“You give me a choice, but I don’t see where I really have any,” he said at last. “If I say no and slink back off to Koeur, what will happen? Warwick will go to England anyway, and put that Clarence on the throne. He’s married and will soon have a child. I’ll be as far from the throne as I ever was. I’ll live the rest of my life as an exile, and perhaps Father will die in prison.”
“I said you had a choice. I didn’t say it was a palatable one.”
“I will marry the girl, Mother. Even if I didn’t want to be king—and I do—I couldn’t let Father just rot in the Tower, knowing that I had the chance to set him free and let it slide by.”
I embraced my son. “You have grown up into the sort of man our house needs.”
“Then I shall accompany Warwick to England when he sails?”
I dried my eyes. “That,” I said firmly, “is another matter entirely.”
***
Over the next few days, Louis tried to convince me to send my son to England with Warwick, but I did not budge. How easy it would be to dispose of my son on the voyage between here and England: he could be shoved overboard, and who could gainsay Warwick when he claimed that my son, unused to the sea, had lost his footing during a rough crossing? And if my son made it safely to England’s shore, what was to keep Warwick from turning him over to King Edward as a captive? King Edward would be most forgiving of Warwick after being handed such a present—and if perchance he was not, Warwick still had a possible rival king in the person of George, Duke of Clarence. Indeed, there had been rumors, probably of Warwick’s and Clarence’s making, that King Edward himself was a bastard, born when the Duchess of York conceived a passion for a mere commoner. I did not believe the rumor, but having been the victim of such falsehoods myself, I knew well what powerful weapons they could be.
Finally, Henry’s half brother, Jasper Tudor, who had attempted to invade Wales on our behalf a couple of years before and who had been living in Louis’s household since that time, gave us our solution: he would accompany Warwick to England, and Edward need not come until I was comfortable sending him. I saw the sense in this plan instantly. Jasper Tudor had never shied from a fight, yet had never been captured. Such a man was too sharp and wary to fall into a trap. Better yet, if any treachery were to occur, there would be unrest in Wales, for the half-Welsh Jasper was a popular figure there.
With that difficulty out of the way, Edward and I soon traveled to Angers, where for the first time in years I would meet my enemy face to face. King Louis was there when we arrived. “You have not changed your mind, dear lady?”
“I would hardly be here if I had,” I snapped.
Edward was less on edge than I. “Will the Lady Anne be here?”
Louis smiled. “You are eager to see your bride, dear boy? I fear that you must wait a few days more. The countess and her daughters and the Duke of Clarence are still in Normandy, but don’t worry. You shall be bedding her in due time.”
My son blushed, and so did I.
A clattering of hooves and a blowing of horns indicated an important arrival, who I knew could be none other than the Earl of Warwick. Though the most powerful man in France stood beside me, I could not help but wish that my father and my brother, who were busy with their own military affairs in Provence, were at my side as well.
“Stand still for a moment,” Katherine Vaux hissed, and I obeyed. She tucked a stray bit of hair that had escaped my hennin into its place and smoothed my gown. “There. You look splendid.”
I sank into my chair of state moments before Warwick was announced. Respectfully, he stood at the door until I motioned him forward. Studying him before he dropped to his knees, I was struck once more at how ordinary a man he looked. He was magnificently dressed—indeed, as Louis scorned elaborate robes, and Edward’s and my own clothing showed the poverty we had been living in over the past few years, he was the best dressed person in the chamber—but otherwise there was nothing in his face that one would recall, seeing him in a crowd. “You may speak.”
“Your grace”—Warwick addressed the general area of my feet—“I have done great wrongs to you in the past—”
“And to my son.”
“And to your son. Your grace, I beg that you put the past behind us and that you allow me to offer you my humble service now.”
“You faithfully served the man you seek to remove from the throne now.” Beside me, I heard Louis cough in warning, but the sight of Warwick, even this kneeling Warwick, was beginning to revive my old anger. “How do I know that having turned traitor to him, you will not turn traitor to me? How do I know that you are not double dealing now?”
Louis stopped in the middle of a second cough. “My dear lady, we have discussed this—”
“We may have discussed these things, but it is one thing for you to tell me what this man intends, and another for him to tell me himself what he intends. How do I know that he is sincere? How do I know that having struck at my dear friends, he will not strike at them again? How do I know that having humiliated my dear husband once, he will not humiliate him again?” I glared down at Warwick’s neck. “Speak!”
“Your grace, Edward of England has done me wrongs, which would be tedious to recount here. Your grace may be assured that I have no intent of reconciling with him. And I have suffered hardships coming here myself, which cannot be forgotten easily. Did your grace know that my first grandson was born to the Duchess of Clarence on our way here?”
“No.”
“The birth was premature. He was born, died, and buried at sea, all within an hour’s time.”
“I am sorry to hear it.” It was typical, I thought, that Louis had never mentioned this to me.
“It grieved me very much, the more so as I have never been blessed with a son and never will be. Watching his body being lowered into the sea made me understand, better than I ever have in the past, your grace’s love for your own son. Your son by King Henry.”
