The Sun in Splendour

Chapter I THE MEETING IN WHITTLEBURY FOREST

Jacquetta was watching from the topmost turret of Grafton Manor for the arrival of her daughter. She herself had made sure that Elizabeth’s bedchamber was ready and that it should be as comfortable as she could make it. Poor Elizabeth would be in need of comfort, sorrowing widow that she was with two young children to provide for and an uncertain future before her.

These were indeed uncertain times. The wretched war went on and on – swaying this way and that, victory one day for York and the next for Lancaster.

A plague on their wars, thought Jacquetta, which continually took a warm-blooded woman’s husband away from her and robbed her daughter of hers altogether.

At least her beloved Richard was safe and had managed to send news to her after having fled with the King somewhere up to the north, for the message had come to her from Newcastle. They were the losers again, and this time it seemed that some conclusion might be reached for Edward of York had proclaimed himself King and the people favoured him. He was a young man of great charm, Jacquetta had to admit, although the Rivers were staunch Lancastrians. ‘Every inch a King,’ was what they said of Edward; and as he was almost six feet four there were a good many inches. He was a magnificent soldier, an ardent lover of women and the greatest possible contrast to poor Henry who was so saintly that he longed to be a monk and had on more than one occasion lapsed into madness.

Perhaps, thought Jacquetta, we are on the wrong side.

Her heart began to beat faster for in the distance she could make out a party of riders. Her daughter must be among them. She would go down at once to meet her, to assure her that she was welcome, that Grafton was her home and should remain so for as long as she wished it to be.

The sight of her daughter filled her with pride. Elizabeth was as beautiful as ever – the most handsome of a very attractive family. Jacquetta had reason to be proud of the children she had borne Richard – seven sons and seven daughters, and Elizabeth, the eldest, had made a very quiet entrance into the world for their marriage had been frowned on in high places and everything connected with it had had to be conducted with the utmost secrecy.

Elizabeth had dismounted. She was as calm as her mother expected her to be. Little ruffled Elizabeth and it had always been so from nursery days. Elizabeth had taken command which was perhaps natural as she was the eldest, and her brothers, lively young boys as they had been, could never get the better of their sister Elizabeth.

‘My dearest,’ cried Jacquetta, embracing her daughter. ‘This is a sorry occasion.’

Elizabeth returned her mother’s embrace with restrained affection.

‘We knew you would offer us a haven,’ she said. She led the boys forward. Thomas and Richard Grey were pleasant looking and about ten and eight years of age, old enough to realise that the death of their father was a very tragic event and of great consequence to them.

Jacquetta kissed her grandsons with fervour, calling them her little lambs whom she was glad to have in her keeping.

‘Come in, dear child,’ she went on, putting her arm through that of her daughter. ‘You will be weary. Your own room is ready for you, and the boys will be next to you. Welcome to Grafton, my darlings. Your home, dear Elizabeth, as it ever was and always will be while I am here.’

‘My heartfelt thanks, dear lady,’ said Elizabeth. ‘For we are indeed in dire circumstances.’

They went into the Manor together.

‘It has been a long ride to Northamptonshire,’ went on Elizabeth.

‘Never mind, my child. Now you are here.’

The boys were taken to rooms made ready for them and Jacquetta accompanied Elizabeth to hers.

‘There, my child, just as it used to be. You’ll be happy again. I promise you.’

‘Have you read the signs?’

Jacquetta hesitated. Many people thought she was a witch. She was in a way, she supposed. She had on occasions foretold the future but in her heart she was not sure whether she had wanted something to happen and had made it so by her own actions. The water nymph of the Rhine, Melusina, was said to have been an ancestress of hers. It was one of those lovely legends which became attached to some families. Supernatural beings found their way into the family history by beguiling one of its members and thus infused some strain either for good or evil which appeared in the family for generations. The House of Luxembourg had Melusina, and the serpent who was said to be a familiar of that fair enchantress had become one of the devices on the shields of the Luxembourg Princes. Because she came from the ruling Luxembourg family and had the right to the device, the suspicion that she was a sorceress had been born; and Jacquetta found it intriguing and often useful so, while she did not exactly encourage it, she did nothing to deny it.

‘There is a great fortune for you,’ she said now. ‘My daughter, your fortunes are at a low ebb but that will change. There is such a dazzling prospect before you that soon you will be looking back to this day and realising that it was only a stepping-stone to great things. It is the little dark wood which you must traverse before you reach the pastures of prosperity.’

‘Oh, dear lady, is that what you wish for me or what you prophesy?’

‘Elizabeth, I would say this to none but you, but sometimes I do not know the difference.’

Elizabeth threw back her hood. Then the full blaze of her beauty struck even her mother speechless even though she had been aware of it. It was always like that after she had not seen her for a while. Elizabeth knew it and there was just a hint of the dramatic in the manner in which the hood was thrown back.

The beautiful golden hair fell loose about her shoulders to her knees. It rippled and shone where the light caught it; it softened her face which in its perfect classical features might have been a little repellingly cold without it. Her teeth were white and perfect; her eyes a greyish blue fringed with long thick golden lashes; the nose straight, neither long nor short, but perfect. Jacquetta always thought that Elizabeth had inherited the best features from each parent; and they were two exceedingly handsome people.

Elizabeth, however, had inherited little of her mother’s warmth. She was clever, and had been from a child, and Jacquetta had always thought: Elizabeth can take care of herself. That was why it was such a triumph to have her come home now in this time of need.

‘The estates have been confiscated,’ Elizabeth said. ‘We have nothing at all. Dear Mother, I need to get through that dark wood quickly.’

‘You will. I promise you that. These are strange times.’

‘Warwick has made Edward of York King and he will remain so, they say. Henry has no heart for battle.’

‘There is the Queen,’ Jacquetta reminded her daughter. ‘And the little Prince.’

‘Margaret will fight to the death,’ said Elizabeth. ‘But Margaret is a fool.’

‘It is well that lady is not able to hear you say that.’

‘She would rage against me, threaten me with all sorts of horrible punishments, and then, when I reminded her of our friendship and service to her cause, embrace me, forgive me, and tell me she would always feel affection for me. That is Margaret.’

‘You should know her. You served in her bedchamber and such service is the best way to know queens intimately.’

‘Mother, we are on the losing side. The sooner we face that the better.’

‘Dear child, noble families cannot change sides because they are on the losing one.’

‘They all say that Edward has come to stay. Warwick will see to that and it is Warwick who makes and unmakes kings.’

‘Edward has the looks of a king which is just what poor Henry lacks, but kings are not chosen for their looks.’

‘They have some effect surely,’ said Elizabeth. ‘And while the Yorkists reign I shall never regain my estates, my children will have nothing and I shall remain a widow.’

‘My dearest child, you have the greatest asset of all.’

‘And what is that?’

‘Yourself. Your beauty ... I never saw a more lovely creature. There! How can you despair when you have such gifts!’ She came nearer to her daughter, and spoke softly, mysteriously. ‘Change is coming, I promise you. Your fortunes will be reversed. Wait, Elizabeth. Be patient. Trust your mother. Trust the old serpent of the Rhine.’

Elizabeth looked at her mother eagerly, hopefully.

At least I have managed to raise her spirits, thought Jacquetta.

She left her daughter to wash and rest while she went to her own room.

It was good to have Elizabeth and the boys with her. The trouble with children was that they went away – boys to be brought up in other noble houses and girls to the homes of their future husbands. Life was sad – and made so by absurd conventions. Families should be together. Jacquetta had always rebelled against doing what was expected of her. She believed that a woman of spirit should judge for herself.

She had been forced into marriage when she was sixteen years old. A very grand marriage in which her family had rejoiced. She remembered her uncle Louis of Luxembourg, Bishop Therouanne, coming to her rubbing his hands together murmuring: ‘Great good fortune, niece. Such a marriage I have arranged for you.’

There had had to be a certain amount of secrecy because the great Duke of Burgundy would have objected. Everybody then had been terrified of offending the great Duke of Burgundy, even the important man they had succeeded in capturing for her husband. And the reason was not only that Burgundy did not want the English to have fresh influence with Luxembourg but because the bridegroom had just become a widower, his late wife having been the sister of the Great Duke himself.

An intriguing situation which had appealed to that arch intriguante Jacquetta. Her prospective husband was the mighty Duke of Bedford, the most important man in France at that time, some said, because he was the Regent and had been so since the death of his brother Henry the Fifth who had conquered France and married the French King’s daughter. No wonder her family had been eager for the match. She was not averse to it herself apart from the fact that she was being forced into it and Jacquetta always liked to make up her own mind – then she saw him. He was in his forties and he seemed to her a very old man.

However the marriage took place. He was not unkind. He thought her very pretty and charming – and she did not see very much of him because he was always engaged in weighty matters and with the ceremonies over there was another important concern for him – the pacification of the mighty Burgundy.

The marriage did not last long. Poor old man, he died worn out by his troubles and deeply depressed because he saw that the English were losing their grip on France.

And Jacquetta had been free. She had been seventeen when she saw the most handsome man in England. He was not so only in her eyes because she had heard him called that by others. Richard Woodville of the Mote Maidstone until his elder brother died and he inherited Grafton in Northamptonshire.

Richard had served Jacquetta’s late husband well and had been knighted by Henry the Sixth at Leicester about ten years before they met. Of course even with his knighthood he was only a humble squire and she was the daughter of the Count St Pol of the reigning House of Luxembourg. Jacquetta had known that if she had made known her desire to marry Richard Woodville there would be protests from her family. Protests? – More than that. It would be strictly forbidden and attempts would be made to hustle her into marriage with someone of high rank and very likely no physical attractions for her whatsoever. The fact was that after she had seen Richard Woodville no one else would do for her, so with what her uncle called a wanton lack of consideration for her rank she had married the handsomest man in England in secret, consummated the marriage with such verve that before her irate brother and her uncle knew of it she was enceinte with Elizabeth, which made any annulling of the marriage impossible.

Jacquetta had been ecstatically happy and had fourteen children one after the other and looked scarcely a day older than she had been when she had married her beautiful Richard. She knew it was whispered that she was a sorceress, for none but a witch could continue to look so young and beautiful and full of vitality after so much childbearing.

Jacquetta could and did. There were powders and concoctions besides lotions to help the hair retain its colour. She was knowledgeable in such arts and if that was witchcraft, then she was a witch. But she enjoyed her life, except when her husband and sons were torn from their homes to fight these wretched wars of the roses. But her nature was such that she knew the reunions could not have been so glorious but for the partings. There were great compensations in life.

Secretly she was glad that Edward now seemed firmly on the throne. He might be the enemy but the acceptance of him as king would stop the wars, and more than anything she wanted her family to be safe and with her whenever possible.

‘I am proud of my Woodvilles,’ she would say, ‘every one of them.’ And once more she would congratulate herself on her wisdom in snapping her fingers at convention and following the path of romance. It was an unwritten law that when a woman married once for state reasons, the next time – if there was a next time – she should choose for herself. And that was exactly what she had done. Poor Richard, he had been bewildered, a little fearful, but she had swept him off his feet, and he had been no match for the demanding determined Duchess of Bedford.

He had been right of course to fear there would be trouble. Her brother the Count of St Pol and her uncle, Louis of Luxembourg and Bishop of Therouanne, had sent bitter reproaches and declared they did not want to see her again. She snapped her fingers at them. She could endure the separation, she declared. They were naturally not the only ones who were angry. There was also the English royal house for in marrying the Duke of Bedford she had become a member of that.

Henry was lenient though and all that had been demanded was a fine of a thousand pounds. It was not easy to find that money, of course, for Richard was only a poor knight, but they had managed and very soon were forgiven for Richard was firm in his allegiance to the House of Lancaster and he had been raised to the peerage for his services and was now Lord Rivers, a name they had chosen from the old family one of Redvers. Happy years they had been, saddened only by separation and the fear of what might be happening to him in those stupid wars. In common with many women Jacquetta did not greatly care which side was successful as long as there could be an end to the senseless killing.

No one was safe – but when had they ever been? At any moment a man could offend someone in a high place and some pretext would be found for taking off his head. The best life was in the country, away from the Court and dangerous affairs, and that was where Jacquetta liked to be with her family about her.

And now here was Elizabeth come home in her trouble: beautiful Elizabeth with her long golden hair and face that resembled a Greek statue, tall, willowy, still with a figure unimpaired by the bearing of children.

Jacquetta fingered the serpent’s device on the brooch she was wearing.

She was certain that her beautiful daughter would find a way out of her troubles. Of all her children, Elizabeth was the one who knew best how to take care of herself.

During the months that followed Elizabeth had plenty of time to brood on her fate. It seemed worse to her because she had planned it all so differently. Being exceptionally beautiful for as long as she could remember she had expected to reap benefits from her outstanding physical perfections. She had been aware of admiration from the cradle; and although she knew that her father was not one of the powerful nobles of England, she had expected a good marriage.

Perhaps she would have been wiser to have accepted Sir Hugh Johnes. He was, it was true, of no great significance but he had been under the patronage of the great Earl of Warwick and might have risen. But she had declined, and it was only now that this calamity had befallen her that she was wondering whether she should have taken him.

Elizabeth had always felt that some special fate was in store for her. Her mother had hinted at it more than once and whether Jacquetta really could see into the future was not certain, but like most people Elizabeth liked to believe auguries that were good and only doubted when they were not.

To have been born the daughter of a mesalliance was in itself dramatic. Of course they had been poor and there were so many brothers and sisters; Jacquetta had dominated the family for their father was away a great deal and in any case was completely under the spell of his exciting wife. Warm-hearted, lively Jacquetta, about whom there was an aura of mystery because of the serpent of Melusina, had formed close family ties and Elizabeth, in spite of the calculating streak in her nature, was one of them and could never forget that she was a Woodville.

Woodvilles stand together, Jacquetta had said. The good fortune of one of us is the good fortune of all and so shall it be if troubles are to come. It was the code of the family and none would ever forget it.

She remembered with excitement the day she left for Windsor there to play her part of lady of the bedchamber to the Queen.

Margaret of Anjou had liked her even though there could not have been two women less alike. Margaret was impulsive, fiercely vindictive to her enemies and as fiercely faithful to her friends. Elizabeth was cool, and rarely acted on impulse; she was always looking for the advantage to herself as she must, being born without the means to buy a rich and powerful husband. But marriages were rarely arranged by the young people concerned; they were not the result of demanding passion, devoted love. Oh no, lands, possession, titles came into it; and the least physically desirable parti had far greater chance if possessed of a fortune than the most beautiful woman on earth who was without one.

Such knowledge rankled; and Elizabeth was wary. If her father was a humble knight who had managed to get into the peerage for service to a cause which was now out of favour, her mother though disowned was of the reigning House of Luxembourg. Elizabeth had decided that she was not going to throw away her chances lightly.

Margaret had become quite fond of her. Elizabeth knew how to please her, and that was to listen to her tirades against the Duke of York, to murmur sympathetically, to admire the Prince of Wales as the most perfect baby that ever had been born, and to show an interest in Margaret’s gowns which was not difficult for Elizabeth herself liked splendour. We are of a kind in one way, she thought. We have both had impoverished childhoods, but she has become a queen. What a triumph – and yet now Margaret had lost her crown ... or not exactly lost it. Margaret would never agree to that. But she was in exile and the young godlike Edward, who had so caught the people’s fancy, was on the throne. To stay, some said.

And that brought her back to the ever recurring theme. And we are on the wrong side.

If only her father had sported the white rose instead of the red! He might have known that Henry was not going to prevail over York. York had had everything on his side. He was energetic while Henry was lethargic as far as war was concerned; Henry wanted to read his books, listen to music, plan buildings and pray. Oh those prayers! They went on interminably. Elizabeth was grateful that Margaret had become a little impatient with them. York was a ruler; he even declared he had a greater claim to the throne and some agreed with him. The usurpation of Henry’s grandfather was a constant topic, and York’s having descended from two branches of the royal tree was true enough. York had the greater claim; he was more fitted to be the king. Moreover he had the Earl of Warwick on his side. It should have been obvious to any that York was going to succeed. A clever man would have arranged something to enable him to change sides but her father had not done it; nor had her husband.

She sighed. Yes, perhaps it would have been wise to have taken Hugh Johnes.

She often thought of Hugh, though she had had no deep feelings for him; nor had she a great deal for John Grey. One must, she was sure, remain calm in these matters. Her mother had been so different. She had thrown away rank and power possibly for the sake of Richard Woodville, and never regretted it. But Jacquetta was different from others. She had been a member of the royal House of Luxembourg; she had made one brilliant marriage and had been the Duchess of Bedford, a member of the royal family, before she married Richard Woodville for love. Jacquetta had had a wonderful life, she always said. She may have had. But what of her poor penniless offspring?

Margaret had said when Elizabeth arrived to be a lady of her bedchamber: ‘Ah you are beautiful. I shall have no difficulty in finding a husband for you.’

Margaret’s matchmaking had been something of a joke at Court. She took time off from meddling in state matters to get her ladies as she said ‘settled’.

Nothing had pleased her more than to pair off people; to get them married, to watch for the children and bestow gifts on them. A strange trait in such an ambitious fiery little Queen.

It was of course not long before Hugh appeared and no sooner had he set eyes on Elizabeth than he had wanted to marry her. Elizabeth had known what was in his mind and had not been very excited. He was reputed to be a brave knight; he had distinguished himself in the service of the great Earl of Warwick, but he was without a fortune.

This had happened during one of the periods of Henry’s madness when the Duke of York – the present King’s father – was Protector of the Realm and there was peace – although an uneasy one – between the houses of York and Lancaster.

The Queen, being immersed in looking after her husband, had not noticed what was happening to her maid of honour. So it was that Elizabeth was made an offer of marriage. Not by Hugh himself. He was of a timid nature and he must have sensed that Elizabeth had a high opinion of herself for he arranged that others should seek her hand for him. And whom did he ask but the two most important men in the kingdom at that time – the Duke of York himself and one who was perhaps even greater: Warwick the Kingmaker.

She remembered now the letters she had had from those two men and she marvelled at their friendship for Hugh and that they should take time to plead for him.

‘He hath informed me that he hath great love and affection for your person ... I write to you at this time and pray you that you will (at this my request and prayer) condescend and apply you unto his lawful and honest desire ... and cause me to show you such good patronage as shall hold you content and pleased ...’

There was something about the letter which irritated her. He was telling her that he favoured her marriage with this poor knight as being worthy of her and offered his patronage in a lordly condescending manner. This was the great Warwick, friend of the Duke of York whom Margaret regarded as her great enemy.

The Duke of York had written less pompously urging the match which Hugh Johnes so desired and hinting more tactfully than Warwick had done that he would be pleased by the match.

She supposed that Hugh believed she would find requests from such men irresistible. He did not know Elizabeth.

When she had told Jacquetta about the offer Jacquetta had laughed. ‘I like a man to do his own wooing,’ was her comment.

And so do I, thought Elizabeth.

Margaret was pleased when she refused the match.

‘Warwick’s protégé!’ she had cried. ‘And the Duke of York’s! How I hate those two. They are responsible for all our troubles ... for the King’s illness ... everything ... They try to snatch our crown from us. They shall never do that. So you are refusing this man they want to force on you, eh. Good. That is very good. My beautiful Elizabeth, I will find a better match for you.’

And then there had been that staunch Lancastrian.

‘John Grey is a good man,’ said the Queen. ‘He has served us well. The King is fond of him. I have always liked him myself, and he is the heir of Ferrers of Groby. Do you know, my dear, he has a fine place at Bradgate and he is descended from the Norman nobility.’

‘I am in no hurry to marry, my lady,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Of course you are not, but you are wise enough to see a good chance when it comes before you, eh? I believe that in life it is unwise to miss good opportunities hoping for better that may never come.’

So the Queen was in favour of the match, and she was apt to grow impatient with those who did not fall in with her wishes.

Elizabeth had thought about a match with John Grey and Jacquetta had agreed with the Queen that it would be a good one. John Grey was young, good-looking and very much in love with the beautiful Elizabeth.

So they were married and she spent several years at Bradgate. She grew to love the place which was about two miles from Groby castle and only four from Leicester. There her two boys were born and, as she had taken quite a liking to the quiet life, the marriage turned out to be quite a happy one. She would ride in the beautiful grounds enjoying the pleasaunces and the fish ponds and the well-kept gardens. It was thrilling to ride over the bridge across the moat and look up at the two towers and the battlements with their quoins and corbels; and to say to herself: This beautiful place belongs to us ... It will be my son’s in time and Groby castle as well.

She had thought at that time that she had done well on her marriage.

All went smoothly until the fighting started. More battles were fought again. Northampton and then Wakefield where the Duke of York had met his death after which his head, adorned by a paper crown, had been stuck up on the walls of the city of York. How Margaret had rejoiced then. Poor Margaret, she should have learned that she was one of those women whom Fate loved to mock. Her triumphs were short-lived and her defeats were very often of her own making.

The brilliant tactics of the Earl of Warwick turned the tables after the Yorkist defeat at St Albans, which was a fateful battle for her for in it her husband had perished and everything had changed. The wife with two boys whose future had seemed secure – or as secure as anything could be in this changing world – had become the widow.

Even then she would have been rich and able to care for her boys. How foolish Margaret could be! The Lancastrians had won the battle of St Albans for her and it was that sly strategist Warwick who had turned it into victory for York by simply taking London and setting up Edward of York as king. The Londoners had always been Yorkists. They were only interested in trading, and the good stable government offered by Edward of York – with the Kingmaker behind him – was what they wanted. They had done with mad Henry; they hated Margaret who was tactless and foreign and had never made any attempt to understand them.

And so Margaret and Henry had become fugitives and Edward of York was King; and because John Grey had fought for the Lancastrians his possessions were confiscated and his widow was forced to fall back on her parents with her two fatherless boys.

And so the months passed and there was no sign of the people’s wavering from their adherence to the new King. They liked Edward. He had a charm which Henry had lacked; he was taller than everyone around him which a king should be; he was more handsome than any of his courtiers; wherever he went the women smiled on him. He had a host of mistresses and, although several marriages had been arranged for him, so far he had remained a bachelor. There were some in the country who feared his way of living was not chaste but the majority of the people laughed at his amorous adventurings and it was said that a smile from him could win even the flintiest heart.

He made his progresses through the country and wherever he went he was welcome. The country was prospering from a peaceful period. Henry was somewhere in the north – in exile or in hiding and Margaret, it was said, had gone to France to seek help.

Let her stay there, said the people. Let Edward continue to reign over them.

It so happened that at this time the King came to Northamptonshire. He very much enjoyed the chase and it seemed certain, said Jacquetta, that he would be hunting in Whittlebury Forest.

‘That,’ commented Elizabeth, ‘is very near us. We can be sure, however, that he will not be calling at Grafton. We are in disgrace.’

‘Ours will not be one of the houses honoured by the King, I grant you. But ...’

Elizabeth looked sharply at her mother. She could see an idea forming in her mind. She was touching the serpent on her brooch as she often did when she was brooding thus.

‘Well?’ asked Elizabeth gently.

‘I think, my dear, that you should try to see the King.’

‘He would never see me. The widow of a Lancastrian and one who served the red rose as John did. Think how many white roses he must have plucked before their time.’

‘I know, I know ... but feuds don’t go on for ever and they say that the King has a forgiving nature, particularly where a beautiful woman is concerned.’

‘Are you proposing that I give favour for favour ...’

‘I suggest no such thing! But something tells me that you should attempt to see Edward of York.’

‘How? Do you think I would be allowed to get through to him if I presented myself?’

‘Assuredly you would not. Therefore I think you should meet him by accident.’ Jacquetta was laughing. ‘A well-planned accident,’ she went on.

‘My dear Mother, what do you plan?’

‘We may need several plans. We could try the forest first. You might meet him there ... by accident of course. Then you could plead for your inheritance ... for your children.’

Elizabeth studied her mother. She was beginning to feel a growing excitement.

At the head of the cavalcade rode the King and beside him his greatest friend William, Lord Hastings. Hastings was some twelve years older than Edward but there was a strong bond between them. In fact, Edward often thought that he was closer to Hastings than to any other man. He had admired Warwick from his childhood. In fact he had regarded him as a sort of god, greater than any man, even Edward’s own father; it was Warwick who had taught him almost everything he knew and but for Warwick’s clever tactics Edward would not be King today. He would never forget that. But Warwick, although only two years or so older than Hastings, seemed of another generation to Edward.

William’s interests were similar to his, and Edward’s chief inclination at this time was involved with women. Hastings shared his exploits. They would go out together disguised as merchants and look for adventures in the streets of London. It was not easy for Edward to disguise himself, for towering above most people, outstandingly handsome, he was often recognised. Many women’s eyes were brightened at the sight of him and even the most virtuous merchant’s wife would find her heart beating a little faster. Edward had a quality beyond charm and beauty, for since he had become King an aura of royalty had grown up about him but, because he was none the less familiar with his subjects because of it, it added vastly to his attractions. He could mingle with the humblest and make them feel significant. Hastings often said that was the true secret of his charm, even more so than that bounding vitality and that promise of hitherto undreamed of delights amorous adventuring with him could bring.

Hastings himself was not without charm. Less obviously handsome than Edward he was still good-looking; he was fairly tall, with an air of nobility, and was not without his admirers. The trouble was, as he pointed out to Edward, we are all like pale stars compared with the sun.

‘Stars are equally bright in their spheres,’ Edward pointed out.

‘Ah,’ retorted Hastings, ‘but we are in that of the sun.’

Hastings was clever, witty, a good commander and best of all a faithful friend. Edward trusted people too easily, Hastings often told him; but Edward shrugged that aside. He was easygoing, good-natured, bent on pleasure. Or he had been before he became King. He was less so now. Hastings often thought that the change had come about when he had seen his father’s head wearing that paper crown on the walls of York. Perhaps it had been even more horrible to him because beside his father was his younger brother Edmund, Duke of Rutland, that boy who had grown up in the nursery with him and who had adored him as most of the family did. Edward had certainly not been the same since he had witnessed that grisly spectacle.

He had seemed to realise that the world was not merely for pleasure. There was cruelty in it, and cruelty must be met with cruelty. Before he had witnessed that terrible sight he had been inclined to forgive his enemies very easily and sweep away all thoughts of revenge.

Perhaps he had become a little more serious, more inclined to rule on his own account, for people were right when they said that Edward wore the crown but the real ruler was Warwick.

So Hastings, the King’s intimate friend, was the first to realise this new seriousness. It was not a bad thing, he thought. Edward was coming into his own, trying to wriggle free of the strings which Warwick held. How far he would break away from them, Hastings was not sure. But Edward was young yet ... twenty-two years of age and still believing that sexual pleasure was the foremost goal for him.

As they rode into Northamptonshire they were talking as they often did of recent conquests and Edward was wondering what new ones lay ahead.

‘You’ll have to mend your ways a little when you are married,’ Hastings reminded him.

‘A little, perhaps,’ retorted Edward.

‘You should be married soon.’

‘There speaks the married man. He is caught himself and wants the rest of us to be in like case.’

‘Katharine understands me,’ said Hastings easily. ‘She knows that I must have a little licence, being the bosom friend of our King.’

‘My reputation does not stand high in the land it seems.’

‘Your nocturnal adventurings are noticed.’

‘But I am not averse to a little dalliance by day.’

‘You are as five men in the field, they say, and as ten in the bedchamber.’

‘Who says that?’

‘The merchants’ wives of London Town, I believe.’

‘Oh come, William, you flatter me and I think you can give a good account of yourself.’

‘There is none in the land who can begin to rival its King.’

‘Has Warwick expressed an opinion?’

