated me because I was strong and saw through his schemes. So he struck at Somerset ... my best friend ... but he meant the blow for me. There in the gardens he accused Somerset of bringing defeat and humiliation to the country. He talked of the great victories of the king's father which had been brought to nothing."

I shivered. I had heard so many times of the encounter in the rose gardens. But always from the other side. It was Somerset who was the enemy: Somerset who had lost the territories in France, who was the tool of that virago, the queen who was now our friend.

"It is clear why Warwick was for York. There are blood ties between them. He wanted to set a king of his choosing on the throne because he knew I would never allow him to govern Henry.

"It became clear in the gardens that day that Warwick was planning the destruction of the House of Lancaster, and wanted to set up York in its place. Somerset, on sudden impulse, plucked one of the red roses and held it high. The red rose is the symbol of our House of Lancaster, just as the white is that of York. Somerset said: "I pluck this red rose, the symbol of the House of Lancaster, which I serve with my life."

"I know," I said.

"And then my father picked a white rose and said: "This is the white rose of York. Let every man take the rose of his choice. Then we shall know who is with us and who against us."

"Ah. You have heard the story. Who in this kingdom has not? And that was it. The stage was set. The War of the Roses had begun."

"Madam," I said.

"Are you well?"

I thought she looked as though she were going to faint. She was lying back in her chair, exhausted. I knelt beside her and she put out a hand and touched my hair. That was unusual, for she was not given to affectionate gestures.

"Warwick's girl," she murmured.

"Why do I talk thus to Warwick's girl?"

We sat in silence for some minutes and then I knew that, although I was Warwick's daughter, she no longer hated me.

Although I could not cast off my terrible fears of the future, my strange relationship with Queen Margaret did help to make the days more tolerable. We were all wondering what was happening. How was my father faring? Where, I asked myself, were Isabel and my mother?

I often thought about Richard. What was he doing now? What was he thinking? He would be a staunch supporter of his brother and therefore my father's bitter enemy. It was all so unexpected. My father had been one of the heroes of his youth. He had often betrayed his admiration for him and I think he had ranked only second, after his brother of course, in his estimation. And did he ever spare a thought for me?

It seemed incredible that everything should have changed so suddenly and in such a manner.

Queen Margaret was growing more and more impatient for news. "So many things have gone wrong in my life," she said.

"Sometimes I fear mat nothing will ever come right."

I did not know what to think. I must be loyal to my father, but if he were victorious Richard must be defeated: and the outcome of my father's victory must be the marriage I dreaded.

As the days passed I thought more and more of the ordeal before me. I could not like what I had seen of the prince. Moreover, I could not forget that I had heard of his asking for those executions and his sitting watching with apparent satisfaction while heads were severed. It was terrifying.

He had been only young. Eight, they said. And he would have been brought up to hate his enemies. But at the same time I was deeply disturbed.

I wanted to find out more about him and it was not difficult to lure the queen into talking of him, for he was her favourite topic of conversation. I was realising more and more what a sad and frustrating life she had led. She cared more deeply for her son than she ever had for anyone else. All her hopes were in him. She was prepared to make any sacrifice for him: and while she hated her enemies so fiercely, even more intensely did she love him.

I was developing a fondness for the queen. True, I was greatly in awe of her and at times the fierceness in her eyes repelled me, but now that she was talking to me with a certain frankness and making me see the sadness of her life, I realised how events had affected her, and I began to make excuses for her.

I looked forward more and more to our encounters, and I believed she did also.

And so I led her to talk of her son.

"My son!" She said the words with something like adoration.

"Anne Neville, there is nothing so wonderful in the world as holding one's own child in one's arms. One passes through a painful ordeal, and then one hears the cry of a child ... your own child ... a child which has grown within you and is part of you."

"Yes," I said.

"I understand that."

"I had thought it was a blessing which would be denied me. My son Edward was not born until eight years after my marriage."

"And all that time you longed for a child."

"All kings must have sons. I thank God daily for mine. Ever since he was born I have planned for his future ... for what would be good for him. Now I am proud of him. He will be Edward the Fifth of England, and when I see the crown placed on his head, that will compensate me for all my sufferings."

"Kings seem to have troublous lives." I commented.

She gave me a scornful look.

"A king has his destiny to fulfill; and those who turn him from his throne should be punished with death. How well I remember my joy. I could not believe it. Of course, in the beginning I had hoped, I had longed and prayed ... but I had thought, Henry being as he was, that I should never have a child. You would not understand my joy."

