‘Better than you could ever hope.’
‘And the dispensation?’ I heard her murmur as she raised his fingers to her lips.
‘I have it. It has all but beggared me, but it’s safe.’ He clapped their joined hands to his breast, as if to a document, smiling down at her. Then he looked across, his eyes all for my sister. ‘Isabel—’ He beckoned. ‘I bring your bridegroom at last. I think you will not be disappointed.’ The Earl stepped back to allow us a clear view of the man who came behind him.
The Duke of Clarence.
Isabel dimpled and curtsied, face pink with disbelieving joy. I simply stood and watched as Clarence approached, bowing with studied elegance. He lifted my sister to her feet, kissed her fingers and expressed his pleasure in a voice as slick as close-cut velvet. ‘Lady Isabel. It enchants me to be here. I have lived for this day for so long.’
I simply stood like a carved marble statue, denied of thought or movement. I know I did not curtsy as I ought. I could not believe it. Was this what my father had been plotting? Outright rebellion against the King by bringing Clarence to marry my sister against Edward’s express orders?
Edward would never forgive us.
Edward would never support this match and Richard, standing solidly beside his brother the King, would be divided from me for ever.
I wished that trivial, ridiculous letter unsent.
I wished it even more two days later. The day after Isabel’s marriage, celebrated with much pomp, the Earl and Clarence did not hunt with the rest of their guests, but took themselves to a private chamber. By the end of the day there was a document, written and copied by the clerks, openly distributed for all to read, and sent to England on the first ship to be proclaimed in London.
I read it.
It was not difficult to obtain a copy wet from the clerk’s pen. It was an astonishing piece of reckless treason that finally buried even the slightest residue of hope of my being reunited with Richard. Its words were uncompromising. King Edward was guilty of poor government, wilfully ignoring the Princes of the Blood—the Nevilles, of course—who would advise him well, but guilty of giving ear and patronage to evil advisers named as the Woodvilles. They must be removed for the good of the realm. If the King did not comply with the wishes of his subjects, then he should suffer the penalty of other feckless monarchs who had brought their country low. Did he not deserve the same punishment as the ill-fated Edward II and Richard II? I had learned my lessons well. They had both been done to death by foul means in distant castles. Whilst Henry VI, also included in the list, ageing and mad, was a prisoner in the Tower.
All true men of England should rally to the Neville standard, to the Earl of Warwick, who would right the country’s wrongs.
Well! This was what the Earl had plotted in all these weeks I had remained in ignorance in Calais. The words I held between my hands were dangerously treasonous, a direct and open challenge to Edward’s authority, enough to put a price on my father’s head. It would brand us all traitors.
When I showed her the letter, all Isabel could see was the glitter of the Crown that would grace her brow. ‘We shall not be traitors! Don’t be stupid, Anne! I shall be Queen of England before the year is out when my father has removed King Edward and made Clarence King.’ She closed her ears to my anxieties.
I was not so sanguine
‘Is this a declaration of war?’ I demanded of the Countess when I could not bear the uncertainty longer. ‘Does he intend to depose Edward?’
I thought she looked as astounded as I felt at the lengths to which the Earl was prepared to go. ‘I can see no other outcome,’ the Countess confirmed. Her face had the sallow pallor of candlewax.
Neither could I. As daughter of a traitor, what hope was there now for me? Richard would surely hate me.
Chapter Five
ISABEL retched over the bowl held by the indomitably cheerful Margery. ‘I wish I could die,’ she gasped when she could.
‘No such thing,’ Margery soothed. ‘My lord of Clarence has performed more than well. Such a potent man beneath all that pretty gold hair.’ From my position at the far side of the room I smirked at her less-than-respectful observation. ‘An heir! And so soon!’ she continued. ‘Let us give thanks to the BlessedVirgin.’
Isabel pressed a square of linen to her mouth as another spasm gripped her. I might have escaped, but the Countess swept in, followed by a serving girl and a covered platter.
‘We will soon put you to rights. Drink this, Isabel.’