‘Warwick? Why should he to me?’

‘Perhaps to his sister.’

‘I hardly think he would hold such discourse with Katharine.’

‘They are a close family and your being his brother-in-law I thought mayhap he may have said a word to you concerning the King’s indiscretions.’

‘He does not frown on them. I think he applauds them in a way. It is strange how some indiscretions arouse the admiration of the people ... but only when performed by one of irresistible good looks and charm.’

‘He has never suggested to me that I should mend my ways.’

Indeed not, thought Hastings. It suits Warwick well. Let the King amuse himself while Warwick rules. Has Warwick noticed the change in the King he has set up since that fearful day when Edward had ridden into York and seen his dead father’s head in its jaunty paper crown?

If Edward were ever to want to take another road than that chosen for him by Warwick, what would happen? Which one of them would prevail? But no, Edward was too easy-going, too fond of luxurious living; and he did not forget that Warwick had made him King. Edward would want to go on playing the king while Warwick ruled. Or would he?

The King loved to hunt and journeys throughout the kingdom were always enlivened by days spent in the chase. Whenever they came to forest they paused for the sport and if it were good rested for a few days to enjoy it.

So it was at the forest of Whittlebury close to Grafton Manor that the King was enjoying a few days hunting. Everyone at the Manor had been aware of the proximity of the King’s party. If the Rivers had been Yorkists it was very likely that the King would have honoured them with his presence. As Lord Rivers had always been a staunch Lancastrian it was certain that he would not, for which, in a way, Jacquetta had said, they should be truly grateful. ‘To entertain the King would impoverish us for the next five years. Our way of living cannot match his, I do assure you.’

But there were secrets in Jacquetta’s eyes and she had managed to convey these to her daughter. Jacquetta knew something was going to happen. Elizabeth could guess that by the far-off look in her eyes. Elizabeth could never be sure whether her mother really did see into the future or whether she dreamed up a possibility and then used all her ingenuity to make it happen.

‘Take the boys,’ she had said, ‘and go into the forest. There is an oak-tree – the largest in the area. It is just where Pury Park ends and Grafton begins. Sit there with the boys and wait.’

‘Why should I do that?’

‘I have heard the royal party are hunting in that vicinity today.’

Jacquetta had means of finding out these things. She surrounded herself with intrigue and her servants were drawn into it. There was no doubt that she would glean knowledge of the royal party’s whereabouts through that communication between her servants and those of other noble houses.

‘It may well be,’ said Jacquetta, ‘that you will see someone to whom you can plead your cause. You have done no harm. It was your husband who fought for the Lancastrians. He is dead. You are ready to accept the new King. It might be that you could make someone understand this.’

Elizabeth stared at her mother. Jacquetta had always been bold and sometimes her schemes had worked out. It was only necessary to consider how she had married the man of her choice in view of the opposition of powerful men.

Jacquetta had gone to the cupboard and was pulling out dresses.

‘This blue is most becoming. It is very simple too. I think it suits you as well as anything you have. Looks such as yours show to perfection against simplicity. Your hair should be quite loose ... no ribands to bind it ... nothing ... no ornaments of any sort except this silver girdle to stress how small your waist is. At ten o’clock the party sets out. They will have to pass the oak if they are hunting in this forest. If you are waiting there ...’

Jacquetta had not mentioned the King but Elizabeth knew that he was in her mind.

So she must play the suppliant, something her proud nature rebelled against. But she was tired of being poor, of seeing no way out of her predicament but marriage to someone who could give her a little comfort and help her sons to make good marriages. It was a dreary prospect.

If she could regain her husband’s confiscated estates she would at least be free. Then she could choose a husband if she wanted to marry again and at least her children would have what was due to them.

But why should the Yorkists reward those who had fought against them? Was it not a hopeless cause? Jacquetta did not think so and Jacquetta had that strange prophetic look in her eyes.

It was true that Elizabeth was at her most beautiful that day. The excitement of this project had set the faintest colour in her cheeks so that she looked like a statue that was just coming to life. That touch of animation enhanced her charm and even Jacquetta who was more than prepared for it was again astonished by the beauty of her daughter.

‘None will be able to resist you,’ she said, ‘if you play your part well.’

It was a short walk to the oak-tree.

The boys were asking questions. Why were they going there? Was it some game?

‘We shall see the huntsmen ride by if we are lucky.’

That pleased them. They were both eager to see the huntsmen ride by.

She came to the oak-tree. It was a great sight, that tree, standing apart as it did from the others. It had a majestic air, an air of grandeur almost as though it had set itself apart and forbidden others to approach.

The morning wore on. The boys were getting impatient when suddenly they heard the baying of the dogs and the galloping hoofs of the horses.

With a fast beating heart she stepped out from under the shade of the oak. She saw them emerge from the trees. They were coming this way.

She took her sons by the hand and stood waiting.

Edward was slightly ahead of the others. He saw her standing there with the sun gleaming in her golden hair and glinting on the silver girdle at her little waist.

She looked like a goddess in her simple blue gown and Edward thought he had never seen such a beautiful woman.

He pulled up sharply.

‘God’s mercy,’ he cried. ‘What do you here, lady?’

She knelt and her beautiful hair fell forward sweeping the ground. She whispered to her children to kneel also.

‘Lady,’ said Edward, ‘I beg you rise. I see you know me.’

She shifted her beautiful blue-grey eyes to his and said: ‘My lord, who could fail to know you? You are distinguished among all other men.’

Edward laughed. ‘You have not told me what you do here.’

‘I am Lady Grey,’ said Elizabeth. ‘These are my sons. My husband was killed at St Albans.’

‘Grey,’ said the King, noting the sweep of golden lashes against her smooth delicate skin. ‘Can he be Rivers’ son-in-law?’

‘It is so, my lord.’

‘And you are Rivers’ daughter?’

She bowed her head.

‘He must be a proud man to have such a daughter ... a proud man but a misguided one. Lady Grey, what would you have of me?’

‘My lord King, I come here to beg you to restore my husband’s estates to me.’

‘You have a strange opinion of me, Lady Grey, if you believe I will give estates to those who have shown themselves to be my enemies.’

‘I never was,’ she said with a hint of passion. ‘Nor were these innocent boys.’

The party had arrived and were waiting nearby watching. Many a covert grin was exchanged. The woman was a beauty and everyone knew Edward’s inclinations. It was clever of her to find such a way of bringing herself to his notice. And she looked very appealing standing there holding the boys by the hand.

‘It is a sad thing,’ said Edward, ‘when widows and orphans must suffer for the sins of their husbands and fathers.’

‘My lord, if you can see your way ...’

Edward leaned forward and touched her hair. He let a strand of it linger in his hand.

‘I can consider this,’ he said. ‘I do not care to see beautiful ladies in distress.’

He was gone. She stood there under the oak-tree watching him ride away. Then she walked slowly back to the manor.

Jacquetta was waiting for her.

‘Well, well?’ she asked eagerly.

‘I saw the King.’

Jacquetta clasped her hands. ‘And what said he?’

‘He was kind.’

‘And will restore the estates?’

‘It was a sort of promise. I daresay he will forget he made it within the hour.’

‘My heart tells me that we shall hear more of this,’ said Jacquetta.

It was late afternoon when a rider came clattering into the stables of Grafton Manor.

He leaped from his horse and called to a bewildered groom to take it. Then he strode into the house.

He stood in the hall and his voice echoed up to the vaulted ceiling.

‘Is no one at home?’

Jacquetta appeared.

‘A traveller?’ she said. ‘Are you seeking shelter, my lord?’

‘The answer to both those questions is Yes, dear lady.’

Jacquetta descended. ‘We are humble in our ways,’ she said, ‘but never turn travellers from the door.’

‘I knew that you would offer me right good hospitality.’

‘Do you require a bed for the night?’ asked Jacquetta.

‘There is nothing I desire more,’ was the answer.

‘Then you shall have it. We sup shortly.’

‘My lady, you overwhelm me with your goodness. Tell me, is your lord at home? Have you a family?’

‘My lord is from home and my daughter is with me. A widow who has lost her estates because her husband was fighting on the wrong side at St Albans.’

‘A pitiful story.’

‘Pitiful indeed, my lord, that she should be punished for something in which she was not allowed a choice.’

‘She is a Yorkist at heart?’

‘My lord, have you seen the King? One only has to look at him to know that he is the man England needs.’

Elizabeth had appeared on the stairs. She was still wearing the blue gown which she had worn in the forest and her hair was loosely tied with blue ribbons to match the colour of her dress.

The traveller stared at her.

He was smiling. ‘I have met your daughter before, my lady.’

Elizabeth descended the stairs and coming to stand before the man who could not take his eyes from her she knelt.

‘Elizabeth ...’ began Jacquetta.

‘My lady,’ said Elizabeth, ‘do you not know that this is the King?’

Jacquetta, having known all the time and having expected him to do just this, feigned to be overcome by embarrassment – which she did so well that if she had not known her better Elizabeth might have believed genuine.

‘Pray rise, dear lady,’ said Edward, ‘that I may look on your face for by my very faith I never saw a fairer.’

‘We are overwhelmed by the honour of your visit,’ said Elizabeth, ‘and filled with hope for I think it means you are ready to give an ear to my request.’

‘I would be inclined to grant any request you made to me.’

‘You are gracious indeed.’

‘My lord,’ said Jacquetta, ‘are you alone?’

‘I am, dear lady.’

‘I was wondering how we could feed a party. It is rare I think that you travel thus.’

‘My friends are not far away. I escape their attentions sometimes and then they know better than to attempt to stop me.’

Jacquetta asked leave to retire. She must give orders to the servants. Perhaps Elizabeth would speak with the King while a room was prepared for him. He must indeed take them for what they were – impoverished by the war.

‘And being on the wrong side,’ added Edward with a smile.

‘Not all of us, my lord,’ said Jacquetta; and left him with Elizabeth.

‘Would you care to sit down, my lord,’ said Elizabeth. ‘My mother will not be long.’

She led the way to a window seat and sat down; he was beside her.

When he took her hand and kissed it, she withdrew it with a hint of haughtiness. She was wondering whether this was a clever project after all. She might regain her estates but the King would want to strike a bargain and all knew the kind of bargains he would be likely to make with attractive women.

‘I trust the hunt was successful,’ she said.

‘I know not whether it was or was not. My thoughts were all of an encounter under an oak-tree. By God’s Faith when I saw you standing there I thought I had never seen a more lovely sight in the whole of my life.’

‘I am sure my lord has seen many such pictures that attracted him. If one is to believe ...’

‘The rumours about me. Never believe rumour, dear lady. It always lies.’

‘Does it not have some foundation in truth?’

‘That must be admitted but should we not beware of exaggeration?’

‘Always,’ she said. ‘I am one to prefer plain truth.’

‘Then you are a lady after my own heart. To tell you the truth your beauty has overwhelmed me.’

‘You said you would consider my poverty.’

‘It is a crime that one so beautiful should be poor.’

‘You could change that with a stroke of a pen, my lord.’

‘So could I, and so am I inclined to. I believe we can find a solution to these matters. We must talk of it, get to know each other. It was for that reason that I called on you this day.’

‘It was a most gracious act.’

He had moved a little closer to her. ‘I hope we shall be even more gracious to each other.’

Oh no, thought Elizabeth, this is moving too fast. Surely this was not what my mother intended? I am not going to be one of that army of women who share his favours for a week, even if it means the return of my estates. He must be reminded that my mother is of the noble House of Luxembourg even if my father is of little account – and a Lancastrian at that.

She was relieved to see that her mother had come back to the hall.

‘I have told them all what an illustrious visitor we have. My lord, you will have to forgive their clumsiness, for they are overwhelmed by the honour. We did not expect this ... in our wildest dreams. You must I fear take us as we are.’

‘There is nothing,’ said Edward, his eyes on Elizabeth, ‘that would please me more.’

‘Would you allow us to conduct you to your bedchamber.’

‘I would be delighted,’ said Edward. ‘Perhaps the Lady Grey ...’

‘We will both show you,’ said Jacquetta.

Elizabeth realised as she had on other occasions that there was a certain royal dignity in her mother. She was after all a Princess of Luxembourg.

When they were alone together Elizabeth said to her mother:

‘Did you foresee this?’

Jacquetta was thoughtful. ‘I saw it as a possibility.’ She surveyed her daughter. ‘You are so beautiful that you could not fail to impress him. He will return your estates.’

‘He has already implied that he expects me to become his mistress. That I will not be.’

Jacquetta watched her daughter slyly.

‘Your refusal may well increase his ardour. Do you think he has ever been refused in his life?’

‘It will be good for him to find there is someone who can say no to his advances.’

‘Is he not handsome? What a fine figure of a man. I knew him the moment he stepped into the hall. Perhaps I had been expecting him. But his looks and manners are such to distinguish him anywhere. He could never hide his identity.’

‘He is all you say he is. He is also a libertine. He makes sport with the merchants‘ wives. He will have to learn that I am not a merchant’s wife.’

‘I do not think you will have much difficulty in teaching him that.’

‘I want a return of my estates. Do you think I shall get that?’

‘I should ask for that immediately. Then when he comes with his request you can play the innocent and the virtuous. You can do that very well, because, dear Elizabeth, although you may not be innocent you are virtuous. I do not believe your thoughts ever strayed from John Grey while he lived.’

‘I was never deeply attracted by that which seems to dominate the King’s life. I assure you all his wiles and good looks will offer me no temptation.’

‘That is good. That will leave your head clear and calm for reasoning.’

‘Dear Mother, you will be with me in this.’

‘I am always with you, and everyone of the family, as you know. If we succeed in getting the return of your estates nothing will please me more.’

‘I am glad you are here. I feel safe with you near. I think he will attempt to seduce me tonight. It is a pity he is staying here.’

‘I think he plans to make the attempt. It is a strange situation. He should be travelling with a party of friends. It is dangerous. How does he know that a Lancastrian assassin is not lurking in this Lancastrian household? It is clearly true that he plunges recklessly into dangerous adventures. One cannot help but admire him. Elizabeth, you will need your powers of determination to resist him.’

‘If you think that you do not know me. I can resist him very well. I can assure you I have no desire to become his mistress.’

The dreamy look was again in Jacquetta’s eyes.

‘We shall see,’ she said.

They supped and Edward sat beside Jacquetta with Elizabeth on the other side of him. That he was enjoying this was obvious. When the musicians played he applauded and called for more. He let his hand rest on her thigh but with tact she withdrew herself. He smiled at her reluctance. He had met that once or twice in his many amours, but it had never lasted and he had come to realise that it was part of the game of courtship for some women. He was not averse to playing it for a while, but not too long; he was growing more and more impatient for this fair widow.

During the meal he had promised that her estates should be restored.

She was grateful and immediately after supper she was going to take him to her mother’s chamber and there he should give the necessary documents which should be witnessed by two of the esquires as well as her mother.

Yes, yes, he agreed to that. But why did they not sign it in her bedchamber? Wouldn’t that be more appropriate?

‘My mother would expect it to be done in hers. It is more grand than mine.’

He would like to see hers. Would she show it to him?

There was that in his eyes which told her it might be unwise to refuse to do so before the documents were signed.

So when they went to her mother’s chamber she pointed out her own which was quite close. He looked in and said that it was especially interesting to him. He liked to imagine her sleeping in that bed.

The papers were signed and he was duly conducted to his chamber.

Elizabeth immediately went to that of her mother.

‘He will be here shortly. It will be hard to ward him off. He might even be capable of rape which he would call his kingly rights.’

‘I don’t think that. He would pride himself on never having to resort to such methods with a woman. He tells himself that they are all eager to fall into his hands.’

‘Even when they have shown that they are not?’

‘He wouldn’t accept that as true reluctance.’

‘He has asked where my room is. He will be in there at any moment. I shall stay with you this night.’

Jacquetta nodded. ‘But, dear child, he will know where my room is also. That is why I have had a chamber prepared for us in the east wing of the house.’

Elizabeth laughed at her mother.

‘You think of everything,’ she said. ‘I do believe you are in truth a sorceress.’

‘If I am, dear child, rejoice in it, for every power I have will be used in the service of my family which is dearer to me than my own life. Now, we will waste no time. I have a feeling that he will not want to either. So let us go.’

Although Edward showed no sign of his frustration he was decidedly piqued. He did not see Elizabeth in the morning. Jacquetta told him that Elizabeth had been with one of the boys who had developed a fever during the night and could not leave his bedside.

‘You know what mothers are,’ she murmured.

It was a feeble effort to offer an explanation why Elizabeth had not been in her room on the previous night; but he knew well enough why. She had really meant it when she had hinted that his attentions would not be welcome. She was indeed a virtuous woman. But she had been clever enough to make sure that her husband’s estates were returned to her. She should take care. He could easily rescind that order.

He took a cool farewell of Jacquetta and thanked her for her hospitality. She went up to the top turret and a few hours later saw the royal party riding away.

Elizabeth joined her.

‘So he has gone. Do you think he will refuse to honour the return of John’s property?’

‘I think not.’

‘Was he very angry?’

‘It is hard to say. He was disappointed. But extremely courteous and thanked me pleasantly.’

‘Then if I have regained my estates this will have been a good day’s work.’

‘It may well be that we have not heard the end of this matter,’ said Jacquetta.

‘I sincerely hope so. I shall claim Bradgate and Groby without delay. Perhaps I should leave at once.’

‘I should wait a little while. It would be unpleasant if the King did rescind the order. And what if he came to you there and you were unprotected? Here you are in your mother’s care.’

‘And you think he would consider you a stalwart protector?’

‘I fancy he has a little regard for me.’

‘Then what?’

‘Wait a little. See what happens. This may be the end and perhaps we shall hear no more of the King. In that case you will have regained your estates which was what we set out to do.’

‘I should like to return to Bradgate.’

‘All in good time.’

In her heart Jacquetta was certain that the King would not let the matter rest there. Elizabeth was outstandingly beautiful and men to whom conquests came easily were invariably intrigued when they did not.

She was right. Within a few days he was calling once more at Grafton.

Jacquetta saw his arrival and hastened to call Elizabeth.

‘He is determined,’ said Jacquetta.

‘And so am I,’ answered Elizabeth.

‘You are going to find it difficult.’

‘I shall not become his mistress. I promise you that.’

Jacquetta lifted her shoulders and went down to greet the King.

He kissed her heartily on either cheek. He found her attractive although she was not a young woman but she had great charm and vitality and Elizabeth’s looks resembled her mother’s in some ways.

‘My lord, can it truly be!’ cried Jacquetta. ‘Once more you honour us.’

‘To tell you the truth, my lady,’ he said with a disarming charm, ‘I did not want to come, but I found it impossible to keep away. Is the Lady Grey at home?’

‘She is on the point of departing for Bradgate.’

‘Then I am in time. Take me to her.’

‘I will tell her that you are here, my lord.’

Jacquetta curtsied and left him standing impatiently in the hall.

Elizabeth was in her chamber, combing her hair, piling it up on her head; she was twisting a rope of pearls in it. Her gown was of blue and white silk; she looked regal.

‘He is asking for you,’ said Jacquetta.

‘I will see him,’ answered Elizabeth.

‘Have a care, daughter.’

‘You may trust me, Mother.’

‘Yes,’ said Jacquetta, ‘I believe I can. But remember my dear, it may be a dangerous game you will be playing.’

‘I will let him know that I have no intention of being his mistress. Then perhaps he will go away.’

As she came into the hall he ran towards her. He took her hand and kissed it with fervour.

‘My lord,’ she said coolly. ‘So you have returned to hunt here. I believe there are especially good bucks in Whittlebury.’

He laughed aloud and would have drawn her to him but with an imperious gesture she held him off.

‘I know not how fine the bucks in Whittlebury may be but I do know this: the fairest lady in the land lives here at Grafton.’

She inclined her head, again with a regal gesture.

‘Your friends are close by?’ she asked.

‘Let us not talk of them. I have come to see you. I want to talk of us ... Elizabeth.’

‘What could there be to say of the King and his humble subject?’

‘I am the King it is true, but you humble ... not you, Elizabeth! You are beautiful and well you know it and one with beauty such as yours could never be a humble subject. My dear lady, ever since I saw you under the oak-tree I have thought of nothing but you. I want to put my arms about you and tell you of the devotion you have inspired in me. I want us to be together. I am full deep in love with you.’

‘My lord, I do not see how that can be when you scarce know me.’

‘I know you well enough to know my feelings. Come, let me show you. Tonight we will rest here in your parents’ home and tomorrow you and I will go away together. You will join me. You shall have apartments of course. Ask anything and it shall be yours.’

She opened her eyes very wide and regarded him with a display of astonishment.

‘My lord, I do not understand your meaning.’

‘Have I not made myself clear? Have I not told you in a hundred ways that I love you?’

‘Then I am sorry,’ she answered. ‘For naught can come of that in view of our different stations. You must go from here, my lord ...’

‘Indeed I will not. I will not be cheated as I was last time I was here.’

‘Cheated, my lord?’ She retreated from him and opened her eyes very wide with reproach.

‘In what way, I beg you tell me, were you cheated?’

‘I came to your room. You were not there. I did not see you again.’

‘My lord, I think you are mistaken in me.’

‘No. You are the most desirable and beautiful woman I have ever met. There is no mistake about that.’

‘Even here in the country we hear rumours of one so prominent as the King,’ said Elizabeth coolly. ‘I know your customs, my lord. You have a deep interest in my sex. But allow me to assure you that we are not all alike. There are some of us who have a respect for morality and I am one of them. I do not enter into light amours.’

‘By God’s blood, this would be no light amour. I swear to you that never in my life have I been so affected.’

‘That is often the impression at early encounters, and if you do indeed feel strongly drawn towards me it could not be love you feel, since you do not know me. If you had, my lord, you would never have expected me to become your mistress on a first meeting.’

Edward saw a glimmer of hope. He had been too quick. Very well, he would be prepared to wait a little – but only a little – for such a prize.

Elizabeth realised what was in his mind.

She said quickly: ‘My lord, you should go away from here. Pursue your light o’ loves, if you must. I have been a virtuous wife to the noble Lord Grey of Groby. I am not of a nature to become any man’s mistress.’

The words were ominous if taken seriously. Edward had heard them once before. He did not wish to recall that time when he had been guilty of a certain indiscretion which was best forgotten. He hardly ever thought of Eleanor Butler nowadays. She had gone into a convent ... That matter was all over.

Now he was all impatience to become the lover of this woman.

‘Moreover,’ she went on, ‘I am several years older than you are.’

‘That is impossible.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am five years your senior. I am the mother of two boys.’

‘I find these matters no obstacle to my devotion to you.’

‘My lord, do you not understand? My mother is of the House of Luxembourg. She has brought her children up to respect their honour and their virtue. My father is a baron, but he was not born to high station. My mother married him for love, but she married him, my lord. I beg you, put all thought of me from your head. I am not for you by nature of my upbringing and my convictions. Never will I become your mistress and no other relationship is possible between us.’

‘I will not accept this,’ he cried.

‘I fear you must; I shall forever remember you with gratitude. You have restored my estates and for that I give you my heartfelt thanks. Alas, my lord, it is all that I can give you. And now may I have your leave to retire.’

He caught her hand as she rose but she withdrew it gently.

‘Goodbye, my lord. It is the only way.’

He sat staring after her as she went. Wild thoughts crowded into his mind. He could abduct her, force her ... Some of his acquaintances indulged in adventures like that. He never had. He had always jeered at them, explaining, ‘My friends, I have never yet had to force a woman.’

And Elizabeth Grey of all women. There was something aloof about her. She was cool. She did not respond as most women did, and yet at the same time she liked him. He was sure of that. There was a note of tenderness in her voice when she spoke of her dead husband. She had clearly been fond of him. She was a good mother, it seemed, to her boys; he had sensed that when he saw them together under the oak-tree. In fact the boys had added a little to the charm of the picture which was engraved on his mind and which he felt he would never forget.

It was maddening that she had these ridiculous notions of morality – although he admired them in a way. She was no light of love, that was clear enough. She had looked like a queen when she had drawn herself to her full height and stood there facing him.

He would have to go away and forget her.

It was hard to do that. It was the first time he had ever been refused. Oh no ... not quite the first. There had been Eleanor Butler. In a way this Elizabeth reminded him of her. That was why the Butler affair had been brought to his mind for the first time in several years.

Jacquetta came into the hall.

‘My lord, you are alone. What happened to my daughter? She cannot have left you thus ...’

‘Alas, she has wounded me deeply.’

Jacquetta looked alarmed. ‘Unwittingly I promise you,’ she said.

‘No, with intention.’ He looked at Jacquetta. A beauty herself, with quick warm eyes and understanding of human needs. There was about her an easy friendliness, the right amount of deference for a King and yet the implication that she herself was royal. She could feel completely at ease with him as he could with her.

‘Ah, you have been making suggestions to her.’

‘You have guessed.’

‘It did not need the powers of witchcraft to do that.’

He looked at her sharply. He had heard it whispered that Lady Rivers, who had been Duchess of Bedford, was some sort of sorceress. Was it true? he wondered. Many people were accused of that quite unreasonably.

‘My lady, are you mistress of such powers?’ he asked.

‘Nay, nay. I am just a wise woman – at least I think I am.’

‘I believe I would quickly share that view. So you know your daughter has refused me and made me utterly desolate.’

‘Oh my lord, you must not despair.’

He looked at her hopefully. She said quickly: ‘My daughter Elizabeth would never be any man’s mistress. I know that well. You must go and never let your hunting bring you near her again. There are many other forests in which to exercise your talents.’

He looked at her, liking her more each moment, and laughed. ‘Oh I do not give up as easily as that,’ he said.

‘Nor does Elizabeth,’ She leaned towards him confidentially. ‘She was the most strong-willed of my brood. Did you know that I had seven girls and seven boys? We are great breeders, you see. Ah, what a joy is a family. But it brings its sorrows. But knowing them, having them there in one’s life ... though they are scattered far and wide, that is a boon from heaven, as you will find, my lord, when you marry and settle down.’

‘I want your daughter,’ he said.

She signed. ‘I know it well. She is beautiful ... incomparably so. But perhaps I, as her mother, see her through loving eyes. I tell you this, my lord, she will never give in. For your own peace of mind leave her. To pursue her will mean nothing but frustration and disappointment. You are handsome, you are royal, and there are few women who would resist you. But Elizabeth is one of them. My dear lord, I feel as a mother to you. You have come here, and graced my home. I shall feel it honoured evermore. We were Lancastrians ... we shall be so no more. I shall not rest until my husband and every son of mine tears the red rose from his coat and his heart. From now on, the Rivers are for you, my lord. We shall stand for your cause. We shall be your good servants if you will allow us to be for I have in these few days seen a man who is indeed a king and the only one living in this realm whom I would accept as mine. My husband is away at this time. When he returns I will ask him to come to you. Will you receive him? He is a man who will be faithful to you if you will forget he once served Henry of Lancaster. He believed him to be the true King. You understand that, my lord?’

‘Indeed I understand. He was faithful to what he believed right. I respect that in men. Fidelity is what I look for in those around me.’

‘When I have talked to my husband, when I tell him what I have seen this day, I know he will understand. England needs a strong king and you are that, my lord. I promise you that the Rivers will serve you well.’

Edward kissed her hand. She was an unusual woman. He was drawn to her, partly for herself and partly because she was Elizabeth’s mother. And she was his friend. Somewhere in his mind was the thought that she would help him if she could.

She was implanting that thought there, trying to draw him into the family, visualising a glorious prospect for Elizabeth without giving him a glimmer of what it was ... in fact, she scarcely admitted it to herself, because it seemed impossible.