"I think I do,"I said.

"Of course, there were my enemies. York." She laughed with glee.

"Imagine York's feelings when he heard. This child would block his way to the throne. So they started rumours. The child could not be Henry's, they said. How could Henry beget a child? But you are too young to understand. What did I care? I laughed at them. I was exalted. I was the mother of a king-to-be. Oh, that was a wonderful time."

"I can imagine how you felt when he arrived."

"There was great trouble before that. It must have been two months before the birth when Henry showed signs of his first illness. It was a great sadness, a great anxiety. That should have been a time for rejoicing. We did not know what ailed him. It was only later that we learned. He could not move. He lay in his bed ... remembering nothing. It was the beginning of his strangeness. He was unaware that he had a son."

"Poor King Henry."

"That affliction came through his mother the daughter of Charles the Mad of France. They say such illness is one which can be passed on. The mother escapes but she gives it to her son."

"How very sad."

"It is at the root of all our troubles. These people would never have dared ... if Henry had not been She could not bring herself to say the word insane. I reached out and touched her hand. She took mine and held it briefly. I was always moved by these outward signs of affection between us. She was beginning to accept me as her daughter-in-law in spite of the fact that I belonged to the hated Neville clan.

It was on that occasion when she told me about the Tudors.

"I should have liked to have known Henry's mother," she said.

"She was French so we should have had something in common. She was a lady with a strong will, though outwardly she was very gentle. She had a very unhappy childhood, largely due to her father's madness and her wanton mother. For a time she and her many brothers and sisters lived in abject poverty. That was while her father suffered his periodic bouts of insanity. I believe when he was well and took up his duties of kingship that was changed. But poor children, it went on for much of their early childhood. Then she married Henry, the great conqueror of France, and it seemed that everything was going well for her, until her husband died and she was left with a little baby ... my Henry. Henry often talks to me about his mother, and always with affection. It is because of her that he has been so good to the Tudors."

"Who are the Tudors?" I asked.

"Oh, they are worthy men. They have always supported the House of Lancaster. Of course they would. Are they not Henry's half-brothers? You see, when King Henry the Fifth died, Katharine, my Henry's mother, was considered to be of little importance and her son had his own household governesses and nurses and so on and was taken right out of her hands."

"I always think that is cruel to children."

"Kings and queens have their duties and they are not in the nursery. Katharine made a life for herself with Owen Tudor. That is where the Tudors come in. It is a true story of romantic love lived in secret."

I listened avidly to what she told me of the widowed queen who had fallen in love with the humble Welsh squire and had married him ... some said; others were sure that she had not; but they were able to live together slightly removed from the court and so enjoyed a happy life with their children until they were discovered by the Duke of Gloucester, brother of King Henry the Fifth, who destroyed their happiness. Owen Tudor was arrested on a charge of treason and the queen separated from the children and sent to Bermondsey Abbey where she died.

"What a sad end to their story," I said.

"Life is often like that, as doubtless you will learn."

"And what happened to Owen Tudor?"

"He escaped from prison. Henry was good to his half-brothers and they have been loyal to him. They have served the House of Lancaster well. Owen was taken prisoner at Mortimer Cross and beheaded in the market place at Hereford on the orders of that man who calls himself King Edward the Fourth."

"Why do there have to be these wars? Why cannot everyone be happy!"

"Because there are rights to be fought for." She was fierce and angry again, and her anger was for the loyal Tudor who had lost his head, and I could not help remembering her glee when she had talked of the Duke of York's head with the paper crown. I recoiled from her. That was typical of our relationship. I felt repelled one moment and drawn to her the next. I suppose her feelings for me were somewhat similar. There were times when she remembered I was a member of that hated family, and at others she saw me as a poor helpless girl, buffeted by fate just as she herself must have been at my age.

War was a futile and terrible operation. Richard would not agree with me; nor would my father. Wars brought wealth and power to some, and it seemed that was what most men wanted.

One day when I was with the Queen we heard the sound of approaching riders. We rose and went to the window. Two men were galloping up to the castle. They had clearly ridden far.

I saw the queen catch her breath and without a word she hurried to the door and went down the staircase. I followed her.

The men leaped from the horses and came towards us. They were dishevelled and travel-stained but I knew before they spoke that they were the bearers of good news.

"Madam ... my lady." They knelt to the queen.

"The day is won."

There was ecstasy in the queen's face. It was clear that my father had succeeded.

The messengers were brought in. They must be refreshed, but first we must hear just a little more ... enough to reassure the queen that the victory was secure.

