The Queen of Last Hopes

by Susan Higginbotham

  “Yes, mum. He played games with me and took me riding on his ’orse.”

  “He was as brave as any man could be, and he was very proud to be your father.” I patted Charles on the cheek. “Your father was very dear to the king and me, and you will always have friends in us for his sake. Now, will you go with Lady Katherine here for a few minutes?”

  Katherine Vaux—big with her second child—led Charles away. I turned back to Joan Hill. “You do not plan to stay abroad?”

  Joan sighed. “No, your grace. I think I would stand in Charles’s way if I were to stay with him. I don’t speak the languages; I’m a bit like a fish out of water here. When I see Charles settled safely in Bruges, I’ll go back to my shop in London, and when King Henry is back on the throne, as I pray daily he will be, then maybe my Charles will come back and we can visit.”

  “I do not want you to return to England unless you can do so safely. If Edward thought you might be spying…”

  “The men I know are careful, your grace. They’re back and forth between here and England doing their trading; they will bring me back safely.” Joan dropped her eyes. “I can’t tell you, your grace, how much I cried when that Edward had it told in London how that Neville creature had beheaded my lord. You wouldn’t believe that a woman could hold so many tears, even a woman of my size. Him meeting his death is what I dreaded when I heard that he’d gone back to supporting Lancaster. But I knew that supporting York clawed at him, and that his mind at least was at ease when he died. Still, I miss him so very much.”

  “We all do. I am very glad he has left a part of him behind.”

  Joan sniffled. “My Charles will grow up to be a fine man, I daresay, and know more than I will ever know. And to think it is all because my lord liked the smell of my wafers and decided to come inside my shop.”

  “Bring Charles back in,” I said to one of my men. “And bring me one of my son’s badges.”

  Charles returned. Like other boys his age, he had the remarkable facility of getting dirty quickly, for he already was a little grimy. He made a neat little bow that Katherine must have taught him just moments before. “Yer grace.”

  “Look what I have for you. It is a badge. My son’s badge of the House of Lancaster. It is the house your father served so bravely. Will you wear it in his honor?”

  “Yes, yer grace.”

  I pinned it on him. “Be a good servant of the House of Lancaster, Charles,” I said softly.

  “I will,” Charles promised me. “It was my father’s ’ouse.”

  I was coming in from my morning’s hunting, eager to boast to my mother of my success, for she herself had been a keen hunter when she was younger and always liked to hear of my triumphs. Sometimes she still joined me on the hunt, on those days when she wasn’t dictating letters begging someone or the other to help us regain my father’s throne or thinking of whom she could enlist in our cause next.

  Today, however, she stopped me before I even opened my mouth. “Not now, Edward. There is something I must tell you, and you must be man enough to bear it. Can you promise me that?”

  I noticed for the first time that her eyes were red. Had she been crying, like she had the year before when I fell ill and everyone thought for a day or so that I might die? “I promise.”

  “Your father was captured.”

  “Is he dead?” I managed to ask.

  “No.” My mother’s eyes clouded over. “He is a prisoner.” She clenched her fist. “He was hiding in the North, moving from place to place, but finally someone betrayed him, and he was taken to the Tower.” I had the sense that my mother was losing her sense of me as her audience. “The whoresons could not be content with just imprisoning him. They tied his feet to the stirrups, paraded him through London for the crowds to jeer at—and he a king since he was nine months old! My God, such treatment will send him over into madness again! I hope it does; it is better that he be mad than he be miserable and lonely there, mocked by those creatures. I pray he goes mad!”

  She dropped to her knees and began weeping, all sense of self-control lost. I had never seen her like that in my life—and I had seen her after she’d lost battles, after she’d been confronted by robbers, after thirty of our men had been executed following Hexham. I wished more than ever that I was not a boy who still had to wait a couple of months for my twelfth birthday, but a man who could come back and claim my kingdom and put my mother back in her palace at Greenwich instead of in a borrowed castle in France. I wished I could take my sword and sweep off all of the heads of the men who were making my mother cry so hard.