‘We shall serve you,’ she said. ‘Elizabeth will be your faithful subject but never never anything else.’

‘My lady, I believe you to be my friend. You will make my cause yours.’

‘The King’s cause shall be mine,’ she answered solemnly. ‘Bless you, my bonny lord. I shall wish for you everything that will serve you best.’

He rode somewhat disconsolately away from Grafton. He was beginning to believe that Elizabeth meant what she said. She was a virtuous woman. She would not take a lover outside marriage.

Marriage! But he was the King. That was impossible.

Edward was so quiet in the days that followed his visit to Grafton that his friend Hastings was quite concerned for him.

He enquired how the King had fared with the beautiful widow lady.

Edward shook his head.

‘She was a disappointment,’ said Hastings. ‘I thought she might be. There was a frigidity in her. A plague on frigid women.’

Edward was not pleased to hear Elizabeth discussed lightly as though she were the participant in some ordinary brief affair.

He said shortly: ‘She is the most beautiful woman I ever saw.’

‘Oh, I grant you that. But I personally have no fancy for statues.’

‘It would avail you nothing if you had,’ said Edward shortly.

‘Do you mean to tell me that it did not come to fruition?’

‘Lady Grey is a virtuous widow.’

‘A plague on virtuous women ... widows especially.’

‘I have no wish to discuss the Lady Elizabeth Grey with you, Hastings.’

God in Heaven, thought Hastings, what has come over him? The lady refused him. It must be the first time that has happened. Well, it will do him no harm. But it has affected him considerably.

He did not mention the visit to Grafton Manor after that.

At Westminster the Earl of Warwick was impatiently waiting. Edward always felt a slight deference in the presence of Warwick, who was known by the soubriquet of Kingmaker. Everyone was aware, and Edward would be the first to admit it, that but for Warwick’s prompt action in marching on London after the Yorkist defeat in the second battle of St Albans Edward might not be king today. Warwick was not going to let anyone forget it. Nor did Edward want to. He was grateful for his friends and Warwick had been his hero from childhood. Ever since his early days in Rouen where he and his brother Edmund had been born he had known he was destined for greatness. His mother Cecily Neville had made him aware of that; and Warwick’s father was her brother, so there was a bond of kinship between him and the great Earl, and Warwick had always been part of his youth. Warwick was fourteen years older than Edward and had seemed almost godlike to the boy.

If Edward had the bearing of a king, Warwick had an even more powerful image. Kings were glorious but they depended on kingmakers and Warwick fitted without doubt into the second category.

Warwick spoke with authority. Ever since the first battle of St Albans which had been won by his strategy he had been distinguished throughout the country; and when he had become Captain of Calais and had held that important port for England and the Yorkists, he had won the hearts of the English by his exploits against the French; he had seized their goods and played the part of pirate-buccaneer with such verve that he was accepted as a great hero, one of that company of men of which England was in need since the disastrous losses in France.

The Earl had never been one of Edward’s boon companions such as Hastings and men of that kind. It was a serious relationship between them. Warwick did not frown on Edward’s adventures. They had kept the young man occupied while Warwick ruled. That was all very well when Edward was in his teens, but he was now twenty-three years of age and Warwick had plans.

They embraced when they met and Edward’s affection for his cousin was obvious.

‘You are looking pleased with yourself, Richard,’ he said. ‘What have you been doing? Come, tell me. I know you are longing to.’

‘I am as you notice rather pleased with my negotiations at the French Court. We must have peace with France and, Edward, you must marry. The people expect it. They love you. You look like a king. They smile at your pursuit of women. They expect a young king to have his romantic adventures. Not too many though, and they want a marriage. The people want it, the country wants it ... and that is a good enough reason. What say you?’

‘Well, I am not averse.’

Warwick looked at the King with affection. He had made him and he would keep him on the throne. Edward was amenable. He was the perfect puppet; and while this state of affairs remained Warwick could rule without hindrance. It was what he had always wanted. Not for him the heavy crown of office; how much more comfortable to rule behind the throne, to be the Kingmaker rather than the King. And Edward was the perfect tool. His easy-going, pleasure-loving nature made him that.

‘Then let us get to business. Do you realise you are one of the most eligible bachelors in the world? Not only are you King of England but the whole world knows that in addition to your crown you have an outstanding charm of person.’

‘You flatter me, Richard.’

‘Never will I do that. But let us face facts. I have become on excellent terms with Louis. I can tell you he treats me as though I were a king.’

‘Which you are in a way, Richard,’ said Edward.

Warwick looked at him sharply. Was there something behind that remark? Was Edward growing up, resenting someone else’s use of the power that was his? No, Edward was smiling his affable, good-natured smile. He was merely reminding Warwick of his power and implying that he felt it was right and proper that it should be his.

‘I have decided against Isabella of Castile. Her brother is eager for the match. He is impotent, poor fellow and it is certain that there will be no children, so Isabella would be the heiress of Castile.’

‘But you have decided against her.’

‘I think, Edward, we have a better proposition. My eyes are set on France.’

‘Ah yes, you are on such good terms with Louis.’

‘We must have peace with France. The best way of making peace is through alliances as you well know. So I turn away from Isabella, and back to France. Louis suggests his wife’s sister, Bona of Savoy. She is a beautiful woman and one who will delight you, Edward. Louis and I agreed that we must not lose sight of the fact that you must have an attractive wife. You are very well experienced in that direction and we want you to be happy.’

‘You are most considerate,’ said Edward.

‘She is a very beautiful girl and it will be a successful match. The great thing is heirs. We must have an heir to the throne. The people are always uneasy until they can see their next king growing up ready to take his popular father’s place.’

Edward was scarcely listening. He was thinking of Elizabeth. What a wonderful project it would have been if she had been a Princess of France or Savoy or Castile! How joyously he would have contemplated his marriage then, for of course he must marry. Of course he must produce an heir.

If only it could be with Elizabeth!

‘I see no reason why we should not complete these arrangements with Louis immediately,’ Warwick was saying but Edward scarcely heard him for his thoughts were far away in Grafton Manor.

One of his squires came into Edward’s chamber to tell him that there was a man who was asking for an audience.

‘And who is this?’

‘My lord,’ said the squire, ‘he is a Lancastrian, a traitor who had fought for Henry of Lancaster.’

‘Why does he come here?’

‘He says he has something of importance to say to you.’

‘Ask his name.’

The squire disappeared and came back almost immediately. ‘It is Lord Rivers, my lord.’

‘Ah,’ said Edward, ‘I will see him at once.’

The squire replied: ‘My lord, I will see that the guards are within call.’

‘I do not think you need to go to such lengths.’

The squire bowed, determined to in spite of the King. He was not going to put Edward in any more danger than could be helped.

He hesitated.

‘I have asked you to bring Lord Rivers to me at once,’ Edward reminded him.

‘My lord, forgive me, but should there not be guards in this very chamber?’

‘No. I do not think Lord Rivers has come here to harm me.’

At length Lord Rivers was brought in. Undoubtedly he was handsome. Edward had been learning something about the family since the encounter under the oak. So this was the man for whom that rather enchanting Jacquetta had defied convention and given him fourteen children to boot, and among them the delectable Elizabeth.

‘Well, my lord,’ said Edward. ‘You wished to speak with me?’

‘I have come to offer you my allegiance.’

‘Odd words for one who has supported the cause of my enemies for so many years.’

‘Times have changed, my lord. I was for Henry because he was the anointed king. I do not change sides easily. But Henry is little more than an imbecile; he is far away somewhere in the North in hiding, but if he returned he could never give England the rule she needs. And now we have a king who has more claim to the throne than Henry had. I shall work now to keep us in this happy state.’

‘What has brought this change of heart?’ asked Edward. ‘Tell me, I am interested to know.’

‘I have been to my home at Grafton Manor and talked with my wife. You may know that she was the Duchess of Bedford before our marriage. She is astute, and has an understanding of affairs. She tells me that she had the great honour of entertaining you briefly and she was so convinced that you were our rightful lord and monarch that she wished us to change our allegiance without delay.’

Edward was smiling. ‘I did have the good fortune to hunt near your place and I met both your wife and your daughter and her sons. Did your daughter agree with her mother that you should cease to be Lancastrian supporters and turn to York?’

‘My daughter gave no opinion, my lord. I discussed the matter only with my wife.’

‘I see. Well, Rivers, you shall take a goblet with me and we will drink to your future alliance. I am always ready to offer friendship where it is given in the right spirit.’

‘You honour me, my lord.’

‘I respect your courage in coming here. And I liked your wife ... and your daughter.’

Wine was brought and as he drank Edward was thinking of Elizabeth. He could not forget her face. He had believed he would ride away and take up with some woman and in a brief time forget the aloof Elizabeth. But it was not so. She had spoiled things for him, and his desire for her showed no signs of diminishing. Rather did it increase.

Edward enjoyed talking to Lord Rivers. It gave him a certain comfort to be with someone who was close to her. Lord Rivers was astonished by the King’s interest in his family. Jacquetta had mentioned nothing of Edward’s passion for Elizabeth for she knew that would have alarmed him. He would have had no wish for their daughter to become one of the King’s mistresses. They enjoyed too short a reign and Edward’s reputation with women was such that no woman who valued her good name should be involved with him. She would immediately be classed with the army of merchants’ wives who had pandered to the King’s lust, and satisfied him temporarily until he passed on to the next.

Jacquetta had told her husband that the King had called briefly and she had seen that their adherence to Lancaster was a mistake. Edward had obviously come to stay on the throne and Henry was quite unfit to rule, and she believed that, for the good of the family, they should turn from a cause which was dead in any case and offer their services to the crowned and reigning King. She had in due course convinced him as she invariably did.

So he had called not expecting this warm welcome and he was really astounded when Edward wanted to know much about the intimate details of his family life.

Edward asked about his marriage with Jacquetta.

‘A bold action to take,’ said Edward. ‘I’ll swear her family were planning some grand marriage for her.’

‘They were indeed, but Jacquetta had made up her mind and in the family we have all learned that once that happens, there is no gainsaying her. Jacquetta is a wonderful woman, my lord.’

‘I gathered that in our brief acquaintance. And you were happy in this marriage?’

‘My lord I have never regretted it for one moment. We have a fine family of beautiful children.’

‘I have seen your eldest daughter. Her beauty is remarkable.’ The King spoke with an emotion which Rivers did not notice.

‘There are Anthony, John, Lionel and Edward, my sons who have survived. Then there are my daughters, Elizabeth whom you have met, Margaret, Anne, Jacquetta, Mary, Catherine ...’

‘You indeed have a goodly brood and a handsome wife into the bargain.’

‘My lord, I have been a very happy man and most singularly blessed when Jacquetta came into my life. We risked a great deal to marry and I never cease to thank God that we did.’

‘Boldness often pays in life. So I have found and I am glad to welcome you to our side, Lord Rivers. I trust I may see you often. I liked your place at Grafton. When I am hunting that way ... for there are fine deer at Whittlebury, I will call on your family.’

‘My lord, you overwhelm us.’

When Lord Rivers took his leave of the King he was quite bewildered. He had expected to be called on to prove his loyalty before he was admitted to such a favour. He had heard that Edward was an easy-going man, not in the least vindictive. But such a reception was strange indeed.

The King’s friendship with Lord Rivers was noticed, and not without a little rancour. He seemed to have taken more to this man who had fought against him in several battles than he did to his friends.

Warwick said: ‘What is this intimacy with Rivers? I should hardly have thought he qualified for such favour.’

‘Oh, he is a pleasant fellow,’ replied Edward. ‘I like his company.’

‘And his son’s too, it seems.’

‘Lord Scales.’

‘Is that what he calls himself now?’

‘He is Lord Scales, Richard. He married Sir Henry Bourchier’s widow and got the title of Scales through her.’

‘You seem to have made rapid friendship with them. I never thought much of the Woodvilles.’

‘Did you not?’ said Edward coolly.

‘No. It is not so long ago that we made them look silly ... very silly indeed, Rivers and his son Anthony. It was Dynham, you remember him?’

‘I have heard something of this exploit. It was well talked of, I believe. You saw to that.’

‘They were the enemy. Stationed at Sandwich preparing a fleet for Somerset to come and drive me out of Calais. Dynham landed at Sandwich and caught the pair of them in their beds. He brought them over to me ... just as they were.’

‘Had they not been in their beds it might not have been so easy to surprise them. It does not need a great deal of valour to surprise a man asleep and unprotected.’

Warwick was quite unaware of the asperity in the King’s tones.

‘I let them know how I scorned them when they arrived in Paris. Low-born traitors I called them. Rivers’s father was just a squire ... Henry the Fifth knighted him on the field of battle so I think. They gave themselves airs I told them and they should be careful how they conducted themselves in the presence of their betters.’

‘There are many,’ said Edward pointedly, ‘who attain their honours through brilliant marriages, or some such turn of fortune. Perhaps one should not probe too much into how people rise. Suffice it that they have the wisdom or the bravery to do so.’

This was a direct hit at Warwick who had acquired the noble title of Earl of Warwick and vast lands through his marriage with Anne Beauchamp, Warwick’s heir. But Warwick did not see this. He had determined to warn Edward against showing too much favour to the Woodvilles and he had given that warning as he had on so many other occasions when he thought the King’s conduct was not quite what it should be.

Warwick was becoming overbearing, thought Edward. Indeed, one would think I were a child instead of the King.

‘You’ll be pleased to know,’ Warwick was going on, ‘that negotiations with Louis are going on apace. He’s delighted about Bona of Savoy. We shall soon be able to make an announcement.’

But Edward was not listening.

It was impossible to stay away. He had to be there again. He could find no delight in any other woman. He had made several attempts. They all ended in failure.

He would go hunting, he said, in Whittlebury Forest. He had found the game there as good as anywhere in England. Hastings said that he could remember nothing special about it and had thought their efforts had been even less rewarding than usual.

Edward looked sharply at his friend. He was not amused.

Heaven help us, thought Hastings, he is taking the widow very seriously indeed.

Usually Edward liked to laugh and was prepared to do so, within reason, against himself. Now, he was very definitely not amused.

Caution, Hastings warned himself.

Of course he left the party and Hastings knew well enough not to try to follow him. Let him go alone to Grafton and call on the reluctant lady.

Edward felt frustrated and wretched to discover that Elizabeth was not at Grafton. She had gone to Bradgate. Lord Rivers was also absent. But Jacquetta was there. She received him with a great warmth and declared that she was honoured indeed.

‘Elizabeth went off to Bradgate with such joy,’ she told him. ‘She lived there with her husband, you know. Both the boys were born there. She says she could never be grateful enough to you for your goodness in restoring her estates.’

‘She did not seem to be over grateful.’

‘Oh, my dear lord, you mean because she would not be your mistress. It is quite impossible for a lady of her upbringing. You are not still thinking of her in that respect, are you?’

‘I shall never cease to think of her.’

‘You must. It is the only way. I daresay she may marry again in due course. She will marry for love, I do believe. There is no other reason why she need now that you have been so good to her.’

‘Do you really think she had some regard for me?’

‘Some regard! My lord, she thought very highly of you. She admitted to me that she had never seen a man so handsome, so kingly ... so much to be admired save in one respect.’

‘And that respect?’

‘In making suggestions to her which she considers immoral, you hurt her a little.’

‘I hurt her! I would rather lose my crown than hurt her.’

‘Do not speak of losing your crown. That is unlucky talk. Let us talk sensibly as people such as we are can do. The fact is, my lord, you are the King. When you marry it must be a royal Princess and you must take her because my lord Warwick will choose her for you and it will be for the good of the country.’

‘Why should my lord Warwick choose my bride?’

‘Because my lord Warwick makes all the decisions for the good of the country, does he not? And he would consider the marriage of the King a matter of the greatest importance to the country and one which only he could decide.’

Edward was staring blankly ahead of him. There was a certain twist to his mouth which was not lost to Jacquetta. She laid a hand on his knee and then withdrew it with an apology.

‘Forgive me. I forget my place. I have grown so fond of you. I am beginning to look upon you as a son ...’

She turned away and then stood up. There was a faint pinkish colour in her face.

‘My lord,’ she floundered, ‘I think you must excuse me ... I am overcome by the honour you do us. I ...’

‘Pray sit down. Your affection moves me. Do not apologise for it.’

She smiled at him. ‘Then I will be frank. You must not try to see Elizabeth again. She is my daughter and you know I am of the royal House of Luxembourg. I have brought her up to have a great regard for herself. I married as they said beneath my station. I did not consider it so. I married one who was the best husband in the world to me. But in doing so I lost my standing. I was no longer considered royal. And that is the plain fact. Elizabeth will never be your mistress and you could never make her your wife ... which is the only way that you could be together. It is a cruel hard fact, my dear. Listen to an old woman whom you yourself have called wise. Go away from here. Make the marriage Warwick will arrange for you and try to be happy. I know you will find it very hard to forget Elizabeth. But it cannot be, my dear dear lord. The only thing that could make her yours is that which you, in view of your position, cannot give her. There, I have said it and now I am overwrought. I have spoken too clearly. I have forgotten to whom I speak. I pray you forgive me. Give me leave to go and you, my lord, must join your friends. It is better for us all if you never come here again ...’

With that she rose and kneeling before him kissed his hand.

Then she left him.

She went to her bedchamber and from her window watched him ride away.

I wonder, she thought. Is it possible? No, Warwick will never allow it. But if it did come to pass, what great good fortune their beautiful Elizabeth could bring to the Woodvilles!

Chapter II THE SECRET MARRIAGE

There was an air of suppressed excitement in the household of the Duchess of York. The King was coming. He had promised his family that he would be with them for a while and he was always one to keep his promises. Cecily, the Duchess, now mother of the King, was said to be the proudest woman in England. She would naturally have been happier if her husband had lived and taken the crown, but that Edward should have it was the next best thing of course. Cecily’s greatest ambition had been to become Queen and when she thought how narrowly she had missed it she was filled with regrets.

But now she revelled in her new state. She would never forget that there was royal blood in her veins for her mother had been Joan Beaufort, daughter of John of Gaunt and Catherine Swynford. It had seemed only right that her husband should take the throne, descended as he was from two branches of the royal family, and it had been a great tragedy when he had died at Wakefield. She could not bear to think of that day when she had heard that they had stuck his head on the walls of York with a paper crown perched on it. Ah, it was different now; and their son, their beautiful Edward, was King.

Handsome Edward had always been her favourite. He had always been a big boy and now growing to his full height he towered above all those about him. He had not taken after his father who had been dark and rather short in stature. Edward was the golden Plantagenet born again. It was wonderful to contemplate that he took after his ancestors the sons of Edward III, Lionel and John of Gaunt. Edward was the perfect Plantagenet. He was a popular king. He looked like a king; and while he had good advisers like her nephew the Earl of Warwick he would act wisely and well.

She was proud of her son. It had turned out well for the family – if only Richard had not been so foolish at Wakefield in taking an unnecessary risk. He would not have done that if she had been there. But he had lost a battle and his life and deprived her of the title of Queen. But her glorious son had taken that honour and she lived now with the state of a queen even if she had failed to win the title. Everyone must treat her with the ultimate respect. Her women must kneel to her; they must behave in every way in which they would had she been a queen in name.

She knew that behind her back they called her Proud Cis. Let them. She was proud. Proud of herself and her family and most of all proud of her beautiful son who was the King.

She had three of the children with her in London now and it was rarely that they were together. There was Margaret who was eighteen. They would find a husband for her soon, and that should not be difficult as she was the sister of the King; George was also with them; he was fifteen, her least favourite among her sons. George was inclined to be plump, self-indulgent and somewhat arrogant but she had to admit he had his share of the Plantagenet good looks; he was fairish and tall of stature but not as tall as Edward of course. Next to Edward her favourite was young Richard. Richard was quieter than his brothers, a serious boy given to learning. He was shortish and dark, taking after his father in looks. He lacked that gaiety which was a characteristic of Edward and George; he lacked their impulsive ways. He was serious, thoughtful and she had always believed cleverer than the others. He would always hesitate before giving an answer and one felt he wanted to weigh all points of view before speaking.

Sometimes she was a little worried about Richard. His frame was delicate and now that he was growing – he was twelve years old – it seemed to her that one shoulder was a little higher than the other – almost imperceptible but detected by a maternal eye. She had spoken to Warwick about it for she feared that at Middleham Richard might be set strenuous martial exercises which were too much for him.

Like all boys of noble houses Richard had been sent into another noble house to be brought up and Edward had thought Warwick’s castle of Middleham was the right place for Richard. Edward doted on Warwick. No wonder. It was Warwick who had made him King. So to Middleham to be brought up in Warwick’s household Richard had been sent. Warwick himself would almost always be away somewhere, but he would have laid down the rules of conduct for the noble boys who came into his castle. Cecily was glad that the Countess of Warwick was there for she was a gentle lady. It was strange to think that through her Warwick had received his wealth and titles. Richard was very fond of the Countess as he was of Warwick’s two daughters Isabel and Anne. So perhaps she should not worry too much about Richard’s health. When she had mentioned it to Edward he had laughed at her.

‘Richard has to grow up as a man, dear lady,’ he said. ‘And I can tell you there is none more qualified to bring out the best in him than my cousin Warwick.’

Even when Edward spoke his name she could hear the reverence in it. She was glad he felt like that. She, too, had the utmost faith in Warwick, for Edward, she was fully aware, much as she loved him, was too fond of pleasure. This continual pursuit of women was all very well while he was so young but when he married he would have to give it up, or conduct his adventures more discreetly.

Perhaps she should have a word with him about that. He would be a little impatient, but he would never silence his mother of course. He was too well mannered to do that.

Margaret, George and Richard were awaiting the King’s arrival with great excitement. Richard was thinking: As soon as I hear the horses I shall be down there to greet him. I will stand and wait and perhaps he will notice me.

Richard adored Edward. From the time he was a child this great and glorious brother had been like a god to him. He had followed his adventures avidly. When Edward was defeated Richard was sunk in melancholy; when Edward was victorious none rejoiced more than he.

‘You are besotted about our brother,’ George had said contemptuously.

‘Our brother is the King,’ Richard had replied with dignity.

George had shrugged his shoulders. It was only an accident of birth. If he had been the eldest he would have been King. He would have been the one everyone came out to cheer and all the women beckoned into their beds. Life was rather unfair, he thought. It could so easily have been George.

Margaret also admired Edward. He was always good-natured and made everyone feel slightly more important than they were. Perhaps that was the secret of his charm. It might be, but even if he did not mean it it was pleasant to pretend for a while that he did.

Soon he would find a husband for her. It was inevitable really now that he was King. Her two elder sisters Anne and Elizabeth were already married; Anne to Henry Holland Duke of Exeter and Elizabeth to John de la Pole the Duke of Suffolk. Yes, it would certainly be her turn next and now that Edward was King – her sisters had been married before that happy event – hers might well be a very grand marriage indeed.

But what they were all discussing now was the King’s marriage. Her mother had told her that the bride would very likely be Bona of Savoy, sister to the King of France. It would be a very grand wedding of course and after that there would be the new Queen’s coronation.

It was hardly likely that there would be time to give any consideration to the marriage of the King’s sister just yet. So there would be some respite.

And soon Edward would be here. Margaret smiled, wondering how her mother would act with the King. She would hardly expect him to kneel to her, as they all had to do.

Dear mother, so ambitious for them all ... and for herself!

The time had come. The King was arriving. Richard hurried out to meet the party. If he were quick enough he would avoid his mother who would want to insist on some sort of ceremony.

To see him again, this wonderful brother who had dominated his life! It had been hard to be sent to Middleham and to be so far from him and to hear of what he was doing from other people. He would have been really unhappy at Middleham if it had not been for the kindly Countess and her daughters, particularly Anne. There had been a very special friendship between them. They were of a kind – both a little shy of the world, unable to mingle freely with people and express themselves easily. But when they were together that was different. Oh yes, he had been very grateful to Anne and she to him, he believed.

His had been a childhood of uncertainty. He had been born just at that time when civil war between the houses of York and Lancaster was brewing. He had heard talk of the red and white roses and he knew that the white roses were worn by the good people and the red by the bad.

He remembered very well the terror of Ludlow when his father had had to fly because the Lancastrians were at the gates of the castle. He remembered his proud mother holding him close to her on one side with George on the other while the soldiers burst into the castle. There was death in the air then and young as he was he sensed it. But his mother was proud and noble and he had believed after that invincible; for when they burst into the room and she stood there with her sons held close to her and spoke to the soldiers in those commanding tones of hers, they hesitated. He noticed that there was blood on their swords ... and he saw it too on the men’s jerkins. But they did not harm them. Instead they were taken away and put in the charge of his aunt the Duchess of Buckingham, who strangely enough was not on the same side as they were.

Then of course there was the battle of Northampton and they were free again; they were brought to London and lodged in John Paston’s house. It must have been less than six months that they were there but Richard remembered vividly the terrible dark day when news came that a battle had been fought in Wakefield and during it his father had been killed.

His mother’s grief had been terrible. She vowed vengeance on their enemies. Richard was not told that his father’s head had been stuck on the walls of York with a paper crown on it, but he heard it whispered by the attendants and servants and he was very good at picking up whispers.

But their mother recovered a little after the second battle of St Albans which oddly enough was won by the bad Lancastrians, but Warwick – the great Earl who had decided how he should be brought up at Middleham – marched to London, took it and proclaimed Edward King.

Then their fortunes had indeed changed. Richard would never forget the coronation – a grand occasion when a nine-year-old boy – which was what he was then – was so honoured by his mighty brother that he was made the Duke of Gloucester. George had become Duke of Clarence at the same time.

‘Now you are Dukes,’ said their mother, ‘and that means you have a great responsibility to yourselves and the family and most of all to your brother. Never forget that your brother is the King and you must serve him with your lives if necessary.’

Richard wanted to say that he would have been ready to serve Edward with his life even without a dukedom, but he did not. One was careful what one said to Dame Cecily.

And then to Middleham Castle to learn to be a great fighter so that he would be ready if there was need to defend the crown. To spend long hours carrying arms which were too heavy for him and made his shoulders hurt and then to creep into the castle and lie down on his bed to rest making sure that none – except Anne – knew that he needed to rest.

Now the King had come. How magnificent he was – even taller than Richard remembered him. His mother was there first. She was about to kneel, for as she insisted on deference to her she was ready to pay it where she considered it due. But Edward would have none of that. He seized her in his arms and kissed her on both cheeks.

‘My lord ... my lord ...’ she murmured in protest.

But all those watching loved him for his easy manners.

Cecily was pale pink with pleasure at the sight of him. He looked more handsome every time she saw him after an absence. Oh she was proud of him. They all were.

‘Margaret, sister ...’

He embraced her and then his eyes were on his brothers and Richard noticed with a thrill of delight that they rested on him.

‘Richard ... George ...’

Richard’s eyes were full of devotion which was not lost on Edward. George’s were a little clouded. Edward understood that there was a streak of envy there. He made a mental note. He might have to watch George.

‘Richard ... how are you, boy?’ He had his hand on his shoulder. Richard felt uneasy. Was it noticeable then? It clearly was when he was without his cloak.

‘Growing up,’ said Edward. ‘By God, you are almost men.’

And when he went into the palace he kept his hand on Richard’s shoulder.

Cecily was longing to talk alone with her son. She wanted to know how far the negotiations for the marriage had gone. She would need to know well in advance of the ceremony. There would be a great deal to plan and she intended to have a very firm hand in that planning.