"Your Grace ... my lady ... when the earl landed the south fell into his hands with ease. Edward, who called himself king, was in the north subduing a rebellion there."

"And what of Edward now?" asked Margaret.

"He is in flight, my lady. They say he has left the country."

"He would not come here, I trow," said Margaret grimly.

"It is believed he is on his way to Holland."

"And the Duke of Gloucester?" I heard myself saying.

"The Duke of Gloucester, my lady?" said the messenger puzzled.

"He would be with his brother, I doubt not." "The impostor has been truly routed?" asked the queen.

"There is no doubt of this?"

"No doubt, my lady. No doubt at all. The earl has ridden through the streets of London, King Henry with him."

She clasped her hands and smiled at the messengers.

"You have ridden far, my good men. You shall rest a while. You shall be refreshed with food. Then you shall talk more to us."

She summoned one of the guards and instructed him to look after the men who had ridden so far with the good news and were now clearly exhausted.

Then she turned to me.

"The waiting is over. Your father has fulfilled his promise to me. And now, my child, you shall be the future Queen of England."

I could not share her exultation, but she was too happy to notice. I think that must have been one of the happiest moments of her life.

Later I heard more of what had happened. Edward had been betrayed by the man who had been his most ardent supporter -my uncle John Neville. My father had often referred to John as one of the few Nevilles who had been a traitor to the family.

When my father had turned against Edward, John had maintained his loyalty to the king. He said he had sworn to serve Edward and would not break his vows and so could not follow his brother mighty as he was in this campaign to replace Edward with Henry.

Such loyalty from a Neville should have been well rewarded, but Edward had made a great mistake when he had slighted John Neville. One would have thought that the very fact of John's being a Neville would have made Edward appreciate his loyalty. But this Edward had failed to do. John saw himself as Lord of the North, holding it for Edward. Edward's mistake was to take the earldom of Northumberland from John and bestow it on Henry Percy, compensating John with the Marquisate of Montagu. John Neville considered this gross ingratitude after he had turned his back on his family to support the king. It was the deciding factor, the turning point, for, Warwick being in charge of the armies in the south, John only had to turn his army against the king to capture the north. This he did and Edward's army, realising that he was on the point of total defeat, deserted him. Thus he lost the day and had no recourse but to flee the country.

My father, having unmade Edward, then proceeded to make Henry king.

For so long we had waited. Now was the time for us to return to England. I was deeply disturbed. The one thought dominating my mind was my marriage to the Prince of Wales which would now be celebrated.

We must leave Amboise for Paris, said the queen. There we should meet Edward and we must make plans without delay.

I wondered if she noticed how depressed I was. She might have expected me to rejoice with her at my father's victory. She was almost reconciled to accepting me as a daughter-in-law. I had managed to please her, perhaps she thought I was quiet and unassuming and would be docile.

There were two thoughts dominating my mind. I should have to many Edward in England, so there would be a little respite. I tried to put that out my mind, telling myself there would be some time before it could happen. There would have to be a great deal of preparation. The other thought was Richard. What had happened to him? Where was he now and what was he thinking? How long would he and Edward be content to stay in Holland? They would be certain to make an attempt to win back the throne.

I went to find the messengers to see if they had any news about Richard. I could not have asked such questions in the queen's presence.

I found them in the kitchen. There was a plate of bread and meat before each of them.

They rose as I entered and I bade them be seated. I told them that I did not want to interrupt their meal for they must be hungry and weary.

"Tis less wearying bringing good news, my lady," said one.

"Aye," agreed the other.

"There's always a good welcome for good news."

"How are the people taking the change at home?" I asked.

"I always heard they were very fond of King Edward."

"Aye, twas so, my lady. He is such a bonny man and loved by the ladies, and the men too have a place in their hearts for him. But the battle went against him and he lost... and now he's gone." "Who went with him?"

"A few of his friends."

"His brother, the Duke of Gloucester, of course."

"Oh aye. Certainly the little duke. He's always with his brother. A fine man, Edward. Every inch a king."

"And what about King Henry?"

"Poor King Henry. He has been treated as no king should be. I was there at the time ... long ago it seems now ... when they brought him through the Chepe and Cornhill to the Tower. They had bound his legs to a horse and put straw in his hair, and jeered at him as he passed along. That was no way to treat a king. People remember, but they say Henry bears no grudge. He's a good man ... bit of a saint, they say. Should have been a monk not a king. He might have had some peace then. I doubt he wants to be king. I reckon he'd be happier with Edward on the throne ... if only he was treated right."