I had to admire her. As if she had no thought beyond Isabel’s ills, as if the Earl was not engaged in armed rebellion against the King, the Countess took my mewling sister in hand.
Isabel gulped, swallowed desperately. ‘I cannot—’
‘Don’t be stubborn.’ I could smell the infusion, the sharp, fresh aroma of mint steeped in boiling water that pervaded the whole room. When Isabel obeyed, the Countess nodded, satisfied. ‘Good! You are not ill, Isabel. Merely breeding. For which you should be grateful, within weeks of your marriage.’
‘I don’t want this…’ Isabel whined.
‘Why not?’ I could no longer keep silent as envy of my sister’s Plantagenet husband once more coated me in shameful malice. ‘It’s what you wanted, well enough, when we were at Calais! A husband and a Plantagenet heir. Now you have your wish! You have both.’
I might scowl at her, but I was not truly so heartless, merely troubled and un-bendingly hostile to the man who had put her in this situation and then, it seemed to me, unfeelingly abandoned her. Isabel had not set eyes on her royal husband since that brief interlude in Calais, now two months since. The bridal rejoicings had been cut short when the Earl and his fellow conspirators left immediately to return to England as an invading force, to raise men in Kent and march on London. From there the plan was to continue north to force Edward to come to terms. Meanwhile we were ensconced in Warwick Castle waiting for events to settle around us. At least Isabel’s condition took our minds off other more immediate concerns, such as the bloody penalty for treason—but Clarence could have come to see his wife.
‘Where’s Clarence?’ she asked as she had asked so often. ‘Why is he not here with me?’
‘He’s in London, trying to reassure the Lord Mayor and Aldermen that the government of the realm won’t disintegrate around their ears. He holds the reins of power there in the King’s name. He’ll come when he can.’ The Countess stroked the damp hair from her forehead. ‘Come and read to your sister, Anne. It will take her mind off her belly.’
And I did because I felt sorry for her, left alone. As my heart was sore for my mother who was able to do nothing but wait on events that shook the kingdom. I feared for the outcome.
We had not been short of news. There had been a battle, destroying much of the King’s army, and the Woodvilles had come to grief in the aftermath. Earl Rivers and his son Sir John Woodville had been summarily executed. Impossibly weakened, Edward against all expectation had become my father’s prisoner. Was not the whole world turned upside down, with the Earl, once the supreme champion of the Yorkist cause, now the arch-adversary of the anointed wearer of the crown? Planning to call a parliament in York, my father took Edward north with him to Middleham under restraint. I know that the Earl assured everyone that all his actions had the approval of the King, and that he had the King’s signature on all documents with no duress, but how would we know truth from lies? I did not think Edward would make so amenable a captive.
‘I wish we’d stayed in London,’ Isabel, revived and sitting up, interrupted my thoughts and the dolorous tale of the trials of St Ursula and the Thousand Virgins.
‘You would be just as sick in London as you are here,’ I muttered. ‘There are no Court festivities to entertain you with Edward a prisoner.’
‘But think of the merchants, Anne, with their cloth and jewels and fashionable wares. Would that not be entertaining? We are in need of new gowns. You are growing by the day.’
�
��Yes,’ I admitted, aware of the restrictions of my bodice. ‘And so will you be!’
Isabel laughed. ‘So I shall. Tell me that you would not wish to be there.’
‘I cannot…’ For I wished it above anything.
‘And I would see Clarence…’
Her face drooped again. All I could do was hold her hand and continue to read for I had no words of comfort. I knew the Duke of Gloucester too was in London, at liberty but impotent whilst Edward remained under my father’s hand.
Yes, I too wished that we were in London.
I would have moped excessively except for an unexpected visitor to our gates. Francis Lovell arrived with a well-armed escort en route between London and Middleham. I had missed his arrival; I would not miss his departure. So I sat in the stable yard on a mounting block and kicked my heels, as windblown and dust-covered as any of the serving girls, rejoicing inwardly at seeing him again after almost a year. I longed to talk to someone other than Isabel, someone who would tell me what was happening outside the walls of this castle. Someone who had been in London as well as at my father’s side, had experience of this country being torn in two again, York against Lancaster.
