The White Queen

SPRING 1473

The young Edward, Prince of Wales and his uncle Earl Rivers, my Grey son Richard, now Sir Richard by order of his stepfather the king, and I make a grand progress to Wales so the little prince can see his country and be seen by as many people as possible. His father says that this is how we make our rule secure: we show ourselves to the people, and by demonstrating our wealth, our fertility, and our elegance we make them feel secure in their monarchy.

We go by slow stages. Edward is strong, but he is not yet three years old and riding all day is too tiring for him. I order that he shall have a rest every afternoon, and go to bed in my chamber, early at night. I am glad of the leisurely pace on my own account, riding pillion so that I can sit sideways as the new curve of my belly is starting to show. We reach the pretty town of Ludlow without incident, and I decide to stay in Wales with my firstborn son for the first half year, until I am certain that the household is organized for his comfort and safety, and that he is settled and happy in his new home.

He is all delight; there is no regret for him. He misses the company of his sisters, but he loves being the little prince at his own court, and he enjoys the company of his half brother, Richard, and his uncle. He starts to learn the land around the castle, the deep valleys and beautiful mountains. He has the servants who have been with him since babyhood. He has new friends in the children of his court, who are brought to learn and play with him, and he has the watchful care of my brother. It is I who cannot sleep for the week before I am due to leave him. Anthony is at ease, Richard is happy, and Baby is joyous in his new home.

Of course, it is almost unbearable for me to leave him, for we have not been an ordinary royal family. We have not had a life of formality and distance. This boy was born in sanctuary under threat of death. He slept in my bed for the first few months of his life-unheard of for a royal prince. He had no wet nurse; I suckled him myself, and it was my fingers that his little hands gripped as he first learned to walk. Neither he, nor any of the others, were sent away to be raised by nurses or in a royal nursery at another palace. Edward has kept his children close, and this, his oldest son, is the first to leave us to take up his royal duties. I love him with a passion: he is my golden boy, the boy who came at last to secure my position as queen and to give his father, then nothing more than a York pretender, a stronger claim to the throne. He is my prince, he is the crown of our marriage, he is our future.

Edward comes to join me for my last month at Ludlow in June, bringing the news that Anthony’s wife, Lady Elizabeth, has died. She had been in ill health for years with a wasting sickness. Anthony orders Masses said for her soul, and I, secretly and ashamed of myself, start to wonder who might be the next wife for my brother.

“Time enough for that,” Edward says. “But Anthony will have to play his part for the safety of the kingdom. He might have to marry a French princess. I need allies.”

“But not go from home,” I say. “And not leave Edward?”

“No. I see he has made Ludlow his own. And Edward will need him here when we leave. And we must leave soon. I have given orders that we will go within the month.”

I gasp, though in truth I have known that this day must come.

“We will come again to see him,” he promises me. “And he will come to us. No need to look so tragic, my love. He is starting his work as a prince of the House of York: this is his future. You must be glad for him.”

“I am glad,” I say, without any conviction at all.

When it is time for me to go, I have to pinch my cheeks to bring color into them, and bite my mouth to stop myself crying. Anthony knows what it costs me to leave the three of them, but Baby is happy, confident that he will come to court in London soon on a visit, enjoying his new freedom and the importance of being the prince in his own country. He lets me kiss him, and hold him without wriggling. He even whispers in my ear, “I love you, Mama,” then he kneels for my blessing; but he comes up smiling.

Anthony lifts me into the pillion saddle behind my master of horse and I hold on tightly to his belt. I am awkward now, in the seventh month of my pregnancy. A sudden wave of the darkest anxiety comes over me, and I look from my brother to my two sons, real fear clutching at me. “Take care,” I say to Baby.

“Look after him,” I say to Anthony. “Write to me. Don’t let him take jumps on his pony. I know that he wants to, but he’s too small. And don’t let him get chilled. Don’t let him read in poor light, and keep him away from anyone with illness. If there is plague in the town, then take him right away.” I cannot think what I should warn them against; I am just flooded with anxiety as I look from one smiling face to another. “Really,” I say weakly. “Really, Anthony: guard him.”

He steps up to the horse and takes hold of the toe of my boot and shakes it gently. “Your Grace,” he says simply. “Really. I am here to guard him. I will guard him. I will keep him safe.”

“And you,” I whisper. “You keep safe too. Anthony, I feel so afraid, but I don’t know what to fear. I don’t know what to say. I want to warn you, but I don’t know what danger there is.” I look over to where my son Richard Grey is leaning against the castle gateway, a young man grown tall and handsome. “And my Grey son,” I say. “My Richard. I cannot tell you why, but I am fearful for you all.”

He steps back and shrugs his shoulders. “Sister mine,” he says tenderly. “There is always danger. Your sons and I will be men, and we will face it like men. Don’t you go frightening yourself with imaginary threats. And have a safe journey and a safe confinement. We are all hoping for another prince as good as this one!”

Edward gives the order to move out and leads the way, his standard going before him, his household guard around him. The royal procession starts to unroll like a scarlet ribbon through the castle gates, the bright red of the livery studded with the rippling standards. The trumpets sound; the birds fly up from the castle roofs and whirl in the sky announcing that the king and queen are leaving their precious son. I cannot stop the onward march, and I should not stop it. But I look back over my shoulder at my little son, at my grown son, and at my brother, until the fall of the road from the inner keep down to the outer wall has hidden them, and I see them no more. And when I can see them no more I am filled with such darkness that for a moment I think night has fallen and there will never be a dawn again.