"And you really think they have been illtreating him?"

"I saw him before I left... riding through the streets, king again. The bishop and the archbishop, brother of the Earl of Warwick, went down to the Tower to bring him out. Those who were with him said they found him dirty and neglected ... like a shadow, they said, or a sack of wool and as mute as a crowned calf. So they dressed him up in fine clothes and set a crown on his head and they took him to Westminster. They'd made a king of him. But he did not look like one and the people were all talking of King Edward."

My feelings were mixed. I had been so sorry for the queen and now she was in a state of bliss; but I was fearful for myself because this turn of events had brought me closer to what I dreaded more than anything in the world.

And at the back of my mind was the thought of Richard. I could picture his sorrow and anger at seeing his brother driven from the throne. My heart was with Richard, but it was my own father who had brought this sorrow in him. I had been brought up to revere my father. I had been told many times that he was the greatest man in the kingdom. But I loved Richard: I had been enchanted by his brother Edward and I could easily understand why the people loved him and wanted him for their king. How would they like his going and seeing in his place one who was like a sack of wool and a crowned calf?

Something told me they would not and this was not the end of the conflict. And I guessed that the same thoughts were in the minds of the messengers.

I left them then, for no more was to be learned. They had been sent to bring the glad tidings and their duty was done. When they had rested for a night they would return to England.

And what of us, I wondered?

The queen sent for me.

"I confess," she said, "that I did not always believe that your father would do this. I did not trust him entirely. But he has proved himself to be a man of honour."

Had he, I wondered? He had turned from the king and supported his rival. Was that honourable? And he had done it because he had wanted power, and if he could not reach it through one king he would try to do so through another. But little as I knew of state affairs, I sensed in that moment that my father had made a mistake. The people would never accept Henry; and was Edward the man to stand aside and let them?

Margaret went on: "First we must give our thanks to God for this victory and when that is done we will make our plans. As soon as we are in England you shall be married. This I have promised your father and I shall keep my word. Now let us plan. We shall be leaving here for Paris. My son will have heard the good news by now. He will be there. Then we shall go to England to claim our crown. You look thoughtful, child. You must rejoice. This is a happy day for us all. The House of Lancaster is back where it belongs."

We did not leave immediately. The next day messengers arrived at the chateau with the news that the King of France was on his way to Amboise to visit Margaret. She must of course be there to receive him.

More than a week passed before the arrival of the king and in the meantime the chateau was given over to preparation for his visit. It was unthinkable that we could leave at such a time.

In due course he arrived with his queen, Charlotte of Savoy.

He received the queen and me in a very friendly manner and told us that it was a source of great pleasure to him to know that events were going well in England.

Louis was an extraordinary man. I could not trust him. He was quite unlike a king: he had little dignity, was careless in his dress and there was a complete lack of formality in his speech and behaviour. He was amiable, but there was a watchfulness about him, a certain slyness which suggested he might be planning something which was quite alien to his utterances.

I could not get out of my mind the stories I had heard of his vengeful nature and how he had made a particularly gruesome prison of his chateau of Loches where he imprisoned his enemies in the oubliettes there those dungeon-like underground prisons into which men were thrown and left to be forgotten as the name implied. What had impressed me so deeply was that Louis was reputed to pay periodic visits to Loches that he might peer down on those men whom he had imprisoned and then watch as they progressed towards their grisly end. There were also rumours that he imprisoned men in iron cages and reduced them to the state of animals.

Some might say that there would always be those to malign kings and people in high places, but I could believe these rumours of Louis, even while he was displaying such friendship towards Margaret and benignity to me.

I liked his wife, Charlotte; she was a placid woman who was now pregnant. I had heard it said that she was either giving birth or preparing to do so; and it was maliciously hinted that Louis far preferred the society of his mistress, Marguerite de Sassenage, and spent only long enough with Charlotte to impregnate her and so keep her busy bearing the children of France.

I could understand how he had earned the soubriquet of the Spider King. However, Charlotte seemed happy enough, so perhaps she was as eager to be rid of him as he was of her.

He certainly seemed to be pleased by what was happening in England, and was eager to celebrate the victory. That seemed reasonable enough as King Henry was related to him; moreover Margaret was French. Naturally France would support the House of Lancaster against that of York. It was Louis who had brought my father and Margaret together and prevailed on Margaret to make up their quarrel. So this was his victory as it was Margaret's.

