Aching from my long ride in an open chariot—Edward’s men refused to allow me to ride my own horse, lest I gallop off to freedom—I knelt slowly before the king as Anne, Katherine, and Marie followed suit. Edward stood gazing down at me as his followers pressed forward to watch me submit to him. After several minutes passed, he said in a voice that had something of his father’s in it, “You have caused a great deal of trouble for us all, woman. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“Your grace has a newborn son. Would you not do anything in the world to protect his birthright? Everything I have done, I have done for the love of my dear son.” I choked back the tears that had chosen this inconvenient time to come at last. “I have nothing to strive for anymore, not with my husband a prisoner like myself. I only ask that you allow us to live our remaining days on earth in quiet and in dignity. And I have another request.”
“Go on.”
“I ask that you be merciful to these ladies I have with me, the Lady Anne, the Countess of Devon, and Lady Katherine Vaux. They have been loyal wives and, in the case of the Lady Anne, a loyal daughter. She in particular deserves your grace’s kindness. She is not yet fifteen, and she did not have a voice in the arrangements that have brought her here.”
“The innocent shall not suffer,” Edward said, looking at Anne, who to my pleasure did not quake before his gaze. “The Lady Anne shall be given into the care of her sister, the Duchess of Clarence. As for you and the other Frenchwomen, you shall be held in the Tower until suitable arrangements can be made for you. We start back to London tomorrow.” His gaze turned back to Anne. “Cousin, forgive a blunt question. Are you with child?”
Anne said coolly, “I believe not. Is that the answer you wished, your grace?”
Edward snapped, “Yes.” He gestured toward the four of us women. “Do you have anything more to say to us? No? Then rise.”
I painfully hauled myself to my feet and finally got a close look at Edward. He had gained a few inches since the Loveday jousts and was as good-looking now as he had been as a youth, but the years of fighting had put a hardness into his face, as I supposed they had into mine.
Edward had been studying me too. “Amazing,” he commented almost genially. “You are much smaller than I remember you being; I would have thought such a troublesome woman would be much larger. Well. You are dismissed.”
***
Under guard, we women spent the evening in Coventry at a merchant’s house where I had occasionally lodged in happier days. The next morning, a couple of men wearing the Duke of Clarence’s badge were shown into the chamber where we sat breaking our fast, or to be more accurate, pushing our food around. Directing his words to Anne, he said, “My lady, we are here to escort you to your sister the Duchess of Clarence.”
“Already?”
“Yes, my lady. The duke considers it unsuitable for you to be traveling with an army, and the king concurs.”
“My mother-in-law will be traveling with an army.”
“She is a prisoner of the crown. You are not. And that is another reason it is unsuitable for you to remain in her company.”
“I have no women attendants now. I cannot travel without women.”
“The duke is aware of that, my lady. He has arranged for two widows here in Coventry to attend you until you reach your sister’s household.” He waved and a couple of middle-aged women, whom I faintly remembered from my own stays in Coventry when their husbands had been alive, stepped forward and curtseyed. “I believe Lady Margaret can tell you that they are most respectable.”
I blinked at this new appellation for myself. “Yes,” I admitted. “They are of good character.”
“Then if there is no further objection, we will be ready to leave as soon as Lady Anne can make herself ready.”
“I will be ready shortly,” Anne said resignedly, and the men withdrew. She turned to the widows. “Let me take my leave of my mother-in-law.” The widows nodded and left the room. Anne turned to me. “Already the Duke of Gloucester is paying attention to me.”
“So I noticed last night.” He had made a great point of seeing to it that Anne’s coffers from Tewkesbury had all arrived and of making certain her supper had been to her satisfaction.
“My Edward said that I should marry him if it would be the best for me.”
“It might well be the best for you, to protect your rights in your father’s estates. Gloucester was instrumental in defeating us, they say. He will be in favor with his brother the king, perhaps more so than Clarence. You know Gloucester, don’t you?”
“Yes, he was in my father’s household for a time. I liked him well enough then.” She looked at me with fear in her eyes. “Your grace, shall you be executed?”
I shook my head. “I doubt it. It is unprecedented to execute a queen, and I do not think King Edward is strong enough yet to risk setting such a precedent. I hope only that I am allowed to see my husband, at least occasionally. Together we can bear our Edward’s loss better than we could separately.”
Outside, footsteps paced pointedly. I embraced Anne. “I believe you made my Edward happy in the short time you were together, and you have a place in my heart for that. Whatever the future holds for you, I wish you the best. Go with God, and if you are able, visit Edward’s grave when you can.”
“I will, your grace. Go with God.”
A few minutes later, I watched from my window as my daughter-in-law and her escort left for Clarence’s estates. Probably I would never see her again, and yet another earthly tie to my son would be broken.
***
I had a moment of hope as the king’s victorious army headed toward London: a bastard nephew of Warwick, Thomas Neville, was assaulting London with the intent of rescuing Henry from the Tower. But the Tower was in the hands of the Earl of Essex and of Queen Elizabeth’s brother Anthony, now Earl Rivers, and King Edward had left it well garrisoned and supplied. By May 18, Thomas Neville had deserted his men, and on May 21, the mayor and aldermen of London were greeting King Edward at Shoreditch. It was time for the king to make a grand entry into the city.