She noticed his profligate friends in attendance, Hastings among them. There was one other she saw. She had a vague idea that it was Lord Rivers, the man whom Edward was favouring, so she had heard. She had her friends everywhere who brought her news of Edward. This friendship with Rivers and his son Scales was most strange. It was not long ago that they had been fighting the House of York. They had been staunch Lancastrians. Why, he’ll be making a friend of Margaret of Anjou next, she thought. It was rather foolish with Henry of Lancaster, the man whom some people believed was the real king, wandering about somewhere in hiding in the North. How could Edward know that Rivers and his son were not traitors?

She would have a word with him about that.

She sought the first opportunity. She went to his bedchamber and imperiously dismissed those who were in attendance.

‘Edward, we must talk alone.’

‘Indeed we must,’ said Edward, who had no wish to listen to her probing questions but would not have dreamed of telling her so.

‘I am a bit uneasy.’

‘Dear Mother, when have you not been?’

‘The times are not so easy that we can allow ourselves to shut our eyes to danger.’

‘As usual you speak with wisdom.’

‘What of these men ... this Rivers and this Scales?’

‘Good men, both of them.’

‘Good men, who fought for the red rose!’

Edward put his hands on her shoulders and smiled down at her. His towering height gave him the advantage he felt he needed when dealing with his strong-minded mother.

‘They are good men, my lady. I like them. I trust them.’

‘Why should you do that? How long is it since they were our enemies?’

‘They supported Henry because they had taken vows to do so. Henry was anointed and crowned King. They realise now that he is unfit to rule so they have given their allegiance to me.’

‘I would not trust them.’

‘You do not have to,’ said Edward with dignity. ‘As long as I do that is all that is necessary.’

This was a new Edward, smiling affectionately as he spoke but with a firmness in his voice.

Cecily decided to drop the subject and turn to that of his marriage.

‘Warwick is on excellent terms with the French King, I hear.’

‘Warwick has told you that?’

‘My dear Edward, Warwick does not talk to me. But I hear these things. I know that arrangements are very far advanced for the wedding.’

‘Wedding? What wedding?’

She stared at him in astonishment. ‘Whose wedding would be of such importance ... but yours.’

‘Oh, mine ...’ said Edward with an attempt at vagueness.

‘The sister of the King of France. That is fair enough. I believe Bona of Savoy is an attractive woman.’

‘That may be,’ said Edward.

‘After the wedding it will be necessary for you to be more discreet. No one expects a man such as you to be faithful ... but all this open adultery will have to stop.’

Edward remained silent. She did not notice that his expression had hardened.

She went on: ‘The people laugh at your adventures. They like to think of you as the charming libertine. “Our wives are not safe,” say the merchants, “when the King passes by.” And they say it with a laugh, glad I suppose that you consider these women worth seducing. But it will have to change.’

‘It will change,’ he said. Then suddenly he said: ‘My lady, I am of a mind to choose my own bride. Why should Warwick decide for me?’

‘Warwick is negotiating as he knows so well how to. We can be sure that he will get the best possible terms from Louis.’

‘I shall not marry Bona of Savoy,’ said Edward.

‘What! After it has gone so far? Is there someone else Warwick considers will bring more good to the country?’

‘I have chosen my bride myself, and I shall marry her if it pleases me to do so.’

‘You must tell me,’ said Cecily.

‘Why not,’ replied Edward. ‘She is Lady Grey, daughter of Lord Rivers.’

Cecily was speechless and Edward went on: ‘She is a widow with two sons; she is a few years older than I. I love her dearly. She is the only woman I will marry and I am going to do so without delay.’

‘Edward, you like to joke.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘I like to joke. But this is no joke. This is reality. I am going to marry Elizabeth Woodville.’

‘Rivers’ daughter you say. A woman of no rank!’

‘Her mother is of the noble House of Luxembourg.’

‘Who made a mesalliance! Her father is the son of a chamberlain to King Henry the Fifth.’

‘You have discovered that. Why did you?’

‘Because of your friendship with Rivers which I did not like at all and which I did not understand, but now I do. Of course you are joking. You have met this woman and you are attracted to her. Perhaps she is rather pleasant to look at.’

‘She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.’

‘They all are ... for a night or two. I have seen you affected by the looks of some women many times. This is just another. A widow with two children!’

‘By God’s Blessed Lady, I am a bachelor and have some children too. Why cannot you see what a good sign this is? We have each given proof that neither of us is likely to be barren.’

‘You joke,’ insisted Cecily.

Edward was faintly alarmed. He had not meant to tell his mother but it had come out. Perhaps because he had made up his mind. But who knew what action Cecily would take? He had been rash to speak.

He did not answer and he saw the relief in her face.

She slapped his arm playfully.

‘You always did like to tease your mother,’ she said.

There was news from Warwick in the North. The Lancastrians were by no means beaten there and until they had made Henry their captive there would continue to be risings.

Warwick was with Lord Montague and the former thought Edward should join them.

Edward therefore took leave of his family and set out. Cecily watched him go with pride. She had stopped thinking about that strange conversation. His latest inamorata was this Elizabeth Woodville she supposed. There would be another before long. Strange that talk about marriage! But she suspected it was because she had said something about Warwick’s choosing his wife for him. No man liked to have another do that and that was why Edward had made this ridiculous suggestion.

It was nothing more than that. Edward’s position was too unsettled for him to take such risks.

‘There he goes,’ she said to her sons. ‘Are you not proud to be his brothers?’

Richard declared with fervour that indeed he was, but George said nothing. He was wishing he was in Edward’s shoes.

‘There was never a man more fitted to be king,’ said Cecily and Richard heartily agreed.

Edward rode out of London. He had made up his mind. He was going to do it. He could wait no longer for Elizabeth and if marriage was the only way, then marriage it must be.

He sent a messenger on to Grafton with the news that he wished specially to see Lady Rivers. He wished her to arrange everything. She would understand.

As soon as Jacquetta received the message she went to Elizabeth who fortunately was at Grafton, for it would have meant delay to have to send for her.

‘He is going to marry you,’ Jacquetta told her daughter.

‘I can’t believe that.’

‘I tell you he is. He has sent to me commanding me to make the arrangements.’

‘It will have to be a proper marriage.’

‘Do you think I will not see to that! I never dreamed of such triumph. I hoped of course ... but that he should really give way, that is hard to believe.’

‘You don’t think there is some trap in it?’

‘Of course not. I shall not tell your father.’

‘No, he would be alarmed.’

‘Yes, he would see all sorts of trouble. As for ourselves, we will get the marriage celebrated and think of difficulties afterwards.’

‘They will never accept me ... men like Warwick ...’

‘My dear Elizabeth, you will have the King yours to command.’

‘For how long?’ asked Elizabeth cynically.

‘For as long as you both live – if you act wisely.’

‘There will be other women.’

‘Of course there will be other women. Our stallion cannot be faithful to one mare. None but a fool would expect that. Let him have his women, Elizabeth. Understand his need for them, as long as you keep command of him and let none of the others do that. Think of what this is going to mean to the family.’

‘I am afraid there will be some hitch.’

‘I tell you there will be none. The ceremony will take place and then you will go to bed with him. You should get pregnant as soon as possible.’

‘That is a matter over which I shall have no control.’

‘You will give him many children. A good fine lusty son is what will set everything to rights. And when you have that the people will forgive you ... if some of the mighty lords don’t.’

‘There is Warwick. What will he do?’

‘As I see it Warwick’s power is on the wane. This marriage will show others that as well as Warwick.’

‘And do you think they will stand aside and give up their power?’

‘They will have no alternative. We shall create new lords to stand by the King. They will be the ones who have the power.’

‘New lords?’

‘The Woodvilles, my dear daughter. We have a large family. This marriage is going to bring good ... not only to you but to us all.’

‘I shall not believe it until it happens.’

‘That will be very soon. Now I must make sure we are ready when he comes.’

It was the end of April. Never had the trees flowered more richly. The horsechestnut, the hornbeam, the alder and the birch with the wild cherry were bright with springtime blossom. The birds seemed to have gone wild with joy as though they knew this was a time for rejoicing.

So thought Edward as he left his company at Stony Stratford and rode over to Grafton where Jacquetta was waiting for him.

‘All is ready?’ asked Edward.

‘My dear lord, I have forgotten nothing.’

‘Where is Elizabeth?’ he demanded.

‘She is waiting for you.’

‘Take me to her.’

There she was in a blue robe looking very much as she had under the oak in Whittlebury Park, her long hair falling about her shoulders.

Edward took her eagerly into his arms.

‘My love,’ he said, ‘at last. It has been long waiting for this day.’

‘My dear husband,’ replied Elizabeth. ‘I too have waited for this day.’

‘Let us get on with the ceremony,’ said Edward. ‘There must be no more delay.’

Jacquetta was well prepared. She led him and Elizabeth to a chamber where a priest was waiting. There were also present two gentlewomen of Jacquetta’s household and a young man who would sing with the priest.

The ceremony was performed and there at Grafton Manor, Elizabeth Woodville became the wife of Edward the Fourth.

As soon as the ceremony was over Jacquetta conducted the married pair to the bridal chamber which she had prepared.

Cursing because he must leave Grafton Edward rode back to Stony Stratford.

Hastings was astonished to find him so preoccupied.

‘You have enjoyed good hunting, my lord,’ he said. ‘I see that.’

‘Yes, Hastings, yes,’ said Edward shortly and returned to his own chamber.

He was married. Elizabeth was his. There would be consequences but he did not care. It was worth it. It was the only way with a virtuous woman like Elizabeth. She was wonderful; she was beautiful; and he cared nothing for Warwick or any of them. He had said he would marry where he wanted to and he had.

The next day he said casually to Hastings: ‘Before we move I shall send a message to Rivers and tell him I would like to stay a while at Grafton to enjoy some hunting in Whittlebury.’

‘A pleasant spot,’ replied Hastings and thought: So the Lady Elizabeth has been amenable after all. It must be the case. So many of them were reluctant at first. They thought it added to the pleasure of the chase.

And so to Grafton.

There Lord Rivers greeted him and there was an especial warmth in the greeting his lady gave to the King.

Elizabeth did not appear. I believe the virtuous lady is not at home, thought Hastings. In which case he probably does like the hunting. He seems on special terms with the lady Jacquetta but she is a little too mature to interest him I should have thought.

So discreet was Jacquetta that no one guessed that when they had retired she conducted the King to her daughter’s bedchamber.

‘I pray she is pregnant before the storm breaks,’ said Jacquetta to her husband. ‘The people will at least be more lenient at the prospect of an heir.’

Her husband, less adventurous than his wife, was very alarmed by what they had done without consulting him.

But Jacquetta shook her head. ‘You will see what good comes of it for the family,’ she told him.

And so Edward spent four days at Grafton where he was conducted every night to Elizabeth’s chamber.

It was with great reluctance that he tore himself away. It was necessary. Warwick was waiting for him in the North.

He would tell no one – not even Hastings. As yet the marriage should be a secret; and although it could not remain so for long, he must choose the right moment to make it known.

In the meantime he could think of Elizabeth, long for Elizabeth and take every opportunity of being with her.

He was deeply in love as he had never been before. He regretted nothing.

Chapter III THE QUEEN’S REVENGE

Edward paused at Leicester where he received news of battles in the North.

‘It will be necessary for us to gather together more men,’ he said. ‘We should tarry here awhile until we have a larger army. I should think that in a week or so we should be ready.’

Hastings was amused. Groby Castle was not very far – an hour or so’s riding and of course Groby Castle was part of that estate which Edward had so nobly returned to the widow of his old enemy Lord Grey.

Hastings smiled inwardly. So the ice maiden had relented. She had melted before the warmth of kingly passion. He was not surprised. It had happened that way before. He would help his friend all he could in his adventuring.

So they rested awhile at Leicester while Edward enjoyed a clandestine honeymoon riding over to Groby every day and staying there until early morning of the next.

It was charming, thought Hastings, but really there was no need for the lady to be so coy.

Warwick of course was getting impatient and they could not rest for ever and they had to go all too soon for Edward, whose passion was growing instead of abating. A very unusual state of affairs, thought Hastings. The lady must indeed be a real charmer. Perhaps when Edward tired of her – and he inevitably would – he, Hastings, might make her acquaintance.

Poor Edward, he was indeed downcast and it was impossible to lift his spirits. One thing Hastings had observed and that was that references to Lady Grey were coldly received, which indicated that the King undoubtedly was emotionally involved.

By the time the party reached York, Montague had won the battles of Hedgley Moor and Hexham and he and Warwick had suppressed other small risings in the area.

Edward congratulated Montague and created him Earl of Northumberland. His victories had been spectacular. He had completely defeated Somerset at Hedgley Moor and at Hexham had been confronted by an army with which rode King Henry himself. The victory there seemed to have crushed the Lancastrian cause. Many of its leaders were killed. Unfortunately Henry himself had managed to escape.

‘We must find Henry,’ said Warwick. ‘While he is at large there will be men to rally to his cause and that means danger. I shall not be happy until we have him in our hands.’

‘He is too feeble to fight,’ said Edward.

‘Aye, but he will find others to fight for him. I like it not that he should be free – fugitive though he might be. Then there is the Prince, his son.’

‘A boy!’

‘Boys grow up. Let it be known that there will be big rewards for any who deliver Henry to us. I wonder what is brewing in Margaret’s mind? I’ll rest better when you have an heir which brings us back to the subject of your marriage. It must take place soon. We should let nothing stand in its way.’ Edward nodded. The moment for revelation had not yet arrived.

They came south. Warwick was intent on preparations for the French marriage. It seemed as though he were thinking of nothing else. It could not be long before he must be told for Edward could not allow him to go to France and draw up the contracts.

There was a matter for concern over the currency. There was a scarcity of bullion in the country and it was agreed that new coins must be minted. Hastings who was Master of the Mint had made Edward see the necessity for the changes and Edward threw himself into the scheme with enthusiasm. It was a success and in addition to the mints in London, Canterbury and York new ones were needed and were set up in Norwich, Coventry and Bristol.

The people did not like getting used to the new values of nobles, royals, angels and groats; but they accepted the changes as necessary; and Edward found that the matter took people’s minds off the vexed one of a foreign marriage for a while.

But it could not be delayed for much longer and the moment came at a council meeting which Warwick had called at Reading, Warwick’s main purpose being to settle the final details before the embassy left for France to make the last arrangements for the King’s marriage.

Edward was ready. I am the King, he thought. And I will let them know it – all of them and in particular Warwick.

Warwick spoke at length as usual. Everyone was in agreement that it was time the King was married. The country needed an heir and the King would agree that it was his duty to provide it.

Edward said with the utmost grace that he was entirely in agreement with them. There was nothing he wanted more than to give the country an heir and he had already chosen his bride.

He was conscious of the tension in the room. Warwick was studying him with some puzzlement.

‘I will have Elizabeth Woodville, the daughter of Lord Rivers, and none other.’

There was an astonished silence. At length one of the councillors spoke. ‘She is a beautiful and virtuous lady, but not suitable to be the Queen of England.’

‘Not suitable!’ cried Edward. ‘Why not? She is the one I have chosen for my Queen.’

‘She is not the daughter of a duke or an earl.’

‘Her mother was the Duchess of Bedford. She is of the noble House of Luxembourg.’

‘The Duchess of Bedford married a humble squire, my lord.’

‘Have done,’ cried Edward. ‘There is nothing you can say that will move me, for I have already married the lady.’

The astonishment in the council chamber was so overwhelming that no one had anything to say.

The King walked out without looking at the Earl of Warwick who was sitting staring ahead.

So the King was married! First the Court, then the country was agog with the news.

How had she managed it? She had bewitched the King. Stories were circulated. He had tried to seduce her; she had threatened to kill herself with a dagger if he approached her; he had been trapped into marriage. How could an accomplished libertine be so securely trapped? There was one answer. It was witchcraft. Jacquetta, Lady Rivers – the Duchess of Bedford that was – had brought this about and all knew that she was a sorceress. There was wild conjecture as to how she had slipped a potion into his wine when he visited Grafton; how he had been led as a sleepwalker to attend that ceremony which had made humble Elizabeth Woodville a queen.

Yes, that was the favourite theory. It was done by sorcery.

The people were inclined to smile at their King. They did not like foreigners. Heaven knew the last King’s marriage had brought them the virago from Anjou. They wanted no more like her.

‘It is a love match,’ said the people of London. ‘God bless his handsome face. He has fallen in love with her and why should these mighty nobles try to spoil his happiness by bringing over a French woman for him. God bless the King and God bless the Queen if she is the one he wants.’

But whatever was said everyone was talking of the King’s marriage.

Richard was back at Middleham. He liked the fresh northern air and it was good to see the Countess and his second cousins again. Francis Lovell, son of Lord Lovell who was also being brought up at Middleham, was there and he and Francis were great friends. There was a warmth of affection for him at Middleham which he had not quite found in his own home.

There was always a great deal to talk about when he returned after being away. He, Francis and Anne would ride out on the Yorkshire moors and sometimes lie stretched on the grass while their horses drank from a stream and they could talk of what they would do in the future. Sometimes Isabel was with them, but she was delicate and tired rather easily. So did Anne, but she was so eager to be with the boys that she tried to forget her weakness. Richard often thought how strange it was that a strong man like the Earl of Warwick should have only two weak daughters, and not one son to bear his name.

How different it had been in his family. Of course some of them had died. There was Henry William and John and Thomas among the boys. The girls had taken a stronger grip on life except little Ursula who was the last and had been born some five or six years before the death of their father.

Then there was Edmund who had been slain in battle. Richard would never forget the day when the news had been brought to him of his brother’s death, because it had been at the same time as that of his father, and Edmund’s head had been stuck up on the walls of York with that of the Duke.

Edward had said they must forget all that. There were three of the boys left: himself, George and Richard.

‘We must always stand together,’ Edward had said. ‘Do you think anyone could harm us then?’

‘No one would ever challenge you, brother,’ Richard had replied.

Edward liked that. Edward was so magnificent in every way. He was good as well as great, and yet he had always had the time to think about his brothers and sisters.

Richard had told Anne that while Edward reigned they need never fear anything.

Anne had replied that while her father and Edward stood together none could come against them.

Francis Lovell pointed out that some had tried to do that and there had been battles.

That was true, agreed Richard, who hated to diverge from the truth just to win a point. But his brother had won in the end and it was the last battle that counted.

‘The last battle,’ he said, ‘has been won at Hexham. Poor Henry is wandering from place to place fearful of capture. They will get him of course and then ...’

They looked at him wanting to know what would happen when Henry was captured.

Richard said: ‘My brother will know what to do.’

His brother always knew what to do. How wonderful he had been at his coronation – but not aloof by any means. Ever ready with a smile and a nod of approval every time his eyes fell on his young brother. Looking a little anxious as he touched the boy’s shoulder, wondering whether his armour was too heavy for him, asking how he fared at Middleham.

Richard remembered how, after the second battle of St Albans, he and George had been sent to Utrecht by their mother. That had been one of the most unhappy times of his life because he had known that Edward must be in difficulties for them to be sent away. But it had been a short stay – they left in February and as soon as Edward was proclaimed King he sent for them.

What joy to see him again! He was even grander than before – a King indeed. When Richard spoke his name – and he invariably said ‘My brother’ – George had said it was as though he were talking of God.

Edward was a god – Richard’s God.

Richard would never forget the time when he and George had been sent to the house of John Paston when their mother went to join their father at Hereford. It had been sad to part from their mother and go into a strange house; but Edward had been in London and every day he had called at the Paston house to see his young brothers.

George had said: ‘So he should. We’re his brothers, are we not?’

‘But it is wonderful that he has time to see us ... that he makes time to come,’ Richard pointed out.

George shrugged his shoulders. Richard read the thoughts in George’s eyes. He was jealous. He was always talking of the perversity of fate which brought people into the world at the wrong time. George thought that if he had been the firstborn he would have been as wonderful and as suitable to be King as Edward.

What nonsense!

They lay on the grass together – he, Anne and Francis Lovell; they looked lazily from the wide expanse of sky to their horses standing quietly by. This was contentment. These were the people he loved. If Edward came riding over the rough grass now he would be completely content. Francis and he understood each other; he had made Francis aware of Edward’s greatness and Francis, being his very good friend, accepted what he said. Anne’s father, the great Earl of Warwick, was Edward’s staunchest supporter. It was a lovely cosy feeling to be among friends.

‘Dickon is so proud of his new badge,’ said Anne. ‘You kept touching it, Dickon,’ she added.

‘It is a rather nice one,’ said Richard.

‘Read it out to us,’ said Anne because she knew he liked to do that.

Richard read loudly and clearly: ‘Loyaulté me lie.’

Anne clapped her hands. ‘It is the most honourable thing in a man,’ she said. ‘Loyalty to what he believes in.’

‘It means,’ said Richard with a faint colour in his usually pale cheeks, ‘Loyalty to the King. That is my brother Edward. My loyalty to him will never falter.’

‘You are so proud of being brother to the King,’ she said, smiling at him.

He nodded and she thought: I suppose I must be proud to be the daughter of the Kingmaker. But one did not mention the Kingmaker to Richard. He did not like the suggestion that his godlike brother owed anything to anyone – even Anne’s father.

But she knew that he delighted in the friendship of her father and his brother.

Francis looked at the louring clouds and said he thought they should go back to Middleham.

When they reached the castle there were signs of activity there. There had been important arrivals. Richard’s heart leaped with hope. Perhaps it was Edward.

It was not, but it was the great Earl himself.

He was in a strange mood and it was clear that he was displeased about something. The mood of the great man must affect the entire castle and everyone was clearly rather unhappy.

Richard wondered whether he might ask what was wrong. He was about to but the Countess threw a warning glance at him, and he was silent.

He did say: ‘My lord, have you seen my brother of late?’

‘I have indeed,’ was the answer, and it sounded like a growl. It was clearly forbidding Richard to say more.

The Countess was eager to discover what had happened and when the Earl told her she could scarcely believe it.

‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘We’re going to have a coronation. Richard should prepare to leave for London at once.’

‘Elizabeth Woodville! I cannot believe it.’

‘Nor could any of us until it was shown to be true. We thought he was joking.’

‘But he has had so many mistresses ... why marry this one?’

‘By all accounts marriage was a condition of surrender and he was so bemused he gave way to it. I begin to wonder whether I have put the right man on the throne.’

That her husband was more disturbed than he betrayed himself to be, the Countess was fully aware. He had governed the King for so long that this was a bitter surprise when the King turned on him and made it quite clear that in future he would manage his own affairs.

‘It’s disaster,’ said Warwick. ‘The Woodvilles ... the woman’s rapacious mother ... You’ll see what happens. We shall have the Woodvilles everywhere and they are a large family.’

‘The King will quickly tire of her. He always tires of them.’

‘That is our hope. Then of course we must see about arranging a divorce and a new marriage which will bring good to the country.’

‘Richard, what are you going to do?’

He looked at her steadily. He was not accustomed to discussing affairs with her. He was very fond of her. She had been the best possible of wives. He should be grateful, for as one of the biggest heiresses in the country she had brought him the title of Warwick and the vast wealth which had helped to make it possible for him to rise to his present position.

He said: ‘I do not know. So much will depend on what comes from this.’

That was the truth.

He sent for Richard.

‘You must prepare yourself to leave for London,’ he told him. ‘A most distressing thing has happened. Your brother ...’

Mists swam before Richard’s eyes. He grasped at the table by which he was standing. Something had happened to Edward and the way in which Warwick was looking might indicate that he was no longer the King’s friend.

‘My brother ...’ he murmured, for Warwick had hesitated.

‘It is so grievous that I can hardly bring myself to speak of it. Your brother has married ... without consulting the Council ... without consulting me!’

‘Married to ... to Bona of Savoy?’

‘Good God no. If only it were so. He has married a woman of low birth. A most unsuitable alliance. His wife is Lady Grey, Elizabeth Woodville daughter of Lord Rivers.’

‘But I thought it was to be a French marriage.’

‘So did we all. So should it have been. But your brother has taken this rash act.’

‘What will happen?’

‘That remains to be seen. At this time we have this marriage. It is a true one and cannot be denied. So now we have a Queen ... Queen Elizabeth Woodville.’

Warwick managed to force a great deal of contempt into his voice.

‘I am sure my brother ...’

‘There is one thing you can be sure of. He has made a great mistake and we do not know what the outcome of this will be. And now we have to attend her coronation, God help us. God help the nation. God help the King. The folly of it is past understanding.’

Richard was angry. He hated Warwick in that moment. He drew himself up to his full height which was not very great and fingering the badge on his jacket he said: ‘I am sure that whatever my brother has done is right.’

Richard was dismayed on arriving at Baynard’s Castle where he was to join his mother to find that she was in a furious mood.

George, who was already at the castle, told him that she had been so since she had heard the news of Edward’s marriage.

‘She says she will never take second place to the low-born Elizabeth, even if she is the Queen.’ Clarence was amused. Richard had always known that he enjoyed discomfiture in others.

‘And why should she?’ he demanded. ‘She is of our royal blood. And this woman ... she is a nobody. I cannot understand what possessed Edward.’

‘Edward would not have married her unless he had a very good reason for doing so.’

That made George laugh. ‘He has his reasons most certainly. She must have something very special to tempt him.’ His eyes were speculative. ‘I wonder what.’

Richard hated any references to Edward’s sexual life. It did not quite fit in with the noble qualities with which he had endowed him.

‘I am sure,’ he said staunchly, ‘that Edward has acted wisely. We shall discover that to be so in due course.’

‘You are a foolish boy, Richard. You see no further than your nose. What are all the noble families going to say? What is the King of France going to say? And what is Warwick going to say?’

‘He will serve the King as all good men should.’

‘There is one thing I know. Edward’s most faithful subject is his brother Richard. You’re going to wake up one day, brother, and you will find that your god is only human after all.’

Richard was silent. There were times when he heartily disliked George. He himself was certainly uneasy about the marriage but he had made up his mind that if Edward wanted it he was going to want it too.

He turned away from George and looked out at the Thames flowing by just below the castle walls. He gazed along the water to the grey walls of the Tower and prayed fervently that all would go well for Edward and a resentment arose in him against George who seemed so pleased at the prospect of trouble, at his mother who was so haughty and declared she would not see the lowborn Queen, and towards Warwick who dared to think he knew better than the King!

Edward meanwhile was delighted with his bride. He was relieved too that the secret was out. If he had a chance to go back he would do exactly the same again. It was hard to define what it was about Elizabeth which so enthralled him. She was by no means passionate; she was aloof, cold even; he sometimes wondered whether her hold over him was that she presented a continual challenge. He was always attempting to arouse something which was not there. And of course she was incomparably beautiful – strangely enough in a different mould from beauties who had attracted him in the past. Her clear-cut features were as Hastings had once said, like those of a statue; and he was never quite sure what was going on behind those beautiful blue-grey heavy-lidded eyes. With her long luxuriant hair falling about her firm white body she moved him as he had never been moved before and he could say to himself: A plague on Louis. A plague on Warwick. Neither of them is going to stop my having Elizabeth.

Rather unexpectedly Warwick had decided not to offer any reprimand and long lecture on the harm that had been done. That was wise of Warwick. Edward would have been ready for him and Warwick would have learned once and for all that the King was no longer his to command. Warwick stayed silent, and when presented to Elizabeth showed all the respect that Edward, or even Elizabeth, could have asked.

Warwick had given his anger time to simmer down and it was no longer at boiling point and therefore dangerous. It was there, as deep and strong as ever, but under control. He could see what had happened and blamed himself for not realising it was coming. Edward was on the point of breaking away and would do so on this delicate matter of his marriage. The weakening chain must be repaired quickly and an appropriate moment chosen to slip on the leading-reins.