Despite myself, I relaxed slightly in my chair. Louis gave an encouraging cough.
“I well understand your grace’s doubts; I would have them too. But I came here prepared to swear an oath that I would serve King Henry, Prince Edward, and your grace, and one thing that can be said of me is that I have not broken a solemn oath.” Warwick raised his eyes as far up as he deemed politic. “Your grace, King Henry was generous enough to take the late Duke of Somerset back to his side after the duke deserted him for Edward. Some might have turned the duke away, but King Henry welcomed him, and the duke subsequently died for his cause. I am honest enough to admit that I would rather survive the risk I am about to take, but I am willing to die for the House of Lancaster, just as the duke did, if God ordains it. I can offer no greater proof of my sincerity.”
He drooped his head. I was silent for a moment or two. “Very well,” I said. “In the king’s name, I grant you pardon.”
Louis’s sigh of relief filled the room as I silently calculated how long I had kept the earl on his knees. Fifteen minutes at least, I decided.
***
Several days after I had officially forgiven Warwick, we processed to the Church of St. Mary, where the Earl of Warwick swore upon the cross that he would uphold the cause of House of Lancaster. King Louis and his brother, Charles of Guienne, swore that they would uphold Warwick in his task, and I swore that I would henceforth treat Warwick as a faithful subject and would not reproach him for his past deeds. Things moved quickly after that: within days, Warwick, accompanied by the Duke of Clarence, had gone to the coast to see to the assembly of his invasion fleet, and Edward and I were at Amboise, watching as Warwick’s womenfolk were ushered into our presence.
The Countess of Warwick, the Duchess of Clarence, and Lady Anne were unmistakably a mother and her daughters. All three were tall and slender, with fair complexions, and the sliver of hair their headdresses revealed was light blond. They each wore the tall, pointed hennins that were the fashion here in France; in my nervousness, I wondered if the trun
cated version still held sway in England.
Edward stared at Anne with undisguised appreciation as she and the rest rose at my command. No man in his right mind could have disliked what he saw: dark blue eyes, blooming cheeks, a straight little nose, and kissable lips. Could Anne dislike what she saw? I tried, with great difficulty, to see my son objectively. He had shot up a couple of inches recently and had yet to grow into them, which gave him a certain gawky air, but he had largely been spared the spottiness that troubled so many other boys his age. Dark-haired and dark-eyed like his father, he had a similar facial structure as well, but Henry’s mild features had turned sharper, more determined, in his son. It lent his handsome face a stern expression, which softened, however, when he smiled or when he was gaping at a pretty girl, as he was now.
With a start, I realized that I had been so busy with these reflections that I was tardy in greeting my daughter-in-law to be. I smiled quickly. “Welcome, my dear. I am very glad to see you here, as well as your mother and sister.”
“Thank you, your grace.”
“You left your father the Earl of Warwick well, I hope?”
“Yes, your grace,” Anne said
“You had an uneventful journey here, I trust?”
“Yes, your grace.”
How long could we go on like this? I truly did not know what to say to the child. Even if she had not been daughter to a man I had hated for so long, my lengthy stay at Koeur, where I seldom saw anyone other than my fellow exiles, my servants, and my French relations, had not improved my ability to carry on an inconsequential conversation. Edward might be scarcely better. He was well-read and well-trained in the art of war, I realized belatedly, but there had been little time or money during our exile to train him in the more gentle arts. Perhaps I should have sent him to my father’s court, where he would have learned how to play an instrument, to write verse, to pay the compliments that young ladies expected.
But Edward was the one who rescued us. “Welcome, my lady.” He lifted Anne’s hand—a dainty one, I saw—to his mouth and kissed it with more savoir-faire than I would have expected. “It is pleasant to see an English rose here in France.”
Where in the world had Edward learned this manner of talk? It did not, however, have much of an effect on Anne, who thanked him stiffly.
Unbowed, my son turned to me. “Mother, I would like to speak to my betrothed privately. May we walk out in the garden?”
“Why, of course,” I said, wondering what further botanical compliments this would inspire my son to muster and hoping that they proved more successful than the last.
I always thought I would marry the Duke of Gloucester,” Anne informed me as soon as we entered the garden at Amboise. Aside from a brief exchange about whether we should go here or to the menagerie (I vetoed the menagerie, feeling that I did not need the competition from Louis’s elephant), it was the first thing she had said to me since we had left our mothers’ presence.
Gloucester, King Edward’s youngest brother, was just a year or so older than me, I recalled. I had no idea what he looked like. “Did you want to marry him?”
Anne shrugged enigmatically and accepted my invitation to sit down on a bench of turf. In a finicky manner that made me wonder how she had survived the miserable voyage from England, during which her sister had given birth, she arranged her skirts around her. “I had grown so accustomed to the idea, I hardly thought about wanting or not wanting. It was just part of my life. But I did like the idea of being a duchess.”
“Well, with me you will become Princess of Wales. Then queen.”
“If all goes well.”
“It’s your own father who is arranging all of this. Don’t you have faith in him?”