William, Lord Hastings, Edward’s chamberlain, saw to the business of ordering the procession: settling arguments between nobles about who got to ride closest to the king, making sure that the artillery that had done so much damage to poor Somerset’s men was proudly displayed on its carts, checking that flags were fully unfurled, frowning at the stray page picking his nose. Meanwhile, Edward, wandering amicably up and down the train of people, horses, and carts, chatted with the soldiers and showed off what I had learned during my unwilling travels with him was a remarkable ability to remember names and faces. “All’s ready,” said Hastings at last.
“Not quite,” said Edward. He pointed at my chariot. “See to the Frenchwoman, will you?”
“Your grace—”
“See to her, Hastings, as I ordered you to.”
Hastings sighed and nodded to a boy nearby. “Bring me a box—say, this high—from one of the baggage carts.” In no time at all, it was produced. “I am sorry, your gr—my lady, but I am going to have to ask you to sit upon this as you ride into London. Stand, please.”
I complied and Hastings put the box where I had been sitting, then carefully sat me down upon it. I now towered head and shoulders above Marie and Katherine. “High enough,” he commented. He turned his eyes upon my ladies. “Sit close to it and hold it steady so she won’t fall.”
“You are going to make a spectacle of my lady,” Katherine said, her voice trembling. “Have you people no sense of decency? She has lost her only child, she is to be imprisoned—and now you want to display her to this mob to jeer at?”
“The king has not forgotten the indignity of the display of his father’s and brother’s heads at York,” Hastings said. “He insists upon this.” He produced a bit of cord. “Let me tie your hands behind your back. I won’t pull the knot tight.”
“You swine!”
“Hush, Katherine. Let the ki
ng have his triumph. It is quite Roman of him.” I clasped my hands behind my back. “My husband bore this. I can too.”
Gently, Hastings completed his task. “Courage, my lady,” he said softly as he left to return to his own place. “You’ve plenty of it, I know.”
With a sound of trumpets, the procession began. Marie and Katherine steadied my box as my chariot began to move, lurched to a stop as some confusion far ahead of us brought our progress to a temporary halt, and began to move again at a more steady pace as matters were righted once more.
Twenty-six years before, on a fine May day very much like this one, I had ridden into London as its queen.
I gazed ahead as the procession cleared the city gate and the onlookers began to jostle each other for a better view. The splendidly clad king and nobles, some distance ahead of my chariot, caught all eyes, of course, but the knights who came after them were of little interest, the city officials who followed them of even less except to their friends. For the crowd, I was therefore a sweet sight.
“There’s the Bitch of Anjou!”
“Minus her bastard pup!”
“Not a bad looker, though!”
“Think she’d have you?”
“Why not? All of her pretty boys are dead!”
“She’s not blinking an eye. Is she real?”
“One way to find out, ain’t there?” A stone whizzed through the air and clipped me neatly on the cheek.
A horseman, evidently appointed to deal just with this sort of situation, swung a club in the direction from where the stone had been thrown, giving me a respite, but every few feet it was the same: the same jests, the same cold stares, the same clubbing when someone got out of hand. Only the missiles varied: eggs at one corner, cabbage at another, horse dung at the worst. With my hands tied I could not wipe my face, and my ladies were too busy holding my box to assist me either.
At last my chariot diverged from the rest of the procession, which was to go to St. Paul’s for a service of thanksgiving for the king’s victory. I was bound for the Tower.
***
My chariot had barely stopped moving when Katherine and Marie unbound my hands and took me off my box. I sank into the seat of my chariot as Katherine wiped my face with her skirts as best she could. “It’s over, dear,” she whispered as my tears began to blend with the filth on my face. “It shall never happen again.”
A man stepped forward. With a start, I recognized him as Sir John Dudley, who had served Henry for years. Once he had knelt when he came into my presence. Now he merely inclined his head as he handed me out of the cart, shaking his head with disapproval at the state of my face as if it had been my own idea to hurl horse turds at myself. “My lady, I am constable here and shall be looking after you.”
“Shall I be executed?”
“Goodness no, my lady. Who would do that to a woman?”
I was not sure whether this came as a relief or as a disappointment. “Might I see my husband?”
“I have not been given permission to allow you to do that, my lady.”
“For God’s sake! It is what has kept me sane while that mob jeered at me and threw muck at me, that I might have the comfort of my husband, and him of me. We have not seen each other in years.” I felt my lip begin to tremble. “Have you no compassion? Cannot you allow me one small indulgence? I am not asking to be quartered with him; I am not even asking to see him privately. I am only asking that I be allowed to look upon his dear face.”
“I cannot arrange it without the king’s permission.”
“Then get it!” I remembered my position. “Please.”
“I will ask the king; I can promise no more. But in the meantime, come. Your chambers in the White Tower have been prepared for you.”