In the meantime he would show Edward that he accepted Elizabeth as Queen and would do his best to repair any damage that had been done to relations with France. He would try not to show how bitterly he resented having been made to look foolish in the eyes of the King of France who by this clandestine marriage had proved that he, Warwick, was not in the King’s confidence.

‘I made him. I put him on the throne. He would be nothing without me.’ So he had ranted to his Countess.

To Edward he smiled affably and discussed the arrangements for the Queen’s coronation.

First Edward wanted to present her to the nobles of the land and he would do that in Reading Abbey.

‘It is meet and fitting,’ he said, ‘that Clarence should lead her in. As heir presumptive to the throne it is his place to do that.’

Edward was smiling complacently. He was certain that soon there would be an heir to push Clarence aside. Both he and Elizabeth had proved – as he had told his mother – that they were not likely to be barren.

Warwick smiled grimly to himself. He could imagine Clarence’s feelings. That boy had ambitions. He had half hoped that Edward would never marry and then his own great ambition would be realised.

Not you, thought Warwick. I would prefer Richard – a good serious boy, loyal to his brother. I could mould him. But Clarence ... no, too vain. Too much superficial charm that is soon shown to be worthless. Clarence is no good. But that woman and Edward will have a brood of children I doubt not, for Edward will go to the making of them with an enthusiasm he has for little else. So Clarence was to lead her in. His mother was furious, but he had to do it. He had to obey the King rather than his mother. It was an amusing situation. They’ll not endure it, he thought. Warwick is seething. So are some of the others. They are setting up together against the Woodvilles already.

And here was the Queen. There was no doubt of her beauty. It was breath-taking. She was the sort of woman who was naturally regal. She was tall and therefore looked well beside Edward. He dwarfed most women. Her glorious hair fell about her shoulders and down to her knees and on her head was a crown of gems the points of which were formed in the shape of fleur-de-lys. She held her head high but her heavy lids were drawn down over her eyes and she looked at no one. Her gown was of blue, that colour which suited her above all others, and it was decorated with stripes of gold brocade; the sleeves were tight and the bodice close-fitting; and there was an ermine border about the skirt. Her shoes were very pointed and she picked her way daintily but with sure-footed resolution towards the nobles who were waiting to do homage to her.

Everyone’s eyes were on Warwick. He knelt before her. He took her hand and kissed it.

Clarence was disappointed. He was hoping for trouble.

Warwick could not have behaved more agreeably if the bride had been of his choice. No one would guess from his attitude how deeply the resentment was smouldering within him.

Just over a year after the secret marriage Elizabeth was crowned in Westminster Abbey.

It was Whitsunday and Elizabeth had been staying at Eltham Palace. Edward was keeping Court at the Palace of the Tower where he awaited the arrival of the Queen. As she came into London the mayor and the city leaders in all their colourful uniforms met her at Shooters Hill in order to form part of the procession which conducted her through Southwark to the Tower.

Edward was so proud of her, and he was delighted, too, that Warwick had after the first shock accepted her. If it occurred to him that Warwick might not be quite so reconciled as he appeared to be, Edward dismissed the thought. He hated trouble and all through his life he had pretended it did not exist, until the last minute when it had to be faced. Then he faced it with a nonchalance which was characteristic of him. He believed he could overcome every difficulty with his charm and grace – and often he did.

Elizabeth was carried from the Tower to the Abbey in her litter and the Londoners came out to marvel at her beauty and to look at the King whom they so much admired; and they thought the marriage was so romantic and just what they would have expected of their handsome King.

Edward was delighted that the Count of St Pol, the brother of Jacquetta, had accepted the invitation to attend the coronation because he gave a certain standing to the bride and reminded the people that although her father was a humble knight, her mother came from the noble House of Luxembourg. As for the Count who had vowed he never wanted to see his sister again, he was completely reconciled; his sister’s daughter having become Queen of England completely expiated her sin in marrying beneath her.

And after the coronation there was the grand banquet in Westminster Hall where the King sat beside his Queen and showed by his demeanour his immense satisfaction with the proceedings.

Jacquetta looked on with the utmost satisfaction. Who would have believed she could have brought Elizabeth to this?

It was wonderful. Already her daughter was bringing good fortune to the family. She and Elizabeth discussed at length the grand marriages there should be for the members of the family. There, close to the King, sat her daughter Catherine, now the Duchess of Buckingham, elevated through her marriage to the Duke into one of the richest and most important families in the land. So should it be for the others.

Very soon the Woodvilles should be the leading family in the country, outdoing even the Nevilles.

Perhaps the most satisfied woman in the country that day, apart from the bride, was the bride’s mother. It was a very different case with the bridegroom’s mother.

She had refused to attend the ceremony. She, Proud Cis, who at Fotheringay when her husband had been Protector of the Land had lived in the state of a Queen, with a receiving room where she gave audiences and where she had enforced royal etiquette on all those who came into contact with her – must now stand by and watch the low-born daughter of a chamberlain’s son take precedence over her!

No, Proud Cis would not accept Elizabeth Woodville as Queen.

Edward, however, was delighted with life. He was still in love with Elizabeth. There had already been minor infidelities it was true but they did not seem to matter. Elizabeth never asked about them. He wondered if she heard rumours for he had been rather indiscreet with a certain lady of the Court. Their affair had lasted a week before he was longing for the cool, aloof charms of Elizabeth.

He had discovered that he did not want his relationship with his Queen impaired in any way and he had suffered a qualm or so of uneasiness; but if she knew, and he thought she might, for those cool hooded eyes missed little, she gave no sign. When he muttered some excuses about his absences, she waved them aside.

‘I know full well that you will always have matters which take you from my side. I never forget that you are the King.’

He loved her more than ever. No reproaches! She just gave him cool calm understanding.

Her mother was often with her. He liked Jacquetta. There had always been a special friendship between them since she had been so helpful at the time of the marriage. People might say that it was her witchcraft which had made him so determined to get Elizabeth that he married her. He didn’t care. If witches were like Jacquetta then he could do with them in the kingdom.

There was good news of Henry the King who had been captured in the North. He had been in hiding for some time, living in fear of capture, resting at times in monasteries so Edward had heard. A life which Henry must have found most suitable. Warwick had met him when he was brought to London by his captors and so that all should realise the depth to which he had sunk they had bound his legs under his horse with leather thongs while he was conducted to the Tower. There he was handed to his keeper.

Edward rejoiced, not only that Henry was his captive but because Warwick’s actions showed that he was still the same strong and firm supporter of the Yorkist King.

They would all be relieved, of course, if Henry died, but they must not hurry him to death or he would become a martyr. Henry was perfect martyr material with all that piety. In the North some of them believed he was actually a saint. Moreover if he were to die there was still his son.

‘Let matters rest as they are,’ Warwick had said, and he added, looking steadily at Edward: ‘They have a way of working out for what is right.’

Warwick’s mind was busy. He had stepped back into his role of chief adviser; he had made a pretence of accepting the Queen. But in truth he hated the Queen. Not because in marrying her Edward had humiliated him in a manner such a proud nobleman would never accept, but he could see that the Woodville family would become more and more important with every passing year. The leading family was the Nevilles –made so by him. And why should it not be so? Who had put the King on the throne? Should not the Kingmaker gather a little for his own family?

And if they were going to be ousted by the upstart Woodvilles this could not be tolerated.

Elizabeth and that diabolical mother of hers were putting their heads together and enriching and empowering their family by the old well tried method – which was the best in any case – of marrying into the greatest families. And they were doing very well.

Anthony was already married to the daughter of Lord Scales and had that title. Anne Woodville had become Lady Essex having married the Earl; Catherine had married the Duke of Buckingham; Mary was the wife of the Earl of Pembroke; Eleanor was married to Lord Grey of Ruthin, Earl of Kent, and the youngest, Martha, was the wife of Sir John Bromley.

Warwick seethed with rage when he thought of Elizabeth’s efforts so far. Those were the Queen’s sisters, already exerting a Woodville influence in the greatest and most powerful families in the country.

This is something I will not tolerate, he thought. It is a decided threat to the Nevilles. We are the leading family. I have upheld and made the King. I will not be supplanted by these upstarts. Not only will they ruin the country, but they will ruin me.

Moreover the Queen had brothers.

Elizabeth was at this time considering her brothers. She was delighted with her sisters’ marriages. Her mother was right. That meeting under the great oak had been inspired. From that all their blessings had begun to flow.

She was at this time concerned about her brother John who was now nineteen years old. She wanted the best possible for him. The girls had all married well but the boys were even more important.

When Jacquetta made the suggestion to her Elizabeth could scarcely believe it for the suggested bride was the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk. True she was one of the richest women in the country, but she was almost eighty. Jacquetta, however, was serious.

When Elizabeth broached the subject to Edward he burst into laughter. He thought it was a joke. But Elizabeth was not given to joking on sacred matters.

‘I really mean it,’ she said. ‘John will take care of the old Duchess’s estates.’

‘Oh he’ll take good care of them, I doubt not,’ said Edward.

‘Edward, my brother should be married. Please grant me this. I want it to be.’

He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed the heavy lids. He had still not discovered what this extraordinary power she had over him really meant. Perhaps he loved her; it was strange, for he had played at love so many times, but again that might be why he was bewildered by the real thing when he encountered it. In any case he was fiercely glad that he had married her. And if she wanted the old lady of Norfolk for her brother, she should have her.

Everyone thought it was a joke at first. How could it be otherwise – a boy of nineteen and a woman of nearly eighty. The Duchess was distressed but too old and tired to care very much. She doubted the handsome young man would bother her. In any case it was a royal command, and the Duchess had no alternative but to submit.

It was the joke of the day. People talked of it in the shops and the streets.

Some said it was a marriage of the devil. Such an old woman ... such a young man. It was done for the money, the estates, the title. This was often the case but surely never quite so blatantly before.

Jacquetta was beside herself with glee.

‘You know how to manage the King,’ she said to her daughter. ‘Be careful not to lose your place in his affections. Be lenient with his misdemeanours, never criticise or reproach. Accept everything and he will deny you nothing.’

So the marriage of young John Woodville and the ancient Duchess was celebrated.

Warwick said: ‘This is the last insult. I cannot accept this woman and her overbearing family. They are making the throne a laughing-stock. I made a King. I can unmake one.’

The King was in a contented mood when Thomas Fitzgerald, Earl of Desmond returned from Ireland to report on events there.

He liked Desmond. A handsome man of immense charm. As an Irishman he was a good man to govern there. Warwick had chosen him and was pleased with him. Desmond and Warwick were on the best of terms.

A few years earlier when George Duke of Clarence had been made Lord Lieutenant of Ireland – a title for the King’s brother because Clarence was neither of an age nor ability to be able to conduct the affairs of that troublesome island – Desmond had been made Deputy, which meant that, in the circumstances, he was in full command.

Warwick had seen him on his return to England and had confided in him his horror and disgust at the King’s marriage.

‘Not only is this low-born woman on the throne but she is now so enriching her family that we are going to find ourselves governed by Woodvilles if we do not take some action.’

‘What action?’ asked Desmond with a certain alarm.

‘Some action,’ said Warwick mysteriously. ‘Edward is not so firm on the throne as he would appear to think. Do not forget that Henry, the anointed King, languishes in the Tower and across the water is a very bold and ambitious Queen with a son whom she calls the Prince of Wales and reckons to be true heir to the throne. Would you not think that a King who reigns in such circumstances should not be careless ... particularly in his dealings with those who have put him there?’

‘He should rid himself of the lady and her tiresome relations.’

‘So think I,’ said Warwick. ‘And when I consider the humiliation I was forced to suffer to put a crown on that woman’s head, it maddens me so much that I would do myself some harm if I gave way to my anger.’

‘I can understand your feelings,’ said Desmond. ‘I know that while the King was married he allowed you to negotiate with France.’

‘That is the truth,’ said Warwick. ‘The country cannot afford any more of these disastrous marriages. At the moment they are amused by this diabolical match between John Woodville and the old Duchess of Norfolk. But in truth it is no laughing matter.’

Desmond was grieved to see Warwick in such a mood; and what seemed to him most disturbing was that there was a rift between him and the King.

Desmond was devoted to Warwick whom he admired more than any living man; he was well aware of the part the Earl had played in affairs, but at the same time he was fond of the King. This was a very distressing state of affairs and he feared trouble might lie ahead.

When he presented himself to Edward the King was most affable. They discussed affairs in Ireland and Edward congratulated Desmond on what he had done.

‘You must get in some hunting while you are home,’ he said. ‘How was the game in Ireland?’

It was very good, he was assured. But Desmond would greatly enjoy hunting with the King.

When they were riding through the forest, they found themselves apart from the rest of the company. Edward was affable and disarming. He was so friendly that Desmond quite forgot as people often did that he was the King.

Edward mentioned Warwick and asked how Desmond had found him.

‘As ever,’ replied Desmond. ‘Full of vitality ... as clever as he ever was.’

‘I have a notion that he does not like the Queen.’

This was dangerous ground and Desmond should have been prepared for it.

He was silent. He could not say that Warwick had not mentioned this to him for Warwick had made his feelings very clear. He hesitated. Then the King said: ‘And what do you think of the Queen, Desmond?’

‘I think she is remarkably beautiful.’

‘Well, all must think that. What else?’

‘She is clearly virtuous. It is amazing that she who was a widow with two children should look so ... virginal.’

The King laughed.

‘I think I have been wise in my marriage. Do you, Desmond?’

It was difficult to answer. To give the reply the King wanted would have been so false and Desmond was sure that that would have been obvious.

Edward noticed the pause and burst out laughing. ‘Now, Desmond, you can be frank with me. I know you would not be the only one to think my marriage unwise, would you? You do think that, eh Desmond?’

‘My lord, I cannot deny that. It would have been wiser to have chosen a bride who could bring you an alliance which the Queen, beautiful and virtuous as she is, cannot do.’

‘Well, ’tis done now, Desmond. Tis irrevocable.’

‘No, my lord, not so. You could divorce her and make a match which would be more acceptable in the eyes of many of your subjects.’

Edward laughed. ‘That I have no intention of doing, Desmond.’

‘I am sure you have not, my lord. But you asked and I have told you what is in my mind.’

‘My dear fellow, of course I respect your frankness.’

The King was in a mellow mood when he returned to the palace. It had been a good day’s hunting. He went straight to the Queen who received him as always with that quiet pleasure which he found so comforting.

‘You have had a good day’s hunting?’ she asked.

‘I have. With Desmond. He’s a pleasant fellow.’

‘He has done well in Ireland, I hear.’

‘Very well. As Warwick said, it was good to have an Irishman there. They understand their own far better than they do others, and the Irish need a bit of understanding I can tell you.’

‘So you are well pleased with the man.’

‘He is a good honest fellow. I like a man to speak up for himself.’ Edward began to laugh.

‘Something amuses you.’

‘Yes. You’ll like this, Elizabeth. I asked him what he thought of you.’

‘Oh?’ The lids had fallen over her eyes and he could not see the expression in them.

‘He thought you were beautiful and virtuous, he said. So you see he appreciates your looks.’

‘That is good of him.’

‘Not so good. Do you know what he told me? He said that I ought to divorce you and marry someone who could bring good to the country.’

Edward laughed loudly.

She hesitated only for a very short time before she laughed with him.

He was beside her, putting his arms about her. ‘Needless to tell you I have no intention of taking his advice.’

‘I am glad to hear it, my lord.’

She spoke lightly but there was a cold fury in her heart. Edward was amused now but the very idea was dangerous, and men who planted such were menacing her.

While Edward embraced her she was thinking of Desmond.

I will remember you, my lord, she thought.

The Queen was pregnant and the King was overcome with joy.

‘Give me a son,’ he cried, ‘and we will laugh in the faces of all our critics.’ He told her of what his mother had said when she had first heard of the marriage.

Elizabeth laughed with him and showed no surprise or emotion when he mentioned his own offspring. She knew of them of course. They were the children of a certain Elizabeth Lucy: Grace and Catherine. He was very fond of them and visited them now and then, taking an interest in their welfare. The relationship with Elizabeth Lucy had been one of his more enduring. There was no doubt that he had other illegitimate children, but as he had a real affection for the mother of these two he felt more tenderness towards them.

Elizabeth had discussed the matter with Jacquetta and they had come to the conclusion that when she had children of her own she might bring the Lucy girls into the royal nurseries. It would be a gesture to enrapture the King and it would bind him even closer to his tolerant, quietly loving Elizabeth. But not yet, of course. It would be an error of judgement to bring another woman’s children into the nurseries while she herself had none.

But now the great day was approaching. The whole nation was delighted. Edward was popular. Even his wife was not disliked, for anyone coming after Margaret of Anjou would seem a welcome change. Moreover Elizabeth was English and if she was not so highly born as a King’s wife was expected to be, at least she had great beauty and as much – if not more – dignity than a Queen was expected to have.

Jacquetta was constantly beside her daughter and everyone was certain that the child would be a boy.

The King was even speaking of ‘When my son is born ...’ and the physicians had given their opinion that the child was male.

There was one Dr Domynyk who claimed to have prophetic powers. He could tell the sex of a child in its mother’s womb, he said, and he assured the King that the Queen carried a Prince.

So there could be no doubt and all preparations for a Prince proceeded.

Elizabeth’s time came. Calm as ever she retired to her apartments. The King was in an agony of impatience.

Childbearing was no new experience to Elizabeth and her mood was one of exultation for the child she bore would be royal, perhaps a King.

She endured her pains with amazing fortitude and she was rewarded it seemed by an easy birth.

The excitement was intense when the cry of the child was heard. Dr Domynyk could not contain himself. He was determined to be the first to carry the good news to the King that he had a son and to remind him of his prophecy.

Impatiently he tapped on the door which was opened by one of the Queen’s women.

‘I beg you ... I pray you ...’ panted Dr Domynyk, ‘tell me quickly, what has the Queen?’

The woman regarded him through half-closed eyes. ‘Whatever the Queen has within it is surely a fool who stands without.’

Then she shut the door in the doctor’s face.

He could not believe it. A girl! It was impossible! He had prophesied ...

The stars had lied to him; his signs and portents had misled him. And he was bitterly humiliated. He hurried away. He could not face the King.

Edward was disappointed when he heard that the child was a girl, but not for long. He went immediately to Elizabeth’s bedside, and when he saw her so calmly beautiful in spite of her ordeal, with her beautiful hair in two luxuriant plaits over her shoulders, he knelt by the bed and kissed her hands.

‘Don’t fret, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘We’ll have boys yet.’

While it was a disappointment for Elizabeth it was a triumph in a way because it showed the unabating strength of Edward’s enslavement to his cool goddess for within a few hours he was delighting in the child. ‘I wouldn’t change this girl for all the boys in Christendom,’ he declared.

The words of a proud father! Edward had always been fond of children.

The Duchess of York surprised everyone by arriving at Westminster Palace. Proud Cis had kept aloof since the marriage to show her disapproval and her refusal to take second place to that upstart Woodville woman as she called her.

It was a year and nine months since the clandestine marriage and the Duchess felt that she had remained in the shadows long enough.

They could show their contrition by naming the child after her, and she herself would attend the christening of Baby Cecily.

Edward was pleased to see her; he embraced her warmly. She had been foolish, he thought, over the marriage but if she was going to behave reasonably now he was not one to remember that.

‘A beautiful healthy child, dear lady,’ he said. ‘We are delighted with her.’

‘A boy would have pleased the people,’ commented Cecily.

‘Dear Mother, I am glad you are at last concerned with pleasing the people.’ He was smiling inwardly. He had always known Cecily to be concerned with pleasing herself.

Cecily ignored the comment. ‘An heir. That is what you need. All kings need heirs. It has a settling effect.’

‘Well, I have one. My little girl.’

‘The people do not want to be ruled by women.’

Edward laughed again. ‘But they often are,’ he said, ‘without knowing it.’

‘I trust,’ said Cecily, ‘that that is not the case with our present King and Queen?’

‘Nay, Mother, Elizabeth is no meddler. In fact more and more I rejoice in my marriage. If you would only give yourself the chance to know her ...’

‘I should like to see the child.’

‘Well, come to the nursery.’

‘I wish to see ... just the child. You can have her brought to me.’

Edward lifted his shoulders. He wanted no confrontation between the two women in the lying-in chamber. Elizabeth would be calm, he knew, and he also guessed that his mother would construe that as truculence or antagonism towards her. Elizabeth and Cecily were quite dissimilar. Cecily was explosive like a volcano always threatening to send out fire; Elizabeth was calm as peaceful meadows ... where one could lie down and forget irritations, offering absolute peace.

So the Duchess went to the nurseries and there she seated herself on a throne-like chair and sent for the chief nurse. She signed for the woman to kneel before her and told her that she desired to see the baby.

The woman rose, bowed and retired and came back with the child.

Even Cecily softened as she took the baby into her arms. A healthy child indeed, with a look of Edward, she thought. She commented on this. ‘This is a Plantagenet,’ she said. ‘No hint of Woodville here, praise be to God.’

‘If she is only half as good-looking as her mother she’ll be a beauty,’ said Edward.

Cecily was silent. Foolish lover’s talk! she thought. Is he not over that yet? Now the woman has produced a child it will be more difficult to get rid of her. Still, one never knew, and Edward had always been fickle in his relationships with women.

She said: ‘I should be pleased if the child was named after me.’

Edward bowed his head. He had said to Elizabeth only that day that he thought the child should be called after her mother and Elizabeth had smiled and said she had thought the same.

He said nothing now. He always avoided trouble. There was no point in creating scenes which might not be necessary.

The Duchess said that she would consent to be godmother to her granddaughter and Edward replied that that would give him and Elizabeth great pleasure.

Later, he sat by Elizabeth’s bed. The baby was sleeping in her ornate cradle.

‘So your mother came,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Did she not want to see me?’

‘Oh, she thought you might be a little exhausted.’

Elizabeth smiled faintly. Never question unless of course there was something to be gained from it. Edward was uneasy about his mother and as Jacquetta had said her task was to set him at ease ... always.

‘She suggested that she would be pleased if the baby were called Cecily.’

This was one of those occasions when a little firmness was necessary.

‘But we had decided on Elizabeth, had we not? You wanted Elizabeth.’

‘There is no name which would please me more but ...’

‘Then if it is your wish I am going to insist. The child shall be called Elizabeth.’

He kissed the lids of her eyes which gave such distinction to her face. Elizabeth used them sometimes because she feared her eyes might betray those innermost thoughts which she wished to keep from the world.

Now she did not wish Edward to see the triumph. The Duchess of York must learn that she could not insult the Queen and then condescendingly present herself and make demands.

Cecily indeed! After the Duchess who had made such an obvious show of her disapproval of the marriage.

Indeed not. The baby would be named Elizabeth after her mother.

The Princess Elizabeth was christened with a great deal of pomp and ceremony. Everyone was delighted that the King had a legitimate child. A son would have been a greater matter for rejoicing, but never mind, everyone was sure there would be a son in due course.

What was so comforting was that the baby’s godmothers were the mothers of the bride and bridegroom. Jacquetta let it be known that she was of as high birth as Cecily Neville and that the Queen’s mother had as much right to royal treatment as the King’s had.

But the greatest relief of all was that the Earl of Warwick was her godfather. This must mean, it was said, that he was completely reconciled to the marriage. There would have been some perturbation if people could have guessed the inner feelings of the Earl of Warwick. Plans were forming in his head; and he rather welcomed this occasion for it enabled him to allay suspicions. He was not yet ready to act but he was not going to stand aside and see the Woodvilles take over the government of the country which was what they were beginning to do with so many of them placed in the greatest families in the land.

The christening was performed by George Neville, Archbishop of York. Warwick had scattered his men throughout the country which was what the Woodvilles were now attempting to do and it was maddening to contemplate that he, Warwick, was being defeated at his own game.

A few days after the christening came the churching. This should be a grand occasion, because the people must be made to realise the importance of Elizabeth the Queen; those remarks about her low birth and her unsuitability for her new role must be suppressed for ever.

The Queen looked beautiful; her pallor became her; she was exquisitely dressed and as usual she wore her magnificent hair flowing about her shoulders as she walked under an elaborate canopy and there was a grand procession from the Palace of Westminster to the Abbey with priests, ladies, nobles, trumpeters and other musicians. Jacquetta walked immediately behind her daughter, her eyes dancing with memories and anticipation of greater glories to come. Jacquetta often said to her husband that they had been right in everything they did. They had loved rashly, married even more rashly and produced the finest family that was ever granted to a man and woman. ‘And it was because we were bold,’ she insisted. ‘We took what we wanted. We chose each other without thought of riches or greatness and you see riches and greatness are pouring into our laps.’

This marriage of her daughter’s was of her making – so she believed. She had been its instigator. Oh, she was happy on that day. Her daughter Queen! All her children in high places! Oh happy happy day when she had conceived the idea of sending Elizabeth into Whittlebury Forest to meet the King ... by accident.

The ceremony over they were back in the palace for the banquet. There was a golden chair for Elizabeth. How wonderful she looked! How regal! Her ladies, her mother among them, knelt before her while she ate very sparingly, neither looking nor speaking to those who knelt so humbly before her.

In spite of the lack of a longed-for boy, Elizabeth had turned it into a triumph. And a few months later she was pregnant again.

It was August when Elizabeth gave birth to her second child.

To her disappointment – and that of the King – this was another daughter. But Edward was as deeply enamoured of Elizabeth as he had ever been. Her cool beauty was so refreshing after the hot passion of his other encounters. These were continuing, though not with the same frequency as they had in his bachelor days. He had no need to make excuses or invent lies for Elizabeth. She never asked about his extramarital love affairs. They were unimportant. She was the Queen.

As long as he never lost his taste for her, no one could replace her. That was the only thing she need fear and it seemed very unlikely. Edward was polygamous. No one woman would ever satisfy him completely. He could not have chosen a wife more suited to him and as the years passed he became more and more devoted to her.

He quickly recovered from his initial disappointment over the second girl. The boy would come, he was sure. They were fertile both of them and they might have a girl or two perhaps before they got their boy. But the boy would surely come. Elizabeth already had two to prove it.

Elizabeth was already thinking of Thomas, the elder of her two sons by John Grey, because for him she wanted Anne, the heiress of the Duke of Exeter. Warwick had already decided on the girl for one of his nephews but Elizabeth had won the day. Warwick was annoyed about this, but he was still not showing what was in his mind.

The new baby was sent to the Palace of Shene to be in the nursery there with her sister Elizabeth who was her senior only by sixteen months. The Queen was determined that they should have a household worthy of Princesses who were heiresses to the throne. Therefore the babies’ nursery was conducted in the utmost state and presided over by Margaret, Lady Berners, the governess their mother had appointed.

There must be more children and most of all there must be a son, and Elizabeth was as confident as the King was that in due course they would have that boy.

Elizabeth never forgot old scores which she had decided should be settled; and as she rarely acted in haste she was always prepared to wait for revenge.

There was one remark which had been repeated to her by the King himself which she had never forgotten. It was Lord Desmond who had made it before the birth of the Princess Elizabeth, when he had suggested to the King that he should divorce Elizabeth and make a more suitable marriage. Edward had laughed the idea to scorn, but Elizabeth did not forgive it for that reason. He had planted a bad seed in the King’s mind and who knew in what dark spot it was sprouting. A little ill fortune, a suggestion which to an ambitious man would be irresistible ... and before she and her mother could do anything about it, her enemies would be descending on her.

Therefore she was interested when she heard a criticism of Lord Desmond’s rule in Ireland. It came from John Tiptoft, Earl of Worcester. Worcester said that Desmond’s rule appeared to be succeeding because he favoured the Irish. It was natural that the Irish should like him. Of course they did, he was an Irishman himself and Worcester believed that none could be so great a friend of the Irish without being a traitor to the English.