“Of course I do in him, but not necessarily in the rest of you. If this plan fails, I will be exiled at Koeur with you. And then I’ll just be a hanger-on among your family.”
How could I have wanted to kiss this girl just a few minutes before? “If it comes to that, we’ll get an annulment.”
Anne considered this for a moment or two, then frowned. “It won’t be easy, not with the dispensation we’ll be getting. And I’m sure our parents will make us consummate it.”
“Horrors,” I murmured. “Did you tell your father that you didn’t wish to marry me?”
“Goodness, no. One doesn’t argue with my father. And he gave me this.” She held out her wrist. A sapphire bracelet that could have fed us at Koeur for a month flashed upon it.
“You should have argued. Perhaps he would have given you rubies for the other wrist.”
“He did promise me a nice gift on our wedding day,” my bride said.
“My mother has some jewels she plans to give you on that day,” I said. “They used to be her mother’s.”
“Poor thing, can she afford it? It is petty to notice those things, but her gown looks as if it is on its last legs. Though she is still a beautiful woman for her age.” She studied my clothing. “Your clothing is rather stylish, though.”
It was, because Mother always insisted that I be clothed like a prince even when she could no longer afford to clothe herself like a queen. By God, when my father recovered his crown, she would have some new clothes—and jewels to replace the many she had pledged to pay our expenses—even if I had to rip them off the back of this spoiled brat. “Her father has them, actually. He will send them after the dispensation arrives.”
“Oh, I see.”
I cast around for a topic that wouldn’t tempt me to shake this girl. “Do you like France?”
“Well, of course, I have spent much time in Calais, so it isn’t entirely new to me, but I suppose Calais doesn’t quite count. But no, I don’t like it very much. I like the North of England, actually.”
“The North? I wouldn’t have thought it was your sort of place.”
“That shows how little imagination you have. The North is very beautiful in its way. Of course, I spent more time at Warwick Castle than anywhere. I miss it there too.”
She did look homesick, and for a moment I felt almost sorry for her. It couldn’t be easy, I reminded myself, for this pampered girl of barely fourteen to suddenly find herself in exile. I’d been living that life since age seven, following Palm Sunday Field, short of money and always on someone else’s sufferance; though I didn’t like that mode of living, I was used to it. “When Father’s back on the throne, we’ll spend some time in the North,” I offered.
“Father,” Anne mused, and I tensed, knowing already from this brief encounter that this tone of voice did not bode well. “Edward, I hardly know how to put this, but well, I’ll just ask it. You are legitimate, aren’t you?”
I could do nothing but sputter, “How dare you insult me—and my mother—like that?”
“Well,” said Anne reasonably. “It is rumored, and it is something that I should know for sure. Don’t you think? One doesn’t want our marriage to be founded on a lie.”
“I am legitimate. The rumors you have heard were of your beloved father’s own making and for his own purposes. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I shall go for a walk on my own. If I stay here one more minute, I would strangle you. And not only would that be against the rules of knighthood, that would spoil everything, wouldn’t it?”
“I only asked,” Anne called as I stalked away.
***
Though Anne’s and my first interview had been less than successful, I found when I returned that our mothers had gotten on rather better—probably to the countess’s credit, for my mother was not the sort of woman who spoke easily to other women, save for those who had served her forever, like Katherine Vaux. With us gone, they’d busied themselves by sewing baby clothes for Queen Charlotte, who had given birth to a son just a few weeks earlier. I’d been one of the godfathers.
When my mother asked later how I had gotten on with Anne, I didn’t tell her how unpleasant the experience had been. Almost as if we’d agreed upon it, Anne must not have told her mother either, for when we sup
ped with Louis that evening, the countess was all smiles. Anne and I sat side by side and made polite conversation, and Louis beamed at us paternally.
Under the circumstances, we would have to make the best of each other, I knew, and Anne no doubt knew it too. So we passed our days at Amboise, alternating between bickering and cool civility, while Warwick and Clarence, along with the Earl of Pembroke and Warwick’s brother-in-law the Earl of Oxford, attended to their men’s business on the coast. They were expected to leave for England any day, but unfavorable winds, and a blockade of La Hogue by Burgundy and England, held them there until more friendly winds scattered the ships pinning them in. At last, on September 9, Warwick’s ships pulled out of harbor.
I have never seen any woman pray as much as my mother did that September; we might as well have been living in a nunnery. She fasted too, sometimes several days a week, and I do believe that she would have donned a hair shirt if someone could have been found to make her one. When she wasn’t on her knees, she was pacing around the castle, waiting for the messenger who would give us news of our enterprise. The rest of us were scarcely better. Even Louis, who alone among us had no close relation whose life would be forfeit if our invasion failed, was on edge. His greyhounds, who sensed his moods about as well as or better than as any human being, slunk around their business quietly.
By the end of September, we had received an optimistic letter from Warwick, bringing the news that he had landed safely and was gathering support. This was something, but not enough to lure my mother from the altar or strike any comfort into Louis’s hounds.
Then, during the first week of October, Louis burst into the solar that had been assigned to our group of refugees. “Where is Queen Margaret?”
The Queen of Last Hopes Page 32