I was considering the implication of that final thought when at last he turned in through the gateway from the inner courtyard.
‘Francis! Over here!’
I raised my hand and, seeing me, he changed direction. It gave me the chance to watch his athletic lope, to assess the changes wrought by the intervening months. All I saw at first was the familiar gait, the pleasing features, the deep affection in his instant grin. But then, studying his face, I thought he looked older. Very much Lord Lovell rather than the mischievous boy with whom I had grown up. There was no mischief now lurking in his eyes. Indeed, I decided there was an altogether harder edge about him, as if he had faced things that were unpalatable and been forced to make a difficult choice…
My breath caught. My heels stilled against the worn stone. My thoughts circled around Francis’s present position, his past and present loyalties. And it thudded home, a dull blow to just below my heart. That all the ease of the past between Francis and my family could well be destroyed. I could see the muscle tension in his shoulders, the abrupt turn of his head to shout instructions for his escort to mount. I could see it in new lines in his face. He was uncomfortable in this role he was playing, in his visit to Warwick. I thought I knew exactly the reason why. I had wanted so much to see him, talk with him, but it was to prove a harsh lesson in reality for me, and one I would never forget.
‘It’s not good news.’ His first words as he hoisted himself on the stone beside me. He knew I would want to know and made no attempt to dilute the details. ‘There’s a new outbreak of rebellion in the north, this time in the name of old King Henry.’
‘Henry?’ I had all but forgotten his existence, shut away in the Tower. ‘Can the Earl not put the rebels down?’
‘Not easily. Rumours abound that King Edward’s dead, you see, since he has not been seen abroad for some weeks. So many would rather return to the old way than accept…’ His words lurched to a halt.
‘Than accept the authority of the Earl of Warwick?’ I sighed.
‘That’s the sum of it.’ His mouth snapped shut like a trap. Then, ‘The Earl is finding it difficult to raise troops. I can tell you no more than that. Loyalty is become an issue for everyone…’
I had been right in my suspicions. Dare I ask him outright? I tried a flanking action first. ‘Did you see Richard in London? Where are his loyalties?’
Francis’s face set in hard planes I could not fail to interpret. ‘He’s with Edward and will remain so committed. He’ll not consider treason.’
Treason! ‘Would he not even consider throwing in his lot with Clarence? With my father? For the good of the realm, if such a move will restore it to peace?’
‘Never! He will not.’
‘And what of your loyalties, Francis?’ We could fence around this for hours. I decided the more direct approach, at the cost perhaps of hurting him, was my only choice.
‘As the ward of the Earl, my allegiance is to him,’ he replied as if he had learned the words by rote, but with his heart not in them. I could almost see his hackles rise and his eyes bored into mine. ‘What do you imply, lady?’
‘I would never question your loyalty, Francis,’ I replied gently. ‘Forgive me…But, Francis! Honest, now! You are the Earl’s man—but have you never thought of going over to Richard?’
His answering smile so faint as to be non-existent, shadows in his face. ‘You were never one to mince words! I’m trying to compromise here, within the shades of loyalty.’ He sighed. ‘My whole life seems to be one of compromise!’
‘Is it difficult? Is it possible to do so?’ Would I ever be able to compromise if it were asked of me, to put my heart before my upbringing and sense of duty? I didn’t know. I thought it would be an impossible decision to make.
‘Difficult! Ha! I detest it! Anne…I hope you never have to make such choices.’
How terrible this choice was for him. His inclination based on deep and lasting friendship was to stand at Richard’s side. On the other side of the coin, the bonds of warmth and compassion, of family, created in our household where he had been raised remained firm.
‘I might be wary of the Earl’s policies, but as his ward I owe him fealty—and I have much affection for the Countess.’ He groaned. ‘My heart tells me to be Richard’s man.’ Francis rubbed his hands hard over his face as if he could erase the conflict, but merely left a smudge of dust of his cheek.