Worcester had always been a staunch supporter of the King. There was a family connection for his wife was the niece of Cecily, Duchess of York. Worcester’s character appealed to Elizabeth. He was a man who would calculate long before he struck. In fact, he had a reputation for inflicting unnecessary cruelty on enemies who fell into his power.

He had been a deputy in Ireland and therefore knew what he was talking about. Later he had been sent out to see the Pope on a mission for the King and had stayed for a while in Italy, and his sojourn had had a great effect on him. He was said to have imbibed a great many Italian ways and was as much Italian as English now.

Sure of his loyalty Edward had honoured him, and since there had been criticism of Desmond, the King was considering sending Worcester out to Ireland again.

When the Queen heard this she cultivated Worcester. She invited him to one of the banquets she so enjoyed giving and during it kept him at her side. But it was private conversation that she wished to have and when the opportunity arose she wasted no time in coming to the matter which was of utmost interest to her.

‘I am so glad you are going to Ireland,’ she told him. ‘I know there are great needs for reform there. The King has a fondness for Desmond, but I never trusted him.’

Worcester was only too pleased to hear his rival in Ireland denigrated. Any failure which could be attached to Desmond would enhance his own successes. He lent a ready ear to the conduct of Desmond and added something of his own.

‘Such men are a danger to the King,’ said Elizabeth. ‘They should not be allowed to live.’

Worcester was interested. For some reason the Queen wanted Desmond out of the way, and it would certainly suit Worcester’s purpose well to remove his rival.

‘When I am in Ireland I will discover what traitorous action Desmond may be engaged in,’ he promised.

‘And if you discover ...’

‘My dear lady, if I discover treachery I will wipe it out. There is only one price that should be asked of a traitor. His life.’

The Queen nodded.

‘I fear for the King. He is so easy-going, so blind sometimes to danger. He does not like to hear ill of those for whom he has some regard.’

‘If he were presented with the accounts of infamy ...’

‘Even then ...’

‘Well, my lady, we shall see. I am leaving for Ireland shortly and I swear to you my first duty will be to rout out the traitors.’

‘I shall look forward to hearing from you, my lord.’

‘It would not surprise me if I soon have news for you. My lady, you are alert to danger, and we say this in no disloyalty to the King but I agree that he is apt to believe the best of people. This gives his enemies the chance they need. I am speaking too boldly.’

‘My lord, you could not speak too boldly where the King’s safety is in question.’

‘Desmond is a close friend of Warwick’s and, I suspect, my lord of Warwick is not quite the good friend the King believes him to be.’

‘I, too, am watchful of Warwick.’

‘It is good to know the King has you to look to his interests.’

‘You may rest assured I shall do that. And I shall hope to hear from you before long.’

Worcester was as good as his word. He had not been long in Ireland when there was news of an action in a court at Drogheda.

A merchant was accusing Desmond of extorting money and livery and worse still of joining with the natives in a treasonable action against the English.

‘I never trusted Desmond,’ said Elizabeth.

Edward laughed. ‘My dear, he has always been my good friend. You know what these Irish are. They look for trouble and if they can’t find it, they invent it.’

‘Is that really so?’

Her eyes were downcast; she was demure again. He must not think that she disagreed with him or bore any grudge against Desmond, for if he did, he would know it was because of that unfortunate remark and, as Jacquetta and she had decided, to have shown resentment about that would have suggested fear. Edward must not think for one moment that she doubted his satisfaction with their marriage.

Walk warily, Jacquetta had said. And Elizabeth’s temperament had well equipped her to do just that.

She said no more of Desmond to Edward, but she sent warm thanks to Worcester and waited for the next step.

It was not long before it came. Desmond had been tried on the charges brought against him at Drogheda and they had been proved to be true; he was therefore sentenced to death by the court. All they needed was the King’s sanction to his execution.

Edward was in a dilemma. Warwick had taught him that he must have no scruples when dealing with traitors. They must be ruthlessly destroyed. Hadn’t the battle cry always been: ‘Go for the leaders. Leave the common soldiers.’ It was the leaders who made trouble, the leaders who were to be feared. And now Desmond. He couldn’t believe it, but according to Worcester’s report Desmond had tried to rouse the Irish against English rule there and that was a direct attack on the King.

But Desmond had always been his friend. He liked Desmond. Had he been overfriendly with the Irish? He was Irish himself! But had he conspired with them? Even if he had Edward would find it hard to put his seal on the death warrant.

It was typical of Edward that he shelved the matter. He put the order out of sight and forgot about it. They could not execute Desmond without his seal and if he did nothing the matter might blow over. Then he could perhaps recall Desmond and sift the matter himself. In due course Desmond could settle on his estates and Worcester could take care of Ireland.

It might be true that Desmond was a traitor. Men did turn for the sake of gain. But it was hard to think of Desmond doing that and in any case, he could forget it. Ireland was far away.

Elizabeth had said nothing of Desmond. But she knew where the death warrant was. She also knew that all it needed was the King’s seal.

Edward had other matters with which to occupy himself for he was deeply shocked when he heard that Warwick had suggested to Clarence that he marry his eldest daughter Isabel.

This was one of the matters which he did discuss with Elizabeth.

‘What does Warwick mean, think you?’ he asked.

‘It means that my lord Warwick is an ambitious man,’ said Elizabeth.

‘That, my dear, is no news. I never knew any man with more ambition. Why have I not been consulted? What does it mean?’

‘That Warwick believes himself to be too high and mighty for consultation with the King to be necessary.’

‘By God, there shall be no marriage. I want Clarence to strengthen the Burgundy alliance. I want this match between my sister Margaret and Burgundy’s heir to go forward and I thought Clarence could have the Count’s daughter Mary.’

‘Of course she is only a child.’

‘Clarence is not old. He can wait, I daresay. But Clarence and Isabel Neville ... never! For one thing they are second cousins. They need a dispensation from the Pope. I’ll see they don’t get that.’

Edward was so incensed that he completely forgot the case of Lord Desmond.

But Elizabeth had not forgotten. She had promised herself revenge for that remark of his and she would not be content until his head was parted from his body.

She awoke one morning early. The King lay beside her sleeping. She looked at him critically. He had lost a little of those outstanding good looks he had had when she had first met him. There were slight pouches under the fine eyes and a tendency to corpulence. She shrugged her shoulders. He was still a handsome man but his looks were not important as long as he retained his power and she must keep her hold on him.

She slipped off the bed. On a small table lay the King’s ornaments which he had put there the previous night before disrobing.

She went to it and immediately found what she wanted: his signet ring.

His papers were in an adjoining chamber and she had made sure that the one she wanted was among them.

It was all done in a few moments.

She had sealed the death warrant.

She hid it in a drawer and went back to the bed.

The King was still sleeping. She lay there watching him. Then she moved closer to him and he put out an arm and held her close to him.

He had no notion that she had left the bed.

The Queen was pregnant once more.

There was no question of her fertility. This time, said the King, it must be a boy.

News came that Lord Desmond had been executed – more than that, Worcester had seen fit to kill his two younger sons with him. This had shocked many people because the boys were still in the schoolroom and it was hard to see how they could have been implicated in their father’s treason. There was a story that one of the boys had a sore place on his neck and he had pathetically asked the executioner to be careful of it when cutting off his head. This story was repeated and people were beginning to hate the Earl of Worcester and to say that he had learned his cruelty in Italy and it would have been better if he had stayed there and never brought his wicked ways to England.

Edward was distressed that Desmond had been executed and was especially so when he heard what had happened to the boys.

‘Worcester is too harsh,’ he told Elizabeth.

She did not agree nor disagree; she just sat with her eyes downcast.

‘I did not give my signature to the death warrant,’ he said.

‘He is dead now,’ was all Elizabeth answered.

And so he deserved to be, she was thinking. How dared he advise the King that it would be a good thing for the country to rid himself of his Queen.

He had paid dearly for that remark. And so must all pay who tried to harm Elizabeth Woodville.

The King shrugged the matter aside. Whatever he did now Desmond was dead. At least he had not been forced to make a decision.

At the end of the year Elizabeth gave birth to another child. Once more it was a girl and they called her Cecily.

Three girls in a row was disconcerting when each time they had believed there would be a boy. But the King loved his children and to the astonishment of everyone he continued to be devoted to his wife. He was perhaps straying more to other women but he always went back to her and he did not appear to regret his marriage in any way; and cool, aloof, more regal than any of royal birth, Elizabeth held sway.

Chapter IV IN SANCTUARY

Warwick was growing impatient. He had endured enough. He had seen the Woodvilles rise from their humble station to become the most powerful family in the land. The King had insulted him by marrying this upstart widow while he, Warwick, was actually in the process of arranging a match for him with the French King.

Nothing could have been calculated to wound him more. Yet with superhuman control he had buried his resentments. He had attended the Queen; he had not reproached the King.

But what he would endure no longer was the power of the Woodvilles.

Almost immediately after the marriage he had sounded the King’s brothers. Richard was a young idealist and Warwick quickly realised that there could be no shifting him from loyalty to his brother. It was different with Clarence. Clarence was shifty, envious, grasping and it would not be difficult to make him change his allegiance; on the other hand he would be an untrustworthy ally, ready to turn his coat according to which way the wind blew. But even a momentary betrayal of his brother would be worthwhile.

He had tempted Clarence by offering him marriage with his elder daughter. His two girls, even dividing the vast Warwick estates between them, would be the richest in the kingdom.

Clarence thought of what marriage with Isabel would mean and he liked what he saw. Moreover he liked Isabel. Neither of the Warwick girls was as physically strong as their father would have liked them to be, but they were attractive, both of them. Anne and Richard of Gloucester were close friends; and George and Isabel had always had a fondness for each other. The girls were worthy brides for the two dukes, and before the Woodville marriage Edward would have agreed with the Earl on this. Now he was trying to stop Isabel and George marrying. That should not be so. Warwick had decided on the match.

Moreover the King wanted marriage between his sister Margaret and Charles Count of Charolais, the eldest son and heir of the Duke of Burgundy. This of course was the last thing Louis King of France wanted because he did not want a firm alliance between England and Burgundy. Louis had been Warwick’s friend and if Warwick took action against Edward, it was from Louis that he could look for help.

He had not let Edward know that he was doing all he could to prevent the Burgundy marriage. Indeed he had ceased to confide in Edward and although he kept up a show of friendship, it was nothing more than a façade. Warwick had finished with Edward. He would never forgive him for his ingratitude, and was determined that one day Edward was going to be filled with regret; he was going to see the great mistake he had made in thwarting Warwick, humiliating him, and setting up the family of Woodville to outrival that of Neville. Edward would have to learn that Warwick was still a power in the land.

In the meantime the great Duke of Burgundy had died and Charles of Charolais had become the Duke. Edward declared that there was no reason why the marriage should be delayed and the Earl of Warwick should conduct his sister on the first part of her journey to France.

Still keeping his own counsel Warwick agreed and on a June day he set out for Flanders. There had been a ceremony at St Pauls and Margaret seated on the same horse with Warwick rode through the city of London.

The people were pleased, believing this was a sign that Warwick and the King were as good friends as ever. They did not know that even as he rode to the coast with Margaret Warwick’s head was teeming with plans to take the crown from Edward.

Margaret said a farewell to Warwick at Margate and crossed the sea to Sluys where she was greeted by the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy and a splendid company.

The Duke met her and they were married at a place called Damme. After the ceremony the celebrations were so grand that those who partook in them declared that they had only been rivalled at the Court of King Arthur. The bride and the bridegroom appeared to be well pleased with each other and the only incident which marred the occasion was when they were nearly burned to death in their bridal bed in the castle near Bruges.

Fortunately they escaped in time and the fire was proved to have been started by a madman.

Edward declared that the marriage was a good piece of work, for it had strengthened the alliance between the houses of York and Burgundy.

Warwick was by no means pleased but he knew he had the friendship of one who was as powerful as the Duke of Burgundy: the King of France himself. Louis would be annoyed by the match, and he was already favouring Margaret of Anjou who was in France in exile; he would be a useful ally to his old friend the Earl of Warwick.

Ideas were teeming in Warwick’s head, for the moment of action was coming nearer.

The King was at Westminster and Warwick had installed himself in his castle of Middleham where he was joined by his brother George Neville, Archbishop of York, and by the Duke of Clarence who was ready, as soon as the Pope’s dispensation was received, to marry Isabel.

Warwick had made up his mind. Edward had now escaped from him; perhaps he always would have done so, for he was no puppet; he was a strong-minded man who knew how to rule and he was going to rule in his own way. He had come out in his true colours at the time of his marriage and had shown so clearly then that he would not be led. Edward was a ruler. He would have no master. Warwick had been deceived by his desire to avoid conflict – except in battle – to take the easy line, which Warwick had to admit was often the wise one to take. Edward was pleasure-loving, easy-going and not unkind by nature; these characteristics had been misleading because they had overshadowed the strong man beneath them.

Well, Warwick would have accepted that. He had wanted no weakling. It was the rising power of the Woodvilles in all key places in the country which he was going to put down.

He would do it and at the same time he was going to show Edward that though he was strong, Warwick was stronger.

From Middleham he was sounding out the North. The North had always been for Lancaster which meant it was against York and Warwick believed that if he were going to take up arms against the King it was from the North that he would get his support.

From Middleham to his castle at Sheriff Hutton Warwick watched the effect of his carefully chosen words on those men who, he thought, would side with him against the King. He was not disappointed.

His powerful brother George was for him. He had a deep grievance against Edward for giving his support to Thomas Bourchier, the Archbishop of Canterbury, for elevation to the rank of Cardinal – an honour George had long sought for himself; and when Bourchier was elected to the College of Cardinals Edward had exacerbated the sore point by writing personally to George to tell him, and in such a way as to suggest that he was snapping his fingers at the Nevilles and reminding them that they were definitely out of favour.

It was too much to be borne, and Warwick was incensed.

‘I made him,’ he was fond of reminding people. ‘But for me he would never have reached the throne. And when I have him there, crowned, anointed, what happens? He marries that woman and the Woodvilles are everywhere. It has to be stopped.’

Well, he was going to stop it.

From Middleham he sent messengers to the Court of France. He wanted to know how far the King would support him if he took up arms against Edward.

Louis, who was alarmed by the union of Edward and Burgundy through the marriage of Margaret of York and the Duke, would be eager to see Edward defeated and Warwick thought he could be relied on. He had Clarence with him and he had half promised that ambitious young man that if Edward were deposed Clarence could step into his shoes, which Clarence believed because Warwick wanted him to marry his own daughter Isabel. It would be a glittering prospect for Warwick with a daughter Queen of England.

But the Earl was determined not to strike until he was absolutely sure of victory. He went to Calais in order to make sure of the defences and while he was there some of his supporters who were getting impatient staged uprisings.

The leaders assumed the name of Robin which was meant to imply that they were men of the people, Robin being a friendly sort of name derived from Robin Hood. The first of these outbreaks was headed by a man calling himself Robin of Holderness. It was premature and disorganised and John Neville, whom the King had made Earl of Northumberland, had no difficulty in suppressing it. It was strange that a Neville should be siding with Edward but Warwick had been unable to convince this one of the good sense in antagonising Edward. Robin of Holderness had declared that he had arisen to set the wrongs of the people right and there was no mention of dissatisfaction with the King, although there were hints about his generosity to the predatory relations of the Queen.

Robin of Holderness was beheaded and that little rebellion was over. The uprising of Robin of Redesdale was of a more serious nature. Robin of Redesdale was suspected of being Sir John Conyers, a kinsman of Warwick, and that fact gave his insurrection a more sinister meaning.

Robin of Redesdale’s grievances were heavy taxation, men being called away from their families to military service outside their areas, and victimisation by the nobles of the land. There were also grumblings against the Woodvilles. The names of Lord Rivers and the Duchess Jacquetta were mentioned together with all those who had become so important since the King’s marriage because of their alliances with great families.

Edward shrugged off accounts of these troubles. ‘There is nothing that we cannot handle,’ he said.

But, after a while, the murmuring of what Warwick was plotting and the continued reports of the uprisings began to alarm even him.

Robin of Redesdale was still at large. He was not the amateur Robin of Holderness had been which indicated that Warwick might have a hand in this. The King decided that if Warwick were indeed behind it, he had better get his army together without delay and go in person to see what was happening in the North. Warwick meanwhile was watching events from Calais. His great insistence was that they must not move until they were ready. There was dissatisfaction in the North it was true. How much support would they who had always been Lancastrians be prepared to give Warwick, one of the great architects of the Yorkist success who was only now turning his back on the King he had made?

Meanwhile the King marched north but in no great haste, pausing to make a pilgrimage at Bury St Edmunds and Walsingham. He was accompanied by his brother Richard whom he always liked to have near him now that Clarence had defected. He relished Richard’s unconcealed loyalty and rejoiced in it. He was very upset by Clarence’s behaviour – not that he feared his brother, whom he had always considered ineffectual and rather stupid, but because Clarence was his brother and the infidelity of a brother seemed to him a very sad thing indeed. He kept with him, besides Richard, Lord Rivers and Lord Scales, Elizabeth’s father and brother whom he had first cultivated to please Elizabeth and of whom he had now grown quite fond. The Rivers did not argue, did not seek to guide as Warwick had done; they did what he wanted them to and if they were generously rewarded for it, that bothered Edward not at all.

Elizabeth was with them and the three little girls also. They would have to rest somewhere for it was not fitting that a child as young as Cecily should travel with an army. But he liked to have Elizabeth with him and therefore she came; and as he did not insist that the children remained behind they were with them too.

He was at Bury St Edmunds when messengers came from Kent. They had news from Calais. The King’s brother the Duke of Clarence had been married to Warwick’s daughter Isabel.

Edward was astounded. He had expressed his disapproval of the match; in fact he had forbidden it. That Warwick – and worse still his own brother – had openly defied him was impossible to believe. There must be some explanation; it could not be true. He refused to believe that Warwick held him in such contempt that he would deliberately defy him. Warwick had been his greatest friend, his hero, his mentor. George was his brother. He could not go against him. It was all some ridiculous mistake.

Elizabeth wanted to say that it was no mistake at all. It was time he realised who his enemies were. But she said nothing.

More news came. The rebel army was bigger than had first been reported and it was now clear that this was more than just a petty rebellion.

He looked at Elizabeth and thought of the children.

‘I want you to go at once,’ he said. ‘Return to London. If there is going to be trouble this is no place for you.’

She did not protest. She would be glad to have done with the discomfort of travel. She would call at Grafton and Jacquetta could return with her to London.

Elizabeth was glad of her mother’s presence but Jacquetta was uneasy. She sensed that powerful events were looming and they might be of ill omen.

‘I don’t trust Warwick,’ she said. ‘He was too powerful before your marriage ...’

‘Life changed for him after that,’ remarked Elizabeth with a smile.

‘A man like Warwick does not allow himself to be pushed aside.’

‘If the forces which push him are strong enough he has no help for it.’

Jacquetta was silent. At times Elizabeth was a little too complacent. However, she was glad to have her daughter safe from the armies; and the children too. Cecily not yet a year old was far too young to be carried round the country.

Warwick had landed in England and there was great rejoicing in London where he was warmly welcomed. There was trouble in the north, it was said and, the King had asked Warwick and his brother George to come to his aid. Warwick had immediately responded. All was well. Warwick and the King were friends.

It was clear, Jacquetta told her daughter, from what was being said that many believed there was a rift between the King and the Earl. The people of London were really alarmed at that. It could mean civil war.

‘Civil war! Never. Warwick would not dare.’

‘I begin to think,’ said Jacquetta, ‘that Warwick would dare a great deal.’

The days were tense and spent in waiting for news. It came in frustrating briefness, so that it was not easy to piece the events together and see the picture clearly.

Warwick had been lying, it seemed, when he had said he was going to the King’s aid. No such thing. He was joining the rebels.

William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke and Humphrey Stafford, Earl of Devon were marching to Banbury. They had a strong force from Wales and the West Country and they were stalwart adherents of the King. They would soon settle the rebels.

Jacquetta and Elizabeth waited for news of the battle, certain at this stage that the rebels would be crushed and peace restored.

But it was not so, for Warwick’s army had joined the rebels and at Edgecot the loyal men were defeated. Pembroke and his brother were taken prisoner and in accordance with the rule of destroying the leaders were beheaded at Northampton the next day.

‘Warwick has gone too far this time,’ said the Queen, but now she was beginning to be alarmed. She turned to her mother. ‘What is going to happen?’ she demanded. ‘Where will this end?’

But this time the future would not reveal itself to Jacquetta.

The situation was even worse than Jacquetta and Elizabeth in London realised, for when the news of Pembroke’s defeat at Edgecot reached Edward’s small army, men began to desert him and he was left with a very few followers and to his immense chagrin he realised that he had made a vital mistake. He had delayed too long; he had refused to believe the obvious. Stubbornly he had set his mind against accepting the perfidy of his brother and the furious revenge of the Kingmaker.

There was nothing for him to do but wait in the little town of Olney. Richard was with him, Hastings too.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘we are at the mercy of our enemies.’

‘Not for long,’ said Richard. ‘We shall give a good account of ourselves.’

‘We need cunning, brother, rather than bravery. We shall have to meet whatever comes to us with skill. I do not think Warwick or George would want to harm me.’

Richard said: ‘George has always wanted to take your place.’

‘George wouldn’t last a day as King.’

‘With Warwick manipulating him?’

‘George would never have the good sense to allow Warwick to do that. Richard, perhaps you should make your escape.’

‘What!’ cried Richard. ‘Leave you here? Nay, where you go I go. If you stay I stay here too.’

‘It does me good to hear you, Richard,’ said Edward. ‘You have always been the best brother a man ever had.’

‘You have been that to me.’

‘This is no time for sentiment. I doubt not that Clarence will be here to speak with me ere long. I wonder if Warwick will come?’

‘I will kill him if he does.’

Edward laughed. ‘You will not get a chance and I would not allow it if you could. In spite of everything I like the old warrior. He was a good friend to me ... once.’

‘And has become a bad enemy.’

‘No, Richard, still a good one.’

‘I do not know how you can laugh when this is happening.’

‘Sometimes I think that quality in me ... or maybe fault ... is the reason I have reached the top.’ He put his head close to his brother’s. ‘And I shall stay there, Richard. Rest assured of that.’

Back at Baynard’s Castle a messenger had come into the courtyard. Slowly he dismounted and made his way into the castle. He was dreading the moment when he must face the Queen and her mother. Every messenger longed to be the bearer of good news, for messengers were often rewarded when they brought it, which was nothing to do with their efforts, and they were spurned when it was the other way round. It was illogical, and yet understandable.

Now this messenger knew that what he had to tell could not be more woeful.

As soon as Jacquetta heard that a messenger had arrived she sent for him and he came to her and Elizabeth.

He bowed low and hesitated.

‘Come,’ said the Queen imperiously, ‘what news?’

‘My lady ... my ladies ... I ...’

‘Speak up!’ cried Elizabeth peremptorily.

Jacquetta laid a hand on her arm. ‘The man hesitates because he fears what he has to say will grieve us.’ She spoke gently. ‘Pray tell us. Take your time. We know how you hate to be the bearer of this news.’

‘My ladies, forgive me ... but my Lord Rivers ...’

Jacquetta put her hand to her heart. She did not speak. She kept her eyes fixed on the messenger’s face.

He stared at her appealingly as though begging her not to ask him to proceed.

‘He is dead,’ said Jacquetta in a blank voice.

‘He was captured with his son Sir John when they were making their way back to London after the defeat at Edgecot.’

‘How...’ began Jacquetta.

‘They were beheaded at Kenilworth, my lady.’

Jacquetta put her hands over her face. Elizabeth sat staring in front of her.

It was Elizabeth who spoke first. ‘Who ordered this ... murder?’

‘It was the Earl of Warwick, my lady.’

Elizabeth nodded her head.

‘Go down to the kitchens and refresh yourself,’ she said.

When he had gone Jacquetta lowered her hands and looked at her daughter. Elizabeth thought she had never seen such desolation in anyone’s face before.

Jacquetta said nothing. She was thinking of the day she had met her husband, of his good looks and his charm, their romance which had swept her, a not unambitious young woman, off her feet. Their marriage had been an idyll. He had been everything she had known he would be. And now he was dead. She thought of that dear head which she had loved so well, being placed on a block and wantonly and so cruelly severed from his body. And John too. Her beloved son! She loved her children none the less because of the great affection she had for her husband. They were a clan the Woodvilles, the triumph of one was the triumph of them all as they had seen on the marriage of their sister. The Queen of England had applied herself assiduously to the betterment of her family from the moment she was able to do so. This dear John who had been with his father when they were murdered had recently married the old Dowager Duchess of Norfolk and become one of the richest men in the country. Now it was of no avail. All that money, all those vast possessions which had gone with the poor old lady bride were nothing to him now.

The sorrows of one were the sorrows of all as with the triumphs and she knew that Elizabeth, sitting there so quiet, so restrained, was fighting an emotion as bitter as her own.

It was Elizabeth who spoke first: ‘Curse Warwick,’ she said. ‘I shall not rest until his head is parted from his body. He shall answer for this. Every time I see him I shall see my beloved father and my brother and remember what he did to them.’

George Neville Archbishop of York had arrived at Olney close to Coventry and presented himself to the King.

He was most respectful. He came, he said, on behalf of his brother the Earl of Warwick and wished to conduct the King to him. With the Earl was the Duke of Clarence, both the King’s faithful lieges. They were concerned for his safety and had come to guard him.

Edward laughed. ‘Not long ago they were fighting against me.’

‘Nay, my lord,’ said the suave Archbishop, ‘you are mistaken. My brother’s great concern was for your safety. He told the people of London that he was riding to your aid. Your brother the Duke of Clarence joins him in this.’

Richard who was with the King said: ‘You are traitors all of you.’

Edward laid a hand on his arm.

‘I see,’ he said, ‘that you are determined to make me your prisoner.’

Richard stepped towards the Archbishop and again Edward restrained him.

‘What would you have of me?’ he asked.

‘That you accompany me to my brother.’

Edward knew that he was in their power. He had been foolish and foolishness could be disastrous. He had been dilatory; he had refused to see danger when it stared him in the face. Well, now he must answer for his folly. It was a temporary set-back. He was sure of that. Warwick was not a great general. Edward had little respect for his performance in the field. It was cunning strategy at which Warwick excelled. He had the ability to turn defeat into victory by some action which was totally unexpected by the other side. He must try to imitate Warwick’s strategy. Therefore he would go along with him. He would pretend to believe in his fidelity even though his betrayal was clearly obvious.

‘I will come with you,’ he said. ‘I will see Warwick.’

The Archbishop bowed his head. ‘Then we should leave without delay.’ He turned to Richard and Hastings who had taken up their stand on either side of the King.

Richard was a boy of seventeen or so and he looked younger because of his delicate stature. Warwick had said ‘Let Richard go.’ As for Hastings, well he was Warwick’s brother-in-law. He had always thought that with a little persuasion he might win Hastings to his side. That was if he saw that Edward’s cause was hopeless. So George Neville had had instructions to send Richard and Hastings away. Let them go free, find their way to where they wished to go. It was only Edward he wanted.

Sadly Richard said goodbye to his brother and rode away with Hastings, and Edward allowed himself to be conducted to Coventry where Warwick awaited him.

Warwick was naturally triumphant.

‘Here is a sorry state of affairs,’ he said. ‘You know, Edward, I wish you no harm.’