  But I couldn’t do any of these things yet, so I knelt beside her and awkwardly patted her on the back until her sobs subsided. Sitting next to her, I realized for the first time how small she really was: I would soon be taller than she. “Mother, I promise, someday we’ll free him. And if he is mad, he’ll get better. Just like he did after I was born.”

  My mother lifted her head and tried to smile. “You have to practice your fighting harder from now on,” she said, sniffling. “Your poor father can do nothing now that he is locked up. You are our very last hope now.”

  ***

  When I left my mother (dry-eyed now, and beginning to dictate more letters), I went to my tutor, Sir John Fortescue, who in better days had been chief justice of the king’s bench. This was not a very spacious castle, but because Sir John was a scholar, my mother had allotted him a tiny chamber all to himself. It was crammed with stacks of books and paper, which teetered dangerously upon my arrival but remained bravely upright. “Good day, your grace. You have heard the news?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sad. Very sad. Now, where is the book we were reading? It was here yesterday.”

  I instantly spotted the great red book he was seeking—it was at the bottom of a particularly unsteady pile by the door—but decided to say nothing. “Sir John, I was wondering if you could tell me something.”

  “Well, I shall certainly try.” Sir John, having given up searching for our book of yesterday, began to extract one from the middle of another pile. It was a delicate process, one that I thought would have required his full concentration, but he said over his shoulder, “Go on.”

  “Am I a bastard?”

  “No,” Sir John told the pile of books.

  I noticed that he didn’t appear to be shocked at the question. He drew his quarry from the pile triumphantly. Only then did he say, “Has someone here been telling you that you are a bastard? Because he has no business in this household if he has.”

  “No, but I have heard that the Yorkists say that I am.”

  “They have been claiming that since you were a small child. But there’s nothing to it. Your mother the queen has been—how shall I say this—in a unique situation. When a woman takes charge, as she has been forced to do, she breeds enemies, who reach for what weapons they can, and attacking her virtue is the easiest to wield. Of course, it is a doubly useful weapon, for by challenging your legitimacy, they can also challenge your very right to the throne.” He opened the book. “Warwick is more responsible for the rumors than anyone, I believe. Now, shall we read?”

  “No. Not yet. Do you think they will kill my father?”

  “I would think they would have done so immediately if they planned to do so.” Fortescue looked at me for a moment or two, then closed the book quietly. “I can see your grace has much on his mind, and quite understandably so. We’ll not study today.”

  “Wait.” I looked at the book, De Re Militari, by Flavius Vegetius Renatus. “I should like to hear of a battle, but not one that took place in Roman times.”

  “Which one, my lord?”

  “Agincourt,” I said. “I want to hear about my grandfather.”

  For the past few years, King Edward and the Earl of Warwick had been staging a veritable pageant of quarrels and reconciliation. They argued over foreign policy, over affairs in England, over the king’s new Woodville relations, over Warwick’s desire to marry his
two daughters to Edward’s two younger brothers. From my exile at Koeur Castle, I followed this farce with intense interest, for any rift in the relationship between Edward and the man who had helped him to the throne could only be to the good as far as I was concerned. Each time news of the latest falling-out occurred, I hoped that it might create a crack that we in exile could somehow widen to our advantage.

  Not even I in my most fond imaginings could have predicted what happened in 1469, however. Under the guise of an uprising by one of his retainers, Warwick began a rebellion against Edward in the North. For good measure, he married his daughter Isabel to Edward’s younger brother the Duke of Clarence, who had joined the rebellion. And then he did the most extraordinary thing of all: he took Edward prisoner. Was he going to put Clarence on the throne? Was he going to restore my husband to the throne? No one knew, least of all those of us at Koeur Castle.

  Almost as quickly as the whole business started, it was over. Edward, whose presence had been needed to put down an uprising by one of our own followers, was freed, though Warwick first murdered two of the Woodvilles and another person he considered to be an upstart. By the end of 1469, Edward and Warwick appeared to be on polite, if not particularly warm, terms. They even kept Christmas together. Hearing about that, I wondered whether poor Henry, shut in his Tower cell, was following all this and if so, if he was reminded of his ill-fated Loveday.