It is strange, but despite the deadness in my heart I was still able to observe with some relief that the small comforts of life were not being denied to me. The bed, though narrow and old, looked sturdy and comfortable, and the bedding itself was clean, though faded. A garderobe provided more dignity than I had been used to as of late. The window was low enough for me to see the Thames flowing past. There were truckle beds for my companions, an altar for me to pray at, and an inexpensive book of hours for my devotions. “The queen didn’t want you to be uncomfortable, my lady. She remembers that King Henry was good to her own family.”
“I wish I could see my husband.”
“All in good time. In the meantime, I shall bring you materials with which to tidy yourself.”
“Yes, I would not want Henry to see me like this,” I admitted. “It would distress him.”
With the pots of warm water that Sir John directed be brought up, Katherine and Marie scrubbed me from head to toe, then scrubbed themselves. Cleaner than I had been in weeks and dressed in a fresh nightshift from the coffer I had brought with me from France and had been allowed to keep, I lay on my bed, drew the curtains, and fell asleep, though it was not yet dark.
It was late when the sounds of voices in and around the White Tower half-woke me; Edward’s court was lodging here tonight, I recalled dreamily. Poor Henry would find it difficult to sleep; he had always liked quiet…They were bound to let me see him. Weren’t they? He had been poorly kept during the last period of his imprisonment, I had been told. I would see to it that his keepers gave him proper attention. I would sew shirts for him, mend his hose, trim his hair as he liked it. We would grow old and die here, no doubt, but at least we would spend our last days together.
Tomorrow, they would let me see him. We would weep over the death of our son, but we would also comfort each other as no one else could. I would see him tomorrow. Tomorrow…
King Edward’s men always said that I was a fool—a holy fool, they said, as if this somehow softened the insult. But I was not the simpleton they said I was, for when all of my servants were dismissed the very same day Edward returned in victory to London, I knew what lay in store. I did not believe Edward’s men for a moment when they said that it was only a matter of reorganization and that new servants would be assigned to me in the morning. I would not live to see the morning; I was certain of it.
But when night fell and the supper I was served proved to be free of poison, I began to doubt myself, as I always did. Perhaps they were right: I was a fool and I would indeed get new servants in the morning. Perhaps, I thought as I finished my prayers and blew out the candle by my bedside, I would even be allowed to see my dear Marguerite, brought a prisoner to the Tower that afternoon.
Yet not long before midnight I awoke to find a young man standing over me with a large pillow. “Edward?” I said.
“How dare you confuse me with Margaret of Anjou’s bastard whelp?”
It was a foolish mistake; I realized immediately. I had seen this young man before: he was Richard, Duke of Gloucester, King Edward’s youngest brother. He had been at Barnet, to which I had been taken with Edward’s forces as a prisoner. Gloucester was a competent man and a brave one, I had noted in the dispassionate way I had learned to observe things during my long captivity, and a man who was well liked and respected by his own men, but with something else in his character as well, I had sensed. Something that made him well suited for the task that he was about to perform. “I beg your pardon. You are about the same age as my own son, or just a little older. For a moment, in the darkness, I thought you might be him. Tell me, young man. Is my son dead, as they tell me?”
“Yes.” For the first time I realized that there were two other men in the room, standing on either side of Gloucester. They were burly, silent men, who watched me with blank faces and crossed arms, and I knew then that there was no point fighting against what was soon to happen, even if I had been inclined to fight.
“God assoil his soul. And do you know what the king will do with my Marguerite?”
“How should I know?” The young man raised the pillow again and brought it down.
“God protect you, my sweet girl,” I whispered. “Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctif
icetur nomen tuum…”
“Nicely done, if I must say so myself,” Gloucester said. He removed the pillow from my face, tucked it under my head, and arranged the sheets neatly around me. “Why, that doddering old fool Dudley might actually believe that he died in his sleep.” He chuckled and turned toward the men. “Well, I’ve done Edward’s dirty work tonight, while he frolics in bed with that Woodville wife of his. He has a talent for delegation, I’ll say. If he asks, I’ll tell him that the worst part of it was having to make conversation with the useless fool.”
He turned away, having made the common mistake of thinking that the dead cannot hear, and that God is not watching all. If I could have spoken, I would have told him that. I would have also told him that someday, the Lord would exact a price and that a man, having gained everything he wants, can very easily lose it.
But I could not speak, so I would let him find out those things for himself, in time. Meanwhile, I could look forward to beholding my son’s dear face. And in the course of time I would clasp my sweet Marguerite in my arms again and be the strong husband in heaven for her that I never was on earth.
It was Gloucester, not I, who was the fool.
I am very embarrassed, Sir John. I was so tired, I slept very late today.” I gathered my cloak around me to hide my dishabille. “You have asked the king about my seeing Henry?”
“My lady, I am very sorry to tell you this. Your husband was informed of your son’s death, and your imprisonment here, as gently as we could. We could not have been more gentle. But the knowledge broke his will to live, and broke his very heart. This morning he was found dead in his chambers.”
How many people can say how it feels, the moment when they have lost everything? For the time being, I felt only numbness, and the knowledge dawning at the back of my mind that I should have guessed my husband’s fate all along. “I should have known,” I said after a pause.
The Queen of Last Hopes Page 36