‘Nay,’ replied Edward easily, ‘you only wish to make me your prisoner.’

‘You and I should never have allowed a wedge to be put between us.’

‘I do not put it there, Richard.’

‘Oh ’twas others, I grant you. The merry Woodvilles. Edward, it is no use. You know what happens to kings who honour their favourites to the detriment of the realm.’

‘What has the realm suffered?’

‘The realm has suffered because power has been placed in the hands of those incapable of handling it ... and they are concerned only for material gain.’

‘So many of us are, Richard.’

‘There are some of us who love our country and would serve it asking no reward.’

‘Show me such a man and I will make him my chancellor.’

‘You are not in a position to make or unmake at this time, my lord.’

‘’Tis true. So I am your prisoner. What will you do with me? Have my head as you have that of my father-in-law?’

‘It wounds me that you should even think of such a thing. I am your friend. I put you on the throne and you have spurned me for a pack of avaricious nobodies.’

‘You put me up and you could put me down, is that what you mean?’

Warwick looked at him steadily and did not answer.

He is a power, thought Edward. I could not have governed in those first weeks without him. It is a pity that there should be this rift but it was either him or Elizabeth. Warwick was half resentful, half admiring of his attitude. Edward showed no fear. He could take him outside to the block and have his head as he had had those of Rivers and his son, and Edward knew it; but he sat there smiling blandly, accepting defeat which he was implying could only be temporary.

And if the tables were turned, what then? What would Warwick’s fate be?

He would be forgiven, that was clear. Edward never liked dealing death. He only did it when it was expedient to do so.

‘We are leaving for my castle of Warwick,’ said the Earl, and within an hour the King was riding out beside the Earl, Warwick’s prisoner.

There was a smile of triumph about Warwick’s mouth. He had shown Edward that the King could not remain the King without the help of the Kingmaker.

For a short while it seemed as though Warwick was the ruler of England. He considered what had happened when previous kings had been disposed. In the cases of Edward the Second and Richard the Second Parliament had been called and there the fall of the King was solemnly declared.

He was not sure what should be done. The ideal action would be to put Edward back but as a puppet of the Warwick regime. Edward was the man for king – providing he followed Warwick’s rule. The Woodvilles were being dismissed. That should be a beginning.

But Warwick had miscalculated somewhere. History did not necessarily repeat itself. Edward the Second and Richard the Second had been unpopular kings; Edward the Fourth was far from that. Although his favouring of the Woodvilles was similar to the action of the other two kings with their favourites, Edward had that essential masculinity, those outstanding good looks, that ability to charm his humblest subjects.

The people might not like the Woodvilles but they liked Edward very much.

Events therefore did not move to the pattern Warwick had expected. ‘Where is the King?’ asked the people. ‘The King is a prisoner,’ was the answer. Then, decided the people, there was no more rule in the country. Rioting broke out in London and in some of the main cities and the country was soon in uproar.

Warwick moved the King to Middleham. Revolt was breaking out in the North; the Lancastrians started a rising of their own. This was disaster. Warwick had expected events to follow a pattern and they were making a new one of their own.

Edward, hearing what had happened, declared that he held nothing against the House of Neville. He knew his one-time friend and mentor Warwick cared deeply for the country and as Edward did too their aims were as one. When this unhappy matter was over the Nevilles should lose nothing. They should keep his respect as they always had.

He was moved to York which he entered in state as the King should and he set up residence at Pontefract Castle.

No sooner did the people see the King and Warwick together as friends than men began to flock to the royal banner in order to put down the Lancastrian revolt. They wanted no more civil war in the country. They had hoped the Wars of the Roses had come to an end when Edward seemed to be safe on the throne.

Warwick now saw that Edward could bring men to his banner as he, Warwick, could not. Edward had the hearts of the people. It was Edward the people wanted; and Warwick had learned that it was the people who finally settled who was to be their King.

The Londoners were clamouring for him. There was no help for it. Edward must be free to go to London to show the people that he was no one’s prisoner and that Warwick had been right when he had said that his aim was to stand beside the King and bring him to safety.

With great rejoicing the King was united with the Queen. Warwick remained in the North with Clarence. He had learned a lesson. Just as he had turned defeat into victory at St Albans, so Edward had at Edgecot.

Well, had not Edward been his pupil?

There would be another time though, Warwick promised himself, and then he would be wiser.

It should not happen like this again.

Edward was in command of London but Warwick was in the North and with him was Clarence. It was a dangerous situation.

The country was divided and it was no use expecting the peace to last. Warwick had learned that he could not gather men to his banner; he might be the Kingmaker but he was no King. Edward realised too that he must make peace with Warwick if he was going to bring the country to a settled state. At the moment it was uneasy and people were ready to rise at the least provocation; there were riots in various places. Moreover Warwick had Clarence with him and Clarence could be a claimant to the throne.

Edward understood Jacquetta’s grief for the loss of her husband; he knew how she and Elizabeth must hate Warwick but Elizabeth never mentioned the Earl to him.

It was pleasant to escape into the peace of her company; she was there providing just what he wanted, and she did not intrude: she did not demand this and that. She was pleased he knew when he took honours from the Warwick faction and bestowed them on the Woodvilles. Her brother Anthony was close to him now. He had become Lord Rivers, having taken his dead father’s title.

Edward sent invitations to Warwick and Clarence to come to the Council at Westminster. At first they were wary, demanding many guarantees of safe conduct; finally these were given and they came to London where Edward received them with affection.

There was no real quarrel between them, Edward assured them. ‘Let us forget our grievances and go on as before.’

In Warwick Castle the Earl’s daughters sat together talking quietly. Every now and then Anne glanced at her sister Isabel. Isabel was heavily pregnant; she looked ill and Anne was worried about her sister. So was the Countess their mother. Isabel had never been strong – nor had Anne for that matter; their health had been a constant cause of anxiety to their parents from their birth.

‘I thank God,’ the Countess had said to her daughter Anne, ‘that Isabel will have her baby here at Warwick and I shall be here to look after her. We’ll look after her together, Anne.’

Anne nodded. ‘But she will be so happy, my lady, when her baby is born.’

‘Ah yes, and so will the Duke. We’ll hope for a boy. Your father has been so disappointed not to have a son.’

Anne put her arms about her mother’s shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, dear lady, that we were both girls.’

The Countess laughed. ‘My dear child, I would not change either of you. But I did often wish that I could give your father the son he wanted. Alas, I shall never do that.’

Anne knew that at her difficult birth her father had been told that the Countess could not bear more children and she could imagine what a great blow it must have been for such an ambitious man; but he was reconciled. When he was with them he was as near to happiness as he had ever been, Anne believed. Some might not. He was an adventurer, a leader by nature, a ruler of men. The King owed his crown to him. He had made Edward as surely as he had unmade Henry.

As Anne had said to Isabel: ‘It makes one uneasy to be the daughter of such a father. It is as though great things will be expected of us.’

‘All that will be expected of us,’ Isabel had replied, ‘is to marry where we are bidden to. And when we are married to produce sons ...’

‘Daughters too perhaps,’ added Anne, ‘for daughters have their uses.’

And they certainly had, for Isabel was soon after that married to the Duke of Clarence.

She had been a little frightened at first, but George Plantagenet had grown fond of her and she of him. It was easy to be fond of Isabel. She was pretty and very gentle and of course she had a vast fortune, or would have when her father died – a fortune she would share with Anne.

Anne remembered days which seemed so long ago now when she and Richard had ridden together through the woods or played guessing games in the schoolroom. Where was Richard now? she often wondered. There was a great deal of uneasiness throughout the country because her father and the King were in conflict, and all the time they were trying to pretend to each other and to the people that they were not. But they were, of course. She had heard such a lot of talk about the King’s marriage and she knew how much her father hated it, hated the Woodvilles and was going to be revenged on them for taking all the important posts and marrying all the rich people so that they became more important in the country than he was.

It was a frightening situation, for Clarence was Isabel’s husband and he was against his own brother and had whispered to Isabel that she might one day be a queen, for there was a scheme afoot to put him on the throne in place of his brother.

Anne was suddenly startled by the sound of galloping horses. Isabel looked up from her embroidering.

‘Visitors?’ she asked uneasily. They were always uneasy when visitors came to the castle nowadays, for they could never be certain what news they would bring.

Anne rose and went to the window where she could see the party in the distance and that the standard-bearer carried the device of the bear and the ragged staff.

‘It is someone from our father,’ she said.

Isabel murmured: ‘Dear God, I trust not bad news.’

Anne was silent. Then she said: ‘It is our father ... and sister, your husband is with him. I will go at once and find our mother.’

Anne hurried out of the room while Isabel rose and went to the window. The riders were now clattering into the courtyard. Isabel saw her young husband. He had leaped from his horse and a groom had run forward. She heard her father’s voice shouting orders.

The Countess was already in the courtyard with Anne. Warwick embraced first his wife and then his daughter.

Anne knew by the set expression of his face that something was wrong. He said: ‘Let us go in. I have much to say and there is little time.’

Ominous words, she thought. Something fresh had happened. How she wished there did not have to be this trouble. It seemed so wrong that there should be a quarrel between her father and the King. They had always been such good friends. And Isabel’s husband was actually the King’s brother which made it all most unnatural.

But now something very important was afoot. Anne noticed that her mother was trembling slightly and it was not only due to the excitement of the unexpected arrival of her husband.

The Earl lost no time in explaining the situation for they must leave at once since there was not a moment to spare. He was being pursued by his enemies and if he were caught that would be the end of him, the end of them all. They must get to the coast with all haste and then sail for France, where his very good friend the King would give him temporary shelter and the means to get back to England.

‘You cannot mean this,’ cried the Countess. ‘Do you know that Isabel’s baby is due within a month?’

‘My dear lady, I know that well and I know that even so it is dangerous for us to stay here. The King’s men are marching to take me. My plans have gone wrong. I shall be at his mercy and that will be the end of me. Nothing less than my head will suit him.’

Anne said: ‘I will go and prepare Isabel. She will have to be carried in a litter.’

‘God help us!’ cried the Countess.

‘Now let us lose no time,’ said the Earl; and he began giving orders.

While Warwick’s messengers were making their way to the coasts of Devon and Dorset with orders for ships to be made ready, the party set out. Both Anne and her mother were deeply concerned about Isabel’s condition for she was clearly finding the travel both irksome and dangerous.

Warwick and his family safely embarked on one of the vessels he had managed to commandeer and they all sailed for Southampton where he kept several of his stoutest ships. Unfortunately for Warwick, Lord Rivers who was more energetic and astute than his father had intercepted them and a battle ensued.

Anne sat with her sister in one of the cabins and tried to interest her in talk of the coming baby but the sound of gunfire shattered the peace and Anne greatly feared what might be happening to her father’s ships. After what seemed like an interminable battle, although the Earl had lost several of his ships the one in which his family were travelling managed to escape, and with a few of the other vessels which had survived, sailed out to sea.

As they neared Calais, Warwick sent out a message to his friend and ally Lord Wenloch, to ascertain what their welcome would be in that port. The answer came back that it would be hostile and that the Duke of Burgundy on one side and the Yorkists on the other were waiting for his arrival and were standing by for his capture. He would, therefore, do better to land at a French port and throw himself on the hospitality of the King of France.

Warwick, who had on more than one occasion shown himself to be master of the sea, turned from Calais. He had always been at his best against desperate odds, and he was already making plans – plans which at first might seem quite wild and impossible; but the more outrageous they were the more they stimulated the Earl.

Meanwhile Isabel was causing great anxiety, for her pains had started and it had become clear that her child was about to be born on the high seas.

‘We must get into port at once,’ cried the Countess.

Warwick was overcome with anxiety for his daughter but he knew that to go into port was impossible for if they attempted to land they would be taken into captivity.

Anne was frantic. ‘We need so much. There are no herbs, no soothing medicines, no midwife ...’

The Countess said: ‘We must do our best.’ A storm had arisen, and the wind began to howl and the boat to rock; and in the midst of the storm Isabel’s child was born.

That she lived was a miracle but the child was dead. Isabel lay delirious on a pallet while Anne and the Countess prepared the little body for burial. The child was a boy and Anne could not help reflecting that had he lived he might have been the King of England.

There was a sad little ceremony when the child’s body sewn into a sheet was slipped into the sea. Anne reflected that mercifully Isabel was spared witnessing the burial.

Afterwards she and her mother went back to Isabel. She must be their first concern. Anne knew that her mother was trying to shut out of her mind pictures of Isabel’s being wrapped in a sheet before she was dropped into the sea.

‘So,’ said Warwick, ‘I have lost my grandson. We must look forward. There will be more.’

His eyes were on Anne and there was a new speculation in them which she did not notice, so intent was she on her sister’s tragedy. If she had she would have been very uneasy indeed.

Isabel began to get a little better and the weather had become much calmer. They were still at sea. Warwick had turned pirate; he had captured several Burgundian vessels and his men were reminded of the great days when he had made his name as Captain of Calais and they had believed that Warwick was invincible.

Warwick’s belief in himself may have faltered a little, but only a little, and had returned in full force. He was going to recapture all he had lost. He could do that with the help of a king and that king was the King of France. It was Warwick’s destiny to work through kings. He did not possess the necessary titles to stand on his own as ruler. He was the manipulator. He made the rules but someone else must appear to carry them out.

He had grandiose ideas as he sailed to the mouth of the Seine and reached the port of Harfleur.

Isabel’s health improved and with land in sight, Anne and her mother rejoiced. The nightmare journey was over.

The party was made welcome in France. King Edward was the enemy of Louis and Louis was Warwick’s friend. The King of France had flattered Warwick by his show of affection and the common enemies were Edward and Burgundy. Therefore there was hope for the Earl in France for his good friend Louis was ready to receive him and listen to his plans.

It was in the castle of Amboise that Anne learned how deeply she was involved in those plans.

They had arrived on a beautiful afternoon in May and the château set upon a plateau was a beautiful sight with its massive buttresses and cylindrical towers mounted by their sharp conical points.

The women were always glad when they came to a hospitable castle, for the days of travelling were exhausting to all three of them and particularly to Isabel.

It was at Amboise where the party was entertained with great ceremony by the King of France who seemed determined to make them welcome and imply that he was ready to help.

The King expressed great interest in the young ladies and particularly in Anne who gained the impression that she was the subject of conversation between her father and the King. She wondered then if they had some marriage in mind for her which was usually the case when interest was focused on young girls.

She was fifteen years of age and therefore becoming marriageable she supposed, and the prospect was one to cause her some apprehension.

In those days which now seemed so long ago, she and Richard had loved to be together. They had talked of many things; they had loved books; they were more serious than Isabel and George had been. They had never discussed marrying but Anne had on one or two occasions heard the servants mention it. They had said what a nice pair they made, how fond they were of each other and how pleasant it would be for young people who had spent their early life in each other’s company and got to know each other’s ways to be together in their later life.

She had known what they meant and somewhere at the back of her mind there had been the thought that one day she would marry Richard.

But now Richard was faraway, their circumstances had done a turnabout so that now they were on different sides and she feared that she might never see him again. She guessed that he must hate her father because Richard had always believed that his brother Edward was the most wonderful being on earth and he would naturally hate anyone who was Edward’s enemy. Oh, it was all so difficult to understand, so depressing and alarming now to consider that there might be some marriage prospect for her which did not include her childhood friend.

Soon after that her father went away and she with her mother and sister was left at Amboise, there to stay until she was sent for.

It seemed a long time that they were there. Perhaps that was because after the King and the Earl had left there was a quietness about the days, and they might have been at home at Warwick or Middleham; Isabel was still recuperating from her confinement and was often pale and listless.

Once she said to Anne: ‘We are only daughters, and the purpose of a daughter is to make a marriage which will be advantageous to her family.’

‘Did you not love George then?’

Isabel was thoughtful. ‘Yes, I love George in a way ... But you know why he married me. It was to spite his brother and because that was our father’s price for helping him to the throne. That is what George wants, you know. He has always wanted it.’

Anne knew it was true.

‘Isabel,’ she said, ‘we are very rich, or when our father dies we shall be. We both shall have a great fortune to bring to our husbands. Perhaps it would have been better if we had been the daughters of a poor man.’

‘Then we could not have had part, could we, in this battle for a throne,’ agreed Isabel.

‘Poor Isabel!’

‘If my baby had lived I should have thought it worthwhile.’‘

‘I daresay you will have more. That is what we are for is it not? To have babies ... preferably sons ... and to bring wealth to our husbands.’

‘Dear Anne, you are becoming cynical. I always thought you were meant for Richard.’

‘Yes, I thought so too.’

‘And you would have been but for this quarrel. Our father married me to one of the King’s brothers, but of course the King did not want the marriage.’

‘He has always had to do what our father wished.’

‘Even now ...’

‘Even now there is this trouble because he turned from our father to the Woodvilles. I wonder what will be the outcome of it.’

They did not speak for some time. They were both wondering about the future.

Messengers came back and forth from the castle, for the Earl kept his Countess informed of those matters over which he thought he should need her help. That was why he left it to her to break the news to Anne.

The Earl loved his daughters. He would expect them to obey him, of course, and do everything they could to forward the interests of the House of Warwick, but he wanted to make it as easy for them as possible.

He did not want his gentle daughter Anne presented with a prospect to which he believed she would need a little time to adjust herself. So he asked the Countess to give her an inkling of what was in store for her.

The Countess herself read her husband’s letter several times wondering whether she had read correctly, for what he wrote astounded her. But finally she saw the reasoning behind his actions and realised that it was exactly what she should have expected him to do. If he could not impose his will in one way he would in another. She should have been accustomed to such surprises by now.

Poor Anne, she thought. What will she think of this? But Richard was right to want her to be prepared.

She sent for her daughter.

Anne came apprehensively, certain that she was going to be made the victim of some match which would be necessary to her father’s schemes. So she was half prepared.

Her mother after kissing her tenderly bade her be seated.

‘You know your father has been away some time. He and the King have been to Angers where they have visited the Queen.’

‘The Queen. I thought ...’

‘No, no child, not the Queen of France. The Queen of England.’

‘Queen Elizabeth is in England, I thought.’

The Countess realised she was being deliberately obtuse to give herself time. She decided to come straight to the point. ‘No, my dear, I mean Queen Margaret, who has been in exile here in France for so long.’

‘My father ... visiting Margaret of Anjou! She will not receive him surely?’

‘She was reluctant to. But you know your father. He is the most persistent man in the world. Now he has succeeded in making an agreement with her and you are to marry her son, the Prince of Wales.’

Anne stared at her mother in amazement.

‘Yes,’ went on the Countess, ‘I know it is hard to believe but it is true. Your father is determined to drive Edward from the throne and put Henry back on it. My child, do you realise what this means? If he succeeds, and your father always succeeds, you will be Queen of England ... when Henry dies and his son comes to the throne.’

‘I see,’ said Anne, ‘that my father is determined to have both his daughters contenders for the throne.’

They regarded each other a little sadly. Both had been used to further Richard Neville’s greatness. He had been the son of the Earl of Salisbury but without great prospects until he married the Earl of Warwick’s daughter and through her acquired the great title of Warwick and the vast estates that went with it. The Countess had served her husband well. Now it was Anne’s turn.

‘Your father did not wish you to be hurried ... He wanted you to have time ... to get used to the idea of marriage.’

‘But I shall be married to this Prince all the same.’

‘My dear child, your father has made up his mind. The King of France agrees that it is an ideal match and at last they have persuaded Margaret of Anjou that it is the only way to regain her throne.’

‘She has surely never agreed to ally herself with my father. They have been the greatest enemies.’

‘She sees this as a way back to the throne. Oh Anne, my dear daughter, if it comes to pass, if we could go home ... if we could be happy again ...’

‘Happy. Do you think we shall be happy? First my father has to fight. Do you think Edward will stand by and calmly let him put Henry on the throne? Will Richard ... ?’

‘Your father makes and unmakes kings. Edward would never have been on the throne but for him. He will put Henry back, you will see.’

‘But Henry is little more than an imbecile.’

‘He is the anointed king.’

‘So is Edward.’

‘But your father has decided that Edward must go.’

‘And Edward will no doubt decide he will stay.’

‘My dear, we know nothing of these matters. You must prepare yourself to be married to the Prince of Wales.’

‘To a man I have been brought up to believe was our enemy, the son of a mad king and a mother who is ...’

‘Hush child. You must not say such things. They are our friends now.’

‘Shall we ever be allowed to choose our own friends, I wonder.’

‘Come now. This will be a brilliant marriage for you. A Prince! Why most girls would be overcome with joy. It is your father’s plan that you shall one day be Queen of England.’

‘Isabel was promised that.’

‘Your father no longer trusts Clarence. Besides Henry is the true King and his son is naturally the heir. Your father is of the opinion that the people will welcome his return and that will be the end of Edward.’

‘Edward has many friends.’ She was thinking again of Richard: his fervent adoration of his brother, his intense and burning loyalty.

Oh Richard, she thought, we shall be on different sides.

‘Your father thinks that Henry has always had the affection of the people.’

‘So has Edward.’

‘You are talking of matters of which you know very little, my dear. Your task is to make yourself charming so that the Prince is pleased to make you his wife. Now you may go. You should start preparing yourself at once for we shall be leaving for Angers in a few days’ time.’ She looked at her daughter sadly.

Poor child, she thought. She is bewildered. She always thought she was meant for Richard of Gloucester and so did we all. But the fortunes of women sway with the fortunes of war.

Anne knelt before the haughty woman whose face showed signs of great beauty now ravaged by grief, rage, frustration – emotions felt so intensely that they had left their mark on her.

Margaret of Anjou was a most unhappy woman. She had come to England with dreams of greatness; she had ruled her weak-minded husband and loved him in a way; and she had suffered the bitter hopelessness of exile, going from place to place, relying on others for even the means to live and for a woman of her nature that was perhaps the greatest ordeal of all.

Now her greatest enemy who, she believed, was responsible for her woes had come offering the olive branch. What an effort it had taken to accept it. She had wanted to fling it back in his face; and indeed had submitted him to some humiliation before she would accept. Warwick was a man of ambition and he was ready to kneel in humility if necessary to achieve his ends. And he had done so, for at last she had subdued her pride because her only hope lay in this man and what he could do for her.

She had made him swear upon the true cross in Angers Cathedral that Henry VI was the only King of England and that he would bring him back to the throne. He was to be a figurehead for all knew that he was too far gone in senility to rule. The Prince should be the Regent. And she knew who would be the power behind the Regency. That was inevitable. Why should Warwick fight for her unless he was going to get something out of it?

And that was not all. His daughter was to marry the Prince. So Anne Neville would be Queen of England.

It was a big price to ask. But what a reward it would be if they were successful. It was worth the price. To be back there, to be Queen again. Naturally she must pay highly for that.

Warwick’s daughter, her daughter-in-law! It was ironical; it was comical. But she said fiercely, the marriage shall not take place until Warwick has recovered the throne for Henry.

There would have to be a betrothal, of course. But she was agreeable to that and she would quite happily give her son to this girl, though he was worthy of the most high-born princess – in exchange for Warwick’s help in recovering the throne.

So here was the girl.

Pale, pretty, charming in a way, and so young. As young as Margaret had been when she came to England. How full of hope she had been then; the daughter of an impoverished man with the somewhat empty title of King, she had realised her good fortune. This girl’s fate was similar yet it was her father’s power and riches which had brought her to this stage.

‘Rise, my dear,’ she said. ‘Come close to me.’

She looked into the pale oval face, at the eyes which were shadowed with apprehension and the heart of Margaret of Anjou which alternated from being as hard as stone to being as soft as butter, began to melt.

‘There is no need to fear,’ she said. ‘You are to be with me until we can return to England. You are to be the bride of the finest young man in the world. There.’

She drew her forward and kissed her cheek.

She might hate the father – even though he was her ally now – but she could not hate this pale trembling girl.

There was a formal meeting between Anne and her husband-to-be. Edward was handsome, slim and nearly eighteen years old. He looked curiously at Anne and taking her hand kissed it in accordance with what was expected of him.

Edward had no great desire to marry but he knew this marriage was necessary and it had to be this girl because her father was the great Kingmaker who could put men on the throne and then take the throne away from them. He had been brought up to hate him because his mother had always said it was Warwick who had made Edward King. It was particularly galling to her because after the second battle of St Albans which she had won, Warwick had marched to London and claimed the throne for Edward.

That was all past history and now a glittering prospect was opening before them. To make it a possibility certain unpleasant conditions had been demanded. One was friendship with Warwick; another was the Prince’s marriage to his daughter.

But at their meeting he was agreeably surprised. She looked so gentle, so eager to please. She was pale and delicate-looking but he did not mind that. Although he himself was handsome his features were of a somewhat effeminate mould. He knew this had worried his mother who had wanted to make a warrior of him. For that reason she had made him be present when he was quite young at a bloody execution. In fact she had asked him to give the verdict on two men whom she considered had betrayed her. He vividly recalled saying what he knew was expected of him: ‘Let us have their heads.’

And the execution had been carried out in his sight. He had known then that heads were not only hacked off. There was blood ... so much blood.

Yet he had sat through it and his mother had said she was proud of him. He had to do those things because his handsome face would have done for a girl as well as a boy and he had to show that he made up in warlike spirit for what he lacked in strong and masculine looks.

And now here was Anne Neville – a quiet, self-effacing girl. He was glad of that. He would have expected the daughter of Warwick to be a forceful lady ... someone rather like his mother.

‘So they are going to marry us,’ he said.

He spoke in a friendly way and she sensed that he was as apprehensive as she was. There was an immediate rapport between them. Anne smiled and her smile beautified her face, wiping away the fear.

She is very pretty, thought the Prince. Perhaps it is not so bad after all ... even though she is Warwick’s daughter.

She thought: He looks kind, so it is not so bad ... even though he is not Richard.

At the end of July the ceremony of betrothal took place in the Cathedral of Angers. The marriage would be celebrated, Margaret of Anjou had declared, when her husband Henry the King was safely on the throne. The ceremony was binding, however, and although she was not yet quite a wife, Anne regarded the young Prince as her husband.

The Countess was delighted that Margaret had taken a liking to her daughter and she herself was finding it easier than she had believed possible to feel friendly towards the Queen.

Warwick had left for England to put his plan into action and they were all waiting with eagerness for the result. Because it was Warwick’s plan and Warwick was in charge of its success, incredible as it was, they found it easy to believe that it would succeed.

In the meantime the King of France was determined to show them that he was their friend. This of course was due to the fact that the Duke of Burgundy was Edward’s ally and the friendship between those two had become stronger since the marriage of Edward’s sister Margaret with the Duke.

They did not intend to stay in Angers and after Warwick’s departure they left for Paris. Louis had sent a guard of honour to escort them and Margaret entered Paris as a Queen. With her were her son, Anne, and the Countess of Warwick. She was happier than she had been for years.

All she wanted now was to hear that Warwick’s plan had succeeded and that she with the Prince was to return to England to take up their rightful positions there.

The streets of Paris were gaily decorated on the orders of the King and they took up their residence at the Palace of St Pol, where they lived in luxury which was all the more appreciated because of the hardships they had all so recently suffered.

Time passed slowly and each day they waited eagerly for news.

At last it came.

King Henry had been freed from the Tower and was in possession of the kingdom. Once more Warwick had succeeded.

Margaret was wild with joy; the Prince was exuberant.

‘Now we shall return to England and claim our own,’ he declared.

Anne was wondering what had happened to Edward and most of all to Richard.

Edward was in the North when news of Warwick’s arrival was brought to him. He could not believe it. Warwick – to join forces with Margaret of Anjou! Anne Neville betrothed to the Prince! He was astounded. He had always refused to believe that Warwick could really become his enemy.