Now I understood for the first time the strain of being pulled apart by conflicting fidelities, when family warred with other commitments. How to choose? How to decide? I too was torn, but I had no choice. I was a Neville, and too young to take a stand against my family. I could only mourn Richard’s absence and loss. But Francis could make his own choice, and the result could be nothing but painful. No wonder he looked strained and weary.
‘Is he well?’ I demanded. ‘Richard?’
‘Yes.’ He blinked as if drawn back from some distant and painful place. ‘And there! I thought you did not care what became of him!’ For a little while the teasing lad had reappeared, and I was glad. I rubbed at the smear with the edge of my sleeve. ‘You were as cold as a January pond when he left Middleham! Enough to freeze the lot of us. And don’t deny it!’
I slid a quizzical glance. ‘Well…I thought…I thought he had no…affection for me…’
‘Silly girl! If kissing kitchen wenches is all the problem—’
‘So he did know!’
‘He guessed. The kiss wasn’t important.’
‘He kissed her more than once. I saw him!’ I didn’t know whether to be angry at Richard or relieved at Francis’s casual rejection of the matter.
‘Well, he could hardly kiss you in the stable yard, could he? Lady Anne Neville, Warwick’s heiress? It would not have been appropriate.’
‘Maude was very pretty!’ I pointed out.
‘True.’ Francis grinned, much like his old self. ‘I kissed her myself. It doesn’t mean anything.’
‘I wrote to him,’ I confessed gruffly, fishing inexpertly for information.
‘I know. He told me. He got the letter.’
‘Oh.’ I thought about this, coming to no conclusion. ‘He didn’t reply.’
Francis shrugged. ‘Of that I know nothing. But Richard told me, if I was to see you here, to tell you this. Now—’ he took hold of my hands and repeated the words, carefully learned ‘—thank you for the prayers. I am safe. I trust we can meet in London eventually. I have kissed no serving girls recently. There is nothing for me to forgive. There!”
‘Is that all? Say it again.’
And he did, and I memorised it.
‘Isn’t it enough?’ he added as I frowned over the words. ‘I had to learn it by heart!’
Conscious of a warmth within my chest that Richard should even think of me in his presen
t circumstances, I squeezed Francis’s hands in quick gratitude. ‘What will happen now, Francis?’
‘Now I return to Middleham. I do the Earl of Warwick’s bidding.’ His reply held firm with conviction as if he had made a pact with himself. ‘The rebellion in Henry’s name must be put down by one means or another.’ He was already on his feet.
‘And then?’ I stood with him, trying to brush the dust from my skirts.
‘Then? Well, the Earl cannot keep Edward in prison for ever.’
‘Would…would he kill him?’A terrible cold lodged in my chest to replace the warmth, as we sank deeper and deeper into waters that would surely drown us.
‘No! Of course he won’t do that. That’s never his plan. Don’t even suggest it. There’s enough rumour that the Earl might not cavil at the King’s blood on his hands.’
‘I’m sorry. I was thoughtless.’ I walked at his shoulder to where the escort waited, his words on loyalty and birth tumbling over each other in my mind. ‘All we can do is to remain here until it’s over. One way or another.’
Francis must have seen my despair. ‘Don’t give up hope, Anne. Perhaps it can be put right and relations mended. Despite everything, there’s still a strong bond between Warwick and the King. If the wounds can be healed and Edward released, you’ll return to London and will see Richard again. And, I suggest—’ a wry little smile tugged at his mouth ‘—that you show him that you have grown up at last and bear no grudges!’
I could not smile at the heavy levity, but turned my face away as I stroked a hand down the shoulder of his horse. ‘My father is a traitor, and therefore, by association, so am I. What matter that I have grown up? I have no hope at all.’
King Edward is free! The King has escaped! He is marching to London.
The words were on the lips of every traveller, every merchant and common peddler who came past. I remember standing with the Countess in the shadow of the barbican at Warwick, listening, asking. Terrified. Dreading the next bout of news.
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