It was easy to talk to Louis. I had heard someone say of him that if one had met him by chance one would take him for a man of low condition rather than a person of distinction. There was truth in that, for he was a little slovenly in his dress rare in a king of France so that one did not feel, when talking to him, that one was with the king. It seemed that he preferred to be with the humble rather than the nobility.

"It pleases me," he said, "to contemplate your good fortune. Your father is a man I esteem as much as any man I know. He will rule England wisely with the help of the queen. The poor king is alas in a sorry state. But with the Earl of Warwick to guide him he will be in good hands. We shall be good neighbours, which is what I have always wanted." He smiled slyly and I wondered how sincere he was in this.

"The rightful king will be restored to the throne and one day you, my dear, will be Queen of England. That is what gives me pleasure."

The celebrations were not of long duration, for I had discovered that the king was parsimonious in the extreme, and could not bear to see money wasted.

He spent a good deal of time with Margaret, and I for one could not regret his delaying our preparations to return to England, for I knew what awaited me there.

He was at the chateau for about two weeks, which was a long time for him. He was restless and spent much time wandering about his kingdom.

So far Prince Edward had not come to us and the queen was very eager to make some plans with him. She believed he was in Paris and after the king had departed we set out for that city.

It was now well into November and the weather was not good, which meant that our journey was considerably delayed. We were naturally anxious to know what was happening in England and we were ever on the watch for messengers, but as winter was with us and the sea was so treacherous at that time, it might be difficult for them to reach us.

Edward was not in Paris when we arrived and we must wait there. Fortunately, due to our benefactor, the King of France, there was no lack of hospitality. I was surprised that Margaret did not chafe more against the delays. Then I came to the conclusion that she wished my father to bring the country to a settled state before we returned.

I think Edward was gathering together an army. Perhaps he, too, was hoping that when we returned it would be to a welcome and not to deal with uprisings and such like which might well occur after the banishing of a popular king and replacing him by one such as Henry. I was unsure of what was happening. I knew that my mother was still in France. Isabel had returned to England with Clarence who had followed my father there. They were still allies at this stage, but I fancy uneasy ones. Clarence had been convinced that he was to have the throne. I wondered what his reactions were when the plans were changed and Henry was to be restored.

After a while Prince Edward arrived in Paris and my fears were confirmed. He was in a state of great excitement seeing himself as king. He did not believe that his father could ever reign. It might well be that he would become regent until Henry's death. His formidable mother would expect to reign with him. But she doted on him and he saw a glorious future before him, I was sure. Of course, he had to take me as part of the bargain. I shivered at the thought. It had been like a cloud hanging over me and now the storm was about to break.

We should be married in England, for it would not be fitting for the heir to the throne to marry in a foreign country. I guessed that as soon as we returned the arrangements would be made. The thought filled me with panic.

How could my father have done this to me? But what did any of these power-seeking men care whom they used as long as advantage to them was the result? How I wished I had not been born Warwick's daughter. I should have been much happier as one of the village girls. I longed more than ever for those childhood days at Middleham.

In truth Edward frightened me. He kissed my hand as though with affection; he spoke to me caressingly; and his eyes studied me. What did I see there? A faint contempt. I would be unlike the women he had known. What sort of women would he like? I had heard of no romances. Perhaps he was the kind who visited low taverns, who indulged his lust with serving maids. I could think that very likely. I was small too young to be formed as a woman yet. My hair was my real beauty being long and fair. I supposed I was not ill-favoured. Both Isabel and I had been referred to as beauties. But that was a term applied to all princesses or ladies of the nobility especially when they were being used as bargaining counters in proposed marriages. I had an idea that I should not suit his fancies: he would prefer someone bold, practised ... not an inexperienced girl. Yet there were times when I seemed to detect a sly lust in his eyes and that alarmed me. I wished Isabel were here. If only there was someone I could talk to ... someone comfortable and homely, someone like Ankarette Twynyho.

But there was no one and I felt very lonely and full of fear.

Every morning I reminded myself: the marriage cannot take place until we are in England. And I prayed for more delays.

Edward spent a good deal of time with his mother. His stay with us must be brief, she told me. He should not delay long before going to England to claim his inheritance. Louis had been helpful, but getting money from him for supplies was not an easy task. He was notoriously mean and wanted some reward for his beneficence.

How glad I was when Edward left us, but now we ourselves must prepare in earnest for our return to England.

The winter is not the best time to travel but we set out on our journey. By this time it was the beginning of March and we were often hindered by the snow. We would be received at some chateau on our way and often found ourselves delayed by snow-blocked roads. It was a long and uncomfortable journey, but with the coming of April we found ourselves at Honfleur, to be confronted by a truly turbulent sea. We dared not risk the crossing while such conditions prevailed.