  Yet we had had peace after Loveday for nearly two years: Edward and Warwick’s reconciliation was over in just months. By March, it was clear that Warwick was plotting to put his son-in-law, Clarence, on the throne. This time, Edward, who had been taken off guard in 1469, was no laggard: he tried to seize Warwick and Clarence, forcing them to flee England in order to save their lives.

  On May 1, 1470, father and son-in-law landed at Honfleur, with their wives—and with Warwick’s unmarried younger daughter, Anne. And just days later, King Louis wrote me a letter.

  I met Louis on June 22 at the Chateau d’Amboise, one of his favorite residences. Louis kissed my hand, presented me to his queen, and then got down to business. “You were slow to come here.”

  “I had much to think about before I came.” I started when something brushed against my leg. Looking down, I saw that one of Louis’s omnipresent dogs was nosing me.

  Louis snapped his fingers, and the dog, a long-eared type that I had long coveted myself, lay down. “Well, it is as I told you. Warwick and I have engaged in daily discussions during his visit to me here, and he wishes to restore your husband to the throne. He plans to bring an army to England, and he wishes the Prince of Wales to accompany him. And he wants to marry his daughter Anne to the prince.”

  “I have heard these things. Indeed, I understand that the marriage is being spoken of as a certainty.”

  “Because it is eminently sensible and desirable. Why, I believe the idea has even been broached in the past by some of your councillors at Koeur.”

  “I cannot gainsay it. Nor can I deny that there has been talk among us in the past of an alliance with Warwick.”

  “Well, then, my dear lady, why stall now that this opportunity is finally in your grasp? Why not bring it to fruition? I do not believe you will ever have such a chance again to restore King Henry to his throne.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, then?”

  “For one thing, Warwick has insulted my son—and me, for that matter. He has alleged that my son is a bastard.”

  Louis chuckled. “My dear lady, you are too sensitive. Men engage in such tactics against each other all of the time. It is a mere game to us, though it is a pity when the gentler sex is caught up in it. He is willing, nay, eager, to marry his daughter to your son now. That will speak loudly that he believes him to be legitimate.”

  “He has destroyed some of the men who were dearest and most loyal to me, such as the elder Duke of Somerset and the Duke of Buckingham.”

  “And would not they have destroyed him, had they been given the chance? And both men were given honorable burial.”

  “He has humiliated King Henry by forcing him to ride through the streets of London and to be mocked by the crowd.”

  “Warwick was acting under Edward’s command. When he swears his allegiance to King Henry, he will no doubt pay all proper honor to him.”

  “What of the Duke of Clarence? He cannot be pleased that Warwick no longer plans to place him on the throne.”

  “Warwick has seen the disadvantages of replacing Edward with his brother. Men who would not fight for Clarence will fight for King Henry.”

  “You have an answer for everything,” I said testily. “But do you have an answer for this? I simply do not trust the man. Even in those desperate moments when I have thought that an alliance with him was my only hope, I have wondered if it was truly a chance worth taking.”

  “My dear lady, Warwick and I have talked of these matters at length. I told him that I did not believe that you would be quick to forgive him, and these were some of the points that came up in our conversation. The earl does not expect that the past can be forgotten in just a few days. He is aware that your trust is something that he will have to win, and he proposes to win it by setting your husband safely upon the throne. What have you got to lose by allying with him? It will be his life at stake when he returns to England. If he fails, he will forfeit his life. If he reneges, he will probably forfeit it as well, for I do not doubt that there will be men in your own camp who will not forgive such a betrayal. And his younger daughter will be in your hands. He is trusting you as well.”