He was concerned for Elizabeth and the children who were in London and to make matters more awkward Elizabeth was far advanced in pregnancy. Cecily was merely a year or so old and even the eldest, another Elizabeth, was only five. Warwick would very likely have the South-east with him, for he had always been popular there.

Edward rejoiced that Montague could be trusted to hold the North. John Neville, Lord Montague was the only Neville who had failed to support his brother, and he remained faithful to Edward. This had been a great help because Montague was one of the most successful captains in England. It was a source of great irritation to Warwick that a member of the family should not support him. But Montague had sworn allegiance to the Yorkist cause as they all had in the beginning and he was not going to break his word now just because his brother had.

At least that was before Edward had restored estates to the Earl of Northumberland which Montague had looked upon as his. For his successful campaigns he had been awarded the title of Marquis of Montague but of what use was that with only what had been called a ‘pye’s nest’ to maintain it.

Edward had forgotten this and did not realise that he had committed another of his mistakes in judging the characters of men. Montague had fought for him and stood beside him against his own brother and all he had been given was an empty title. Now Warwick had landed in England.

Edward was completely shocked when news came to him that Montague had rallied his men and called for Henry and that he was now marching to join Warwick. Edward was deserted and in the direst danger.

He was dining with his brother Richard, Hastings and Rivers when a messenger came galloping hot speed from Montague’s camp.

‘My lord, my lord,’ he cried. ‘Lord Montague has turned against you. He is already on the march. There is not a moment to lose. He is calling for King Henry and his brother and his army are with him. He is coming here to capture you and take you a prisoner to the Earl of Warwick.’

So Warwick was marching from the South and Montague, the traitor who had suddenly decided to change sides, was coming from the North. If he remained here he would be caught in a pincer movement between the two of them.

Richard was looking at him waiting for his orders. The dear boy would do everything he asked of him.

‘There is only one thing we can do,’ he said. ‘We have to escape. Come. Every second is precious. Rally the men. We must get to the coast. We’ll make our way to my sister of Burgundy. But first ... to the sea.’

Richard was wondering whether they should stay and fight.

‘A handful of us against an army!’ cried Edward. ‘There can be no more than eight hundred of us. No, brother, all the courage in the world – and I know you have that – would avail us nothing. We will go ... for the time. But it is only a breathing space. We shall be back. Then woe to Warwick.’

They were fortunate. They reached Lynn in safety and in a short while were on their way to Holland.

Elizabeth was preparing for the birth of her fourth child by Edward. She was certain this time it would be the longed-for boy. She must be grateful that she could bear children so easily and so quickly following one on another; it was a great asset in a Queen.

She had decided that the Tower would be a good place for the birth and she had had an apartment made ready there for her lying-in. It was very elaborate with crimson damask and fine Brittany linen – a room worthy of the King’s son.

Mrs Cobbe, the midwife who had attended her before and on whose skill she felt she could rely, was in attendance already. There were a few weeks to go, but one could never be sure with babies. Jacquetta had agreed with her that every precaution should be taken. Edward was in the North and she hoped that she would soon be sending joyful news to him.

There was something strange going on in the streets. She had been aware of it all day. She had gone to the window and seen them on the other side of the river gathering in crowds. The people were getting excited.

She wondered what was happening. Was Edward returning unexpectedly? He always liked to be close when his children were born.

Elizabeth was serenely content. She had still kept her hold on Edward after nearly six years of marriage; he was as devoted and as loving as ever; it was true he had his mistresses, but as that gave her a little respite from the indefatigable man she should perhaps rejoice rather than lament. She could say that she held his affections; he found in her an ideal wife. No recriminations; acceptance of his need for mistresses; agreeing with him and only asserting herself in matters which were of the utmost importance to her and which would not greatly affect him. If he knew she meddled as she had done in the marriages of her family and the case of Lord Desmond, he said nothing. She allowed him his amatory adventures and that meant a great deal to him. Of course he would not have discontinued them however much she protested but he was above all a man who liked to live in peace and that was what she allowed him to do.

Moreover she gave him children – girls so far but the boys would come.

And this by the way she carried him, so said Mrs Cobbe, was a boy; and Mrs Cobbe would not deceive her just to please her for a while. That was not Mrs Cobbe’s nature.

Her mother came into the apartment and it was immediately clear that Jacquetta was disturbed.

‘There is a great murmuring going on in the streets.’

‘What is wrong with them now?’

‘There are rumours that Warwick has landed.’

‘Warwick? He was driven out.’

‘That does not prevent his coming back. They say he has landed and is bringing an army with him.’

‘That’s impossible.’

‘No, I’m afraid not. I have kept the news from you for the last few days because I thought it was not good for you to worry in your condition. But it is getting serious now. Do you know what they are saying? Warwick has joined with Margaret of Anjou and their purpose is to put Henry back on the throne.’

‘What!’ cried Elizabeth, her face losing its delicate colour.

‘My dear, you must not distress yourself, but I think it is time we took some action.’

‘Where is Warwick now?’

‘They say he is on the way to London. They are expecting him.’

‘Warwick ... on his way here! Then what will become of us ... ?’

‘I think we are unsafe here.’

‘They would not dare to harm us ... Edward will soon be here.’

‘My dear daughter, I know you will be calm. The news is worse than I have told you. Edward has fled the country. Montague has deserted and Edward with Richard, Hastings and Anthony got away from Lynn by boat. They have gone to somewhere on the Continent.’

‘I can’t believe it. We were so ... safe.’

‘Life changes. But what are we going to do? If you stay here you will be Warwick’s prisoner.’

‘And when you consider what he did to our father and John ... I could kill him, for what he did to them.’

‘I too,’ said Jacquetta quietly. ‘But we have to think of ourselves now; it is a matter of safety not revenge ... just yet. Edward will come back, I know. But in the meantime we have to think of what would be best for us to do.’

The Queen looked round the apartment which she had so carefully prepared. There was the new feather bed – quite the most luxurious she had ever seen – and she must leave all this and go ... but where?

‘We should get out of London perhaps,’ she said.

‘In your condition! And with the little girls. Nay, I have an idea. We will go to Westminster ... to the Sanctuary. He will not dare to touch us there.’

Elizabeth was silent for a while. Her mother was right. They had to get away from Warwick and quickly.

‘Then,’ she said, ‘... to the Sanctuary. Send for Mrs Cobbe and tell her that we must go.’

Mrs Cobbe who was never far away came running in with a dismayed look on her honest face for she immediately thought that the Queen had started her pains.

She was relieved to see that this was not so for it was a few weeks too early but when she heard about the plans for flight she was very disturbed.

‘The Queen is in no condition ...’ she began.

‘The Queen is in no condition to be Warwick’s prisoner, Mrs Cobbe. We have to go. There is no help for it. But not far. We shall go to Westminster to the Sanctuary.’

‘Then we must go carefully,’ said Mrs Cobbe. ‘We want no early birth for this one. He’s going to be a boy, that he is.’

Mrs Cobbe gathered together all she thought they could take with them and Elizabeth with Jacquetta and Lady Scrope, who was in attendance, Mrs Cobbe and the three little girls made their way out of the Tower to the water’s edge.

Mrs Cobbe lifted little Cecily into the waiting barge and Lady Scrope helped Elizabeth and Mary while Jacquetta gave her attention to her daughter.

The barge started up the river to Westminster.

‘I pray we shall be in time,’ said Lady Scrope.

They had reached the tall square keep beside St Margaret’s church near the graveyard and west door of the Abbey.

It looked cold and uninviting and Cecily began to whimper.

‘Hush my precious,’ murmured Mrs Cobbe and Elizabeth said in a shrill voice: ‘I want to go back. I don’t like it here.’

‘I don’t like it,’ added Mary, who repeated everything Elizabeth said.

‘Now now children,’ said Lady Scrope, ‘we are all very happy to be here. It is nice and safe and that is the best of all.’

‘I don’t think it’s best of all,’ said Elizabeth. ‘It’s cold and I want to go.’

‘Be silent, children,’ said Jacquetta. ‘You will do as you are told and you are all going to sleep soon.’

They were a little in awe of Jacquetta and said nothing more.

But all the adults could well understand the children’s revulsion. The Sanctuary was not made for comfort.

There were two storeys in the Sanctuary. On the upper floor was the church and the lower floor had been turned into a dwelling for fugitives who feared that they were in danger. It was considered to be holy ground and no one would dare touch them while they sheltered there. The place was dark and cold and the only light that came in was through narrow arched windows of which there were only two cut into those thick stone walls.

Mrs Cobbe looked round. She wondered if she could go back to the Tower and bring a few more articles with her which they would need. She had managed to bring a certain amount but she would need more.

Elizabeth was reluctant to let her go but Mrs Cobbe overruled her objections. ‘Who would harm a poor midwife?’ she asked.

‘Warwick would ... if he knew you were mine.’

‘Trust me, my lady. And who knows, your pains could start at any time after all this upset. I shall go back.’

And go back she did, for which Elizabeth was to be grateful for the good woman brought back several articles without which their sojourn in the Sanctuary would have been even more uncomfortable ... and possibly dangerous. Moreover she brought food with her for on the way she had met the good butcher who supplied the Tower, one William Gould with whom she was on particularly good terms. He told her that Warwick’s army was on the outskirts of London and that they had escaped from the Tower just in time. They were going to be hungry in the Sanctuary, so he had given her some beef and mutton and some of his very special pork pies.

‘He is a good man, my lady,’ said Mrs Cobbe. ‘He has promised me that he will keep an eye on us while we are here and see that we do not starve.’

‘And you are a good creature, Mrs Cobbe,’ said the Queen.

‘I do not know what we should do without you,’ added Jacquetta.

They tried some of the excellent pork pie and to their astonishment found they could eat even overcome by anxiety as they were. Elizabeth was wondering what could have happened to Edward and if she would ever see him again, and whether her brief glory was at an end. Jacquetta was silent. She hated Warwick. There was a very special fear in her heart for he had tried to accuse her of witchcraft and just after the death of her dear husband and beloved son had shown an image to the King which he had said she had made of him.

Warwick had implied that Edward had been forced to marry Elizabeth through witchcraft which was practised by her mother and that the image was meant to be the King and that she was plotting against his life.

Edward had laughed that to scorn. It was all so ridiculous. Why should she plot against his life when all the blessings the Woodville family enjoyed came from him? It showed though how Warwick hated her. How she hated them all! Indeed this war between Warwick and Edward was about the Woodvilles. It was because they had ousted the Nevilles from the King’s favour. So assuredly Warwick hated them – her, her sons and Elizabeth ... Elizabeth most of all ... and all the little children.

How wise they were to throw themselves into Sanctuary. They must remain here. Warwick would never dare to touch them then. But how vulnerable they would be ... here in Westminster while Warwick took London.

We must be safe, though, she thought. Elizabeth must have her child. Warwick would never dare to harm us.

It soon became clear that they had come just in time. Warwick reached London where he was well received, and Mrs Cobbe, having paid another visit to the butcher Gould, came in with the news that King Henry had been taken from his prison in the Tower.

‘They say he was in a terrible state,’ she said. ‘Not as a king should be by any means. They say he was dirty and frightened in a way, wondering what it was all about and muttering prayers and things like that. The Earl had him washed and fed and put into purple and ermine. They’ve put him in the royal apartments, my ladies. They say his bedchamber is the one that was made ready for our little baby.’

Elizabeth closed her eyes. She was filled with rage to think of all the care that had gone into the making of that apartment – the damask hangings, the feather bed ... for Henry of Lancaster! It was infuriating.

‘Gould says there’s to be a procession to St Paul’s. He is to be the new King, my lady, so they say. Don’t you fret. My lord King Edward will not stay long away from you.’

Jacquetta was tight-lipped, seeking to see good omens and refusing to accept bad ones. But the future looked dark indeed with Edward in exile and Warwick back in command putting a new King on the throne.

But soon for a while they ceased to think about what was happening outside for Elizabeth’s baby was about to be born.

In spite of all that had happened it was a comparatively easy birth and to the delight of Elizabeth and her mother the child was healthy and a boy.

It was ironical that this longed-for event should come while Elizabeth was in Sanctuary and Edward far away.

‘We’ll call him Edward,’ said Elizabeth.

She would look back on those days as some of the strangest in her life. Jacquetta perhaps suffered most. She was getting old and was unused to discomfort. Elizabeth was better able to endure them. Her calm nature was a great asset in such circumstances and she was firmly convinced that Edward would soon come back and defeat the traitor Warwick and put imbecile King Henry back where he belonged. The children grew accustomed to life in the Sanctuary very quickly and Mary at any rate could scarcely remember anything else. As for Cecily she was quite unaware of the change in her surroundings. Young Elizabeth now and then asked when they were going home, but at length she too accepted the Sanctuary as home.

Elizabeth the Queen declared she would never forget the services of Mrs Cobbe and the butcher. One she declared had saved her child and the other had saved them from starvation.

Warwick had quickly shown that he was not going to concern himself with them. He would be very unpopular if he attacked a woman and her little children. He regarded Elizabeth as of no importance now that Edward was in exile.

He could go straight ahead with his plans which meant that he would be ruling through Henry. Margaret would in due course come to England with her son the Prince of Wales and Anne; and in due course his daughter would be Queen of England. A notable achievement for a Kingmaker.

So why bother with Elizabeth Woodville? Let her stay in Sanctuary with her brood. She was no concern of his.

It was not difficult for messengers to get to the Sanctuary. Elizabeth was considerably heartened to hear that Edward had reached Bruges and was being given shelter there by his sister Margaret, the Duchess of Burgundy. She should be of good heart for he would soon be back with her where he belonged.

It was cheering news.

Warwick raised no objection to the little Prince’s being baptised in the Abbey. There was no ceremony attached to the proceedings and Elizabeth compared this with the baptism of her girls. How strange that this should be the lot of the long-awaited son!

But Edward’s words were with her. It would not be long. Jacquetta assured her that the signs were that Edward would indeed be back.

Christmas came and went. The little Prince who had been born on the 1st of November continued to thrive. They tried to celebrate the festival as well as they were able and because of the goodness of the butcher they were not without food. Mrs Cobbe and Lady Scrope managed to get some warmer clothing for them all and so they struggled on.

‘God send the spring quickly this year,’ said Jacquetta. Her eyes were shining with a strange prophetic light. ‘With the spring will come escape from this sad state, I know.’

Elizabeth believed her. It helped her to bear the hardships.

Margaret of Burgundy welcomed her brothers to her Court at Bruges. She was delighted to be of service to them but distressed at the cause of their visit. Margaret had already made her mark at the Burgundian Court. She had inherited her strong character from her mother and she seemed more than ever to resemble Proud Cis; but there was a kindliness in her nature which her mother lacked and this trait had already made her loved and respected at her husband’s Court.

Charles, the Duke, was pleased with his wife. Margaret was a good stepmother to his son and daughter of his first marriage. She was devoted to her own family and she put herself absolutely at the disposal of her brother in his need. It was fortunate that Burgundy was Edward’s ally and that relations between Louis of France and the Duke were very antagonistic. Louis of course was Warwick’s friend and had helped him to return to England, so it was only natural therefore that Burgundy should help Edward; and since the Duchess of Burgundy was Edward’s sister that made it all the easier.

Strangely enough what distressed the Duchess almost as much as Edward’s loss of his throne – though they all insisted that that was temporary – was the defection of Clarence. That one member of the family should proclaim himself the enemy of another, was to her intolerable.

Secretly she made up her mind that she would try to persuade George to stop this nonsense. She had always been rather fond of George – more so than she had of Richard. She knew that Richard was perhaps more worthy, that he was good, studious and devoted to Edward. She knew too that George was too fond of eating, drinking – particularly drinking – and generally indulging himself. He was vain, because he had a certain charm; he was handsome though they all suffered by comparison with Edward; he was clever in a way, sharp, crafty rather than brilliant. But how could one explain one’s likes and dislikes? George had always been a favourite of hers.

He must be made to realise the dishonour of turning to Warwick against his own brother.

Edward was astounded by the splendour of the Court at Bruges. He had always known that Burgundy was not only the most powerful man in France but the richest, but this far surpassed his own Courts at Westminster and Windsor and he had been considered somewhat extravagant in his love of tasteful decorations and furniture.

But this was no time for such comparisons. His great aim was to get help which would enable him to sail back to England, to rout out Warwick and when he had done so ... What? The idea of beheading Warwick could arouse no enthusiasm in him. There was so much he could remember of Warwick. How he had adored him in the old days! And to think it had come to this was so distressing. One of the worst aspects of being driven out of his kingdom was the fact that Warwick had done it.

Although Margaret was passionately devoted to her brother’s cause, her husband was reluctant to support Edward outwardly.

‘Louis is waiting for a chance to attack me,’ he said, ‘and if he and the Lancastrians joined up against me ... I should be in a difficult position. Louis is treating Margaret and her son as very honoured guests ... friends even. I have to go carefully.’

He was willing to help Edward in secret but he would not come out in the open and do so. This was frustrating, for the acknowledged support of the Duke would have gone a long way.

However, Edward was optimistic. Each week brought new help. The merchants had always been aware of Edward’s superior qualities as a ruler and were ready to support him and money came to him from the Hanseatic towns. As the months passed he could see the day coming nearer when it would be possible for him to land with an army which could win him a victory over his enemies.

During those months he became very interested in an Englishman who had taken service in the Burgundian Court under the patronage of his sister. This was a certain William Caxton who had begun his career as a mercer to a rich merchant called Large who had been Lord Mayor of London. Caxton had gone to Bruges on the death of the Mayor and became associated with the merchant adventurers. He became a successful businessman and did much to promote trade between England and the Low Countries. But as he grew older – he must have been about fifty years of age when Edward arrived at his sister’s Court – he became interested in literature, and when Margaret suggested he join her Court and continue his writing, Caxton gladly accepted the invitation.

Edward talked to him of the merchant adventurers with whom he had had some dealing but he was more interested in his literary work, particularly a book which he was translating called Le Recueil des Histoires de Troye.

They discussed together the interest of such a work to many people and how unfortunate it was that so few could read it as there was only one copy and it took so long to make another.

Caxton had heard of a process which had been invented in Cologne and which was called a printing-press. He had seen this and had been most interested in it. Edward listened and agreed that it would be a very good thing to have and he wondered whether it would be possible to bring it to England. Caxton was sure it would be and when he had finished his translation he intended to go again to Cologne and then possibly set up a press in Bruges.

‘I will remember that,’ Edward told him, ‘and I hope that when we are in a happier state in England you will visit the Court there.’

Caxton said that it would be an honour to do so, for although he had lived long abroad and had been made most welcome in the Duchess’s Court he did often long for his native land.

The weeks passed quickly and during them Edward worked indefatigably building up arms and men in preparation for crossing the Channel. By March he had accumulated a force of some twelve thousand men and with Richard of Gloucester and Earl Rivers he set sail from Flushing. The weather was against him and it was ten days before he reached Cromer. Some of his men landed to test the state of opinion in that area and discovered that it was solidly in Warwick’s control; he sailed on northwards and finally landed at Ravenspur.

It was not as easy as he had thought for what the people dreaded more than anything was civil war. They had favoured Edward but Edward had been driven out of the country. True, they knew Henry was weak, but Warwick was behind him and Warwick had that aura of greatness which they respected.

But as Edward came to York he found there were plenty to rally to his banner and he began the march south. He was near Banbury when he heard that Clarence was not far off and shortly afterwards Clarence sent a messenger on in advance to tell Edward that he wanted to speak with him.

Edward was pleased for there was a conciliatory note in the message and he believed that his brother was fast regretting his action in turning against him.

Edward was thoughtful. Could it really be that George was looking for a reconciliation? It was too good to be true. If it were so he would forgive him with all his heart. Not that he would ever trust him again. When he came to think of it he had never really trusted Clarence. But if he and his brother were friends again, if Clarence brought his men to fight for him, this would be a tremendous blow to Warwick.

Yes, certainly he would welcome Clarence. Let them meet without delay.

Outwardly it was an affectionate meeting. Clarence looked at Edward shamefacedly and would have knelt, but Edward laid a hand on his arm and said: ‘George, so you want us to be friends again?’

‘I have been most unhappy,’ said Clarence. ‘It was all so unnatural. I was under the influence of Warwick and I want to escape from that influence now.’

‘We have both been under the influence of that man – you so far as to go against your own brother and marry his daughter.’

‘I regret all I have done ... except my marriage to Isabel. She is a good creature and I love her dearly.’

Edward nodded, thinking: She is a great heiress and you also love her lands and money dearly.

Clarence went on: ‘I no longer wish to stand with Warwick. I want to be back where I belong. Our sister Margaret has written to me most affectingly. I have suffered much.’

‘I too suffered from your desertion,’ Edward reminded him.

‘And can you forgive me?’

‘Yes,’ said Edward.

‘By God, together we will fight this traitor Warwick. We’ll have his head where they put our father’s.’

‘It was not Warwick who put our father’s head on the walls of York and stuck a paper crown on it, George. That was our enemies ... our mutual enemies. But yes, we are going to defeat Warwick.’

‘I will bring him to you in chains.’

‘Your father-in-law, your one-time friend! I want him to be treated with respect if we have the good fortune to capture him. I can never forget how he taught me, how he showed me how to fight and win a crown. Sometimes I think I am more hurt that he should take his friendship from me than my crown. I would always treat him with honour. He had his reasons you know for doing what he did. Warwick would always have his reasons. He is my enemy now but he is one I honour.’

Clarence thought what a fool his brother was. But there was a hard side to Edward, he knew; he could be ruthless but where his affections were concerned he was soft. He had married Elizabeth Woodville; he was ready to forgive the man who had taken his crown from him and his own brother who had deceived him. No wonder he had lost his throne! He would lose it again and if Henry were driven out there was one who would stand in to take it: George, Duke of Clarence.

Well, there was reconciliation between the brothers and as Edward had predicted Clarence’s desertion of Warwick and return to Edward had the desired effect. Edward marched without hindrance into London.

Warwick was in Coventry when he heard of Clarence’s defection. There was even more bitterness to come for Louis had signed a truce with the Duke of Burgundy and so was making terms with Warwick’s enemy. Clarence he despised. He had never trusted him but his greatest hope had lain with the French King. Margaret of Anjou had left France and with the Prince of Wales and Anne and Warwick’s Countess was about to land in England. He, Warwick, was heading for some climax. Meanwhile Edward had reached London. His spirits rose as he saw the grey stone walls of the Tower and he assured himself that Elizabeth was not far away.

First he went to St Paul’s to give thanks for his return. Then he must see Henry who was at the Bishop of London’s palace close by. Warwick had ordered that he should be taken there and put in the charge of Archbishop Neville and that Neville should let him ride through the streets in an attempt to arouse people’s enthusiasm for him.

This was difficult for the people could not feel very much for the poor pathetic creature. There was nothing kingly about him. And when the Archbishop thought of Edward soon to arrive – so handsome with that special charm which had taken the people by storm in his youth and was still there – it seemed to him that the wisest thing was to take Henry back to the palace.

When Edward arrived and Henry was brought, Henry blinked up at him and said: ‘Cousin, you are welcome. My life will be safe in your hands.’

‘I mean you no harm,’ said Edward. ‘You shall go back to your prayers and your books.’

‘Thank you, thank you. It is what I have always wanted.’

‘And now,’ said Edward, ‘to the Sanctuary.’

Elizabeth was there with her beautiful hair hanging about her shoulders as he liked it best. They looked at each other for a few seconds before they gave themselves up to a fervent embrace.

It was an emotional moment and even Elizabeth felt the tears in her eyes. He was back, as she always knew he would be.

‘You have been my brave Queen,’ he murmured.

‘I am so happy that you are back. It all seems behind me now. It does not matter, if you are to stay with me for ever.’

‘As long as God will let me,’ he said.

‘Edward, we have lived here in Sanctuary all these months. We could not have survived but for our good friends.’

‘They shall be rewarded. All will be well now. I am going to be victorious.’

Jacquetta came to him and was warmly embraced. He would never believe the stories that she was a witch and had captured him for her daughter through witchcraft. He was fond of Jacquetta and he knew that she would have been a great help and comfort to Elizabeth during his enforced absence.

‘You have not seen your son,’ cried Elizabeth.

‘My son ... the boy I have always wanted! Bring him to me. I long to see him.’

‘He is Edward ... after you.’

‘It is a good name.’

He gazed at the child in wonder. His beloved son – a perfect healthy boy to delight any father’s heart, most of all a king who must be assured of the succession.

He took him in his arms and tenderly kissed his brow. The baby opened its eyes and regarded him solemnly for a moment before closing them again while the little girls were clambering round him. He handed the baby to Elizabeth and embraced his daughters all together so that one should not feel favoured more than the other.

‘Are you going to stay with us?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘When are we going home?’

‘This is home,’ said Mary.

‘Nay, my dearest,’ said Edward. ‘You are going back where you belong. There shall be no more of this place. You are going to be surprised when you are taken back to your real home, sweetheart.’

The little girls watched him with wide eyes. They were happy. He was back with them – their big laughing handsome father and if Mary could hardly recognise him and Cecily not at all, they all knew that the best thing that could happen to them was his return.

Edward said they should go at once to Baynard’s Castle and must prepare to leave. There they would stay until he had made everything secure in the land.

So to Baynard’s they went, riding along by the river while the people cheered to see Edward with his beautiful Queen and their lovely children. Elizabeth herself carried the child. She sat in her litter holding him, her lovely golden hair like a halo about her perfect features and the people cheered Edward, the baby Prince, the little girls and yes, they even cheered Elizabeth, although it was due to her rapacious family that the Earl of Warwick had turned from the King.

Never mind; she was so beautiful and she had given the King all those handsome children and he clearly loved her dearly even though he was not the most faithful of husbands.

Cheer then for the return of Edward, the strong man, the King they preferred to poor mad Henry. They fervently hoped Edward and the Earl of Warwick would settle their quarrels.

At Baynard’s Castle the Duchess of York was in residence. When she saw her son the tears streamed down her cheeks and she fell upon him kissing his face and his hands. There was little sign of Proud Cis at that moment.

‘My dearest boy,’ she called him, forgetting the dignity owed to the King even though dignity was something she had always been so insistent on. ‘Oh a thousand welcomes ... This is the happiest day of my life. You are here with us ... and the people want you ...’

He let her talk. Then he kissed her tenderly and said: ‘Elizabeth and the children have come to stay here. I shall leave them in your care.’

For a few seconds the two women looked at each other. Proud Cis who could not like her son’s marriage to this commoner and Elizabeth Woodville who knew that Edward’s mother would have done everything possible to stop the marriage.

The Duchess’s eyes softened. Elizabeth Woodville was an exceptionally beautiful woman and she could not but be moved to see her standing there beside her own handsome Edward. Surely a more good-looking pair could not be found in the whole of England.

And Elizabeth had done her duty. Edward still wanted to keep her after all these years so there must be something special about her. And she had produced those lovely children – and now a Prince of Wales.

The Duchess went forward. She could not expect a Queen to kneel to her, but she held out her hand and Elizabeth took it.

‘Welcome to Baynards, my dear,’ she said. ‘It makes me happy to have you here ... you and my grandchildren.’

Edward put an arm round her and the Queen; he held them tightly against him.

‘Thank God you are back,’ said the Duchess.

‘Yes, I am back. But there is work to do. I shall not stay here long now. But at least I shall know that you are together. Look after each other, my dear loved ones.’

Edward stayed at Baynard’s Castle for a day and a night. Then taking Henry with him, he rode out to Barnet.