Each morning when I awoke the first thing I did was look out of my window. I would rejoice in that heaving mass of water. I would lie in bed at night and listen to the wind which howled and the waves which pounded against the shore.

We cannot go yet, I would whisper gleefully to myself: and I would try to shut out the memory of Edward's contemptuous yet lecherous eyes.

When messengers arrived I guessed they had something of great importance to tell us since they had braved the sea.

I was with the queen when they reached us. They were brought in immediately.

This time they did not come with smiles and good news but, as the bearers of ill tidings will be, they were hesitant to impart it.

Tell us your news," said Margaret sternly.

"I am waiting."

"Your Grace, my lady, Edward of York, with his brother, the Duke of Gloucester, Earl Rivers and Lord Hastings, have landed at Ravenspur and are marching on to York."

The queen closed her eyes. I went to her and took her by the arm. She shook me off a little impatiently, angry that I had assumed weakness in her. "Ravenspur," she said.

"Where is that?"

"It is at the mouth of the Humber."

"That is the north. He has ill judged his landing. The north was always for Warwick. What other news?"

"He has a force of two thousand with him English and Burgundians."

"Two thousand! What chance will they have?"

"I have to tell your Grace that he has reached the city of York and York has opened its gates to him."

"The traitors!"

"There are rumours that Edward of York has come back only to claim his dukedom."

"Impertinence," murmured the queen.

But she was very shaken, I could see. She dismissed the messengers and motioned me to sit with her. I did so. She took my hand suddenly and pressed it. And then we sat on in silence.

The days which followed were like a dream. The gigantic waves still defied us to do battle with them. All we could do was look out over that stormy sea to England and wonder what was happening there.

We had always known that Edward of York was not the man to stand aside and let the Earl of Warwick take the crown from him. He would rally men to him; the people loved him. He looked like a king; he acted like a king; and if he made mistakes, they were kingly mistakes. I had always known that the people would not want Henry. They might pity him, but pity should not be for kings. They hated Margaret merely for being a foreigner, if for nothing else, but there was plenty more to turn them against her. They did not want her or her son or her husband. They wanted Edward. There might be mighty kingmakers like my father, but it was almost always the people who kept kings on their thrones.

I learned afterwards what was happening in England.

My father had never really succeeded in ruling the country. People wanted a king, a figurehead, someone above them, aloof, because of the aura of royalty which they regarded as holy. A king must be a minor god who can wear a golden crown and purple velvet and on whom they can bestow their adulation.

There was something else which happened at that time. When Edward had landed, the Duke of Clarence had cast aside his allegiance to the Earl of Warwick and gone to Edward.

I can imagine his appeal.

"We are brothers, Edward. Should we be enemies? I was seduced by the earl. I listened to evil council. You are my brother, Edward. I want to serve you. Can you forgive me?" Surely it would have been something like that.

And Edward would forgive. When those who had served him ill came to him and begged for forgiveness, it was usually readily given. And this was his brother.

I wondered if it occurred to Edward that Clarence had come back to him because my father had set Henry on the throne after hinting that it was to be for him, Clarence? Surely that must have occurred to Edward? But, as I heard, readily he embraced his brother. It was like the parable of the prodigal son.

Richard talked of it later to me. He said: "It was always like that with George. He would do something very wrong and then he would beg for forgiveness. He was never denied it not by my brother nor my sister Margaret, whose favourite he was. Even my mother would relent for him."

So there had been another blow for my father. But it was more than that. The country wanted a king and who had the Kingmaker given them? Poor pathetic, saintly, half-mad Henry? Certainly not. They had Warwick to rule them. And Warwick, mighty as he was, lacked the aura of royalty.

What was happening in England, I asked myself as we waited there at Honfleur?

The sea was a little calmer.

"We cannot wait for ever," said Margaret.

"A great deal is happening in England. I should be there. We must delay no longer."

Prince Edward had joined us. He had gathered men and supplies from Louis and we were ready to cross. I heard that my mother was about to return to England and I was relieved also to be told that she was well. I wished that I could see her and could have been comforted by her presence all these months when I had been with the queen. But I should see my mother when I returned to England. I should also see Isabel.

The crossing was all that we had feared it would be and we arrived at Weymouth feeling battered and exhausted.

Sombre news awaited us there.

My father was dead. He had been killed at the Battle of Barnet.