  I said nothing. I thought of the Duke of Somerset being bludgeoned to death by Warwick’s men as a dazed Hal looked on. I thought of the Duke of Buckingham, who had tried all of his life to act for the best, being butchered after Warwick suborned Lord Grey to turn traitor. I thought of my gentle husband, feet tied to the stirrups of his horse, being paraded through London for the amusement of the crowd. I thought of my own dear boy, the one comfort of my life, being branded a bastard and I a whore. I thought of the sorry fate of Elizabeth Woodville’s father and of her brother John, killed the year before by Warwick simply because he wanted to be rid of them. I thought of the men who had held the Tower for Henry after Northampton, being executed by Warwick, and of Hal and the twenty-nine others who had lost their heads after Towton on the orders of Warwick’s brother. Perhaps I could indeed trust Warwick if he felt that acting for me was in his interest, but did I want to trust such a man?

  “I cannot give you an answer immediately. I must think upon this.”

  Louis smiled. “My dear lady, take your time.” He made a gesture that encompassed all of the luxurious appointments that surrounded us, which contrasted sharply with my own fading tapestries and battered furniture at Koeur Castle. “You and the prince shall be quite comfortable here while you do. And”—he glanced at his dog, which I must have eyed rather wistfully—“this one’s mother is breeding. You shall have your pick of the litter.”

  ***

  “As part of his plan, Warwick wishes you to marry his daughter,” I told Edward later that day as we stood on the balcony of my chamber, which overlooked the River Loire. Were we to get on a boat and travel west, it would float us to my father’s castle at Angers. “She has just reached her fourteenth year, and Warwick assures King Louis that she is an attractive girl, well grown for her age and accomplished. More about her I cannot tell you.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing yet. I do not know what to say.” I stared down at the river as it sparkled in the sun. “I know why King Louis is pressing the match: he wants to isolate Burgundy, which is presently on good terms with England. If he can force King Edward off the throne and put Henry on it, then Henry will ally with France against Burgundy.” Charles, the Count of Charolais, had succeeded his father as Duke of Burgundy. To my dismay, he had married King Edward’s sister Margaret a couple of years earlier.

  “Mother, I can figure that out for myself. I do listen to my tutor.
”

  “Yes, you do. I must remember that you are not a little boy anymore.” I sighed. “I should take especially care to do so, because you will be playing an important role in your father’s government should this plan succeed. Warwick says your father has been much affected by his arrest and imprisonment. He is not mad as he was before, but he sinks into long silences and forgets things, very simple things. If Warwick can be believed, he may not be capable of running the kingdom on his own, though it may be that being freed from confinement improves his state.”

  “It was Warwick who paraded him to the Tower.”

  “Yes. And it may be Warwick who can set him free.” I turned from my pretty view of the Loire and into my chamber, where I paced about. “And what of the Beauforts? Any plan to put Henry back on the throne must include them, as much as they have suffered for us. But they are in favor with Burgundy, and they hate Warwick with a mortal passion. Exeter too—he has gone half starved sometimes in exile. He might have made his peace, especially as he is married to King Edward’s sister, but he has remained loyal to us. He cannot be forgotten. There are so many others to be considered.”

  “Does the girl approve of these plans?” She and the rest of Warwick’s family were at Valognes in Normandy. Warwick himself had intentionally left Amboise before I arrived, so that Louis and I might conduct our conversation in private.

  I smiled. “Since when did men keep us informed of their affairs? It is likely that she is just learning about the proposal now. If she is anything like her father, I daresay the possibility of being Queen of England will appeal to her.” I stopped and looked at my son. “So. Does it appeal to you? It all rides on you. You are all but grown, and will, I pray to God, be King of England. I would not have you make a match against your will.”

  Edward was silent. Had he known women? There were none at Koeur, other than my own ladies, all of whom were around my own age and who had been in my service since I was in my teens. Going to my impoverished court was no attractive prospect to the young and ripe. But Edward did not spend all of his time within the castle walls, and there were certainly places he could have found a woman to dally with had he been so inclined. Was he? If he was, was there a certain sort of woman he preferred? It was disconcerting to realize that there were aspects of my son’s life about which I knew nothing.