There was a special seat at Middleham; it was cut out of the stone wall; shrubs grew round it so that it was comparatively secluded. He made it his special refuge; he would go there to recover from those exhausting exercises. He wanted to be apart from the other boys who naturally looked down on one who was not as strong as they were; and after the manner of the young they would not hesitate to call attention to this.
I used to join him there. At first good manners prevented him from asking me to leave, and he tolerated me; after a while I think he was sometimes glad of my company, for there was one day when I was unable to go to him and the next time he mentioned the fact with something like reproach in his voice. Then I knew he was pleased to be with me.
It was from him that I learned something of what was going on in the country.
Tell me about the Wars of the Roses ... about mad Henry and fierce Margaret and how it all came about," I said; and I settled back to listen.
The trouble is between the Houses of York and Lancaster," he explained.
"It would never have arisen if Henry the Sixth had been a real king. Kings must be strong like my brother. Henry is mad. It is not surprising. His French grandfather was mad and had to be put away for long periods. And the worst thing was that he married Margaret of Anjou. She is haughty, domineering and the people hate her. They do not like her two chief ministers -Suffolk and Somerset either. And in '53, when Henry and Margaret had a son, it looked as though the Lancastrians would be on the throne for a very long time. It was not good. A mad king, an arrogant foreigner for a queen and a child heir. Your father was against them. He was for the House of York. After all, we are related. Our mother is your father's aunt. She was one of twenty-three children ... the youngest, you see. There is a family bond. It was natural that he should support the House of York. The Percys are for Lancaster and the Nevilles do not like the Percys. They both regard themselves as Lord of the North."
"I am glad we are on your side, Richard," I said.
"I should not have liked to be with mad Henry and fierce Margaret."
"It would have been the wrong side to be on, for we are the winners, and once the people realise what it is like to have Edward for a king they will want no other."
"Sometimes the people cannot judge what is best for them, and sometimes they have to accept what king they are given."
"That is true, but my brother and your father will see that they will accept the king they are given."
"It is most exciting. I can see why you want to excel at all the things you have to do. They will be necessary if you have to go to war for your brother."
He smiled. I had said exactly what was in his mind.
He grew animated talking about the battles. St. Albans, Blore Heath, Northampton. Wakefield made him both sad and angry. I ventured to put out a hand and touch his because I knew he was thinking of his father's death and the ignoble treatment he had received.
"Wakefield has been avenged." he said.
"And then ... St. Albans."
Tell me about St. Albans."
This was the second battle which had taken place at St. Albans. It was truly brilliant strategy on the part of your father. His army was beaten in the field. Margaret thought she was secure. But your father joined up with my brother and they decided that they would not accept defeat and would march to London and there proclaim my brother king."
"But you said they had been beaten."
"That was at St. Albans. But the Lancastrians were unpopular. It was not Henry whom they hated. He was a poor sad creature. It was his overbearing wife. And when the news of the defeat of St. Albans reached London the people were afraid of being in the hands of the Lancastrians. They knew what it would mean if the rough soldiers came to London. There would be trouble in the streets houses would be ransacked, wives and daughters of the citizens misused. They were burying their valuables and were in a state of great anxiety. So your father decided to get to London first to save the city from the Lancastrian soldiers many of whom were mercenaries intent on gaining spoils for their efforts. It was a clever idea. Your father with my brother marched on the capital. They persuaded the people that they came in peace to save them from inevitable pillage and to ask them if they would accept Edward of York as their king."
"And they were welcomed," I cried, having heard something of this from Isabel.
"It is true. The important citizens were called together and asked if they thought Henry and Margaret fit to rule them. At this there was an immediate response in the negative. And would they take Edward of York to be their king? They cried, Yea, yea, yea. Oh, how I wish I had been there!"
"Where were you?" I asked.
I, with my mother and my brother George and sister Margaret, were all on a ship bound for the Low Countries. When my mother heard about the defeat at St. Albans she had thought she must get us out of the country. Of course, I was not old enough then to fight for my brother, but now I am older I shall soon be able to. As soon as we heard the news that my brother was the accepted king we returned home."
I listened enthralled proud that I was the daughter of the man who had made this glorious victory possible. My father and Richard's brother stood together. No wonder Richard and I were friends.
He seemed to share that thought for he turned to me and smiled warmly.
"Of course," he went on, "there had to be a lot of fighting after that. Margaret had really won the battle of St. Albans. It was just clever strategy which had won the day for us. There had to be the battle of Towton where we finally beat them and after that there was no doubt that my brother was truly king."
"With my father helping him to rule."
They are kinsmen and allies."
"As we are. Let us always remember that."
"Yes," he said.
"Let us always remember."
It was October. The leaves of the trees were already turned to bronze and there was a strong smell of autumn in the air.
I loved such days. Isabel and I often rode out with some of the boys and I usually found myself with Richard. He was looking better; he was becoming very skilful in all the martial arts and I admired him more than ever because I knew he had to make an extra effort to equal the others. He did tell me once, in a rare moment of confidence, that sometimes his shoulder was painful after the exercises. But when I asked afterwards if it were better, he frowned and I knew he did not like me to refer to it, so I did not ask again. I knew he was regretting mentioning it to me in the first place.
Returning to the castle one day, we found great activity. I knew at once by the number of men in the courtyard and about the castle that my father had come home.
My mother hurried to us as we arrived.
She said: "Your father is here. There is bad news. The enemy has landed at Bamborough."
She looked very grave.
"There will be fighting," she went on.
"We have had a comparatively long respite but it seems that is over and we are to start again. Is there to be no end of it?"
But it was no time to brood on such a question. We were surrounded by my father's followers. When he was home the number of people in the castle was great. When I was older I understood how he boosted his popularity with his extreme wealth. He used his money to create an image of power wherever he went. When we were in Warwick Court in London his followers thronged the streets; they were in all the taverns and market places so that everyone should know great Warwick was in town. In the kitchens of Warwick Court oxen, pigs and lambs were roasted whole and any man was welcome to take away as much meat as he could carry on his knife. So it was not surprising that people rejoiced to see Warwick in town, and my father evidently considered it was a small price to pay for his popularity and to hear the shouts of "A Warwick" every time the emblem of the Ragged Staff was seen: and whenever the great man himself appeared, it was as though he were indeed the king. My father was a vain man. His great ambition was to rule the country, and as this could never be accepta
ble because he was not royal, he would do it through the king of his choice. He appeared not to realise that his power came through his vast wealth much of which had been brought to him by his wife and not because of his wisdom and achievement.
But at this time he was at the height of his glory. The king he had made was on the throne and there seemed every indication that, pleasure-loving as the young king was, my father had every chance of fulfilling his ambitions.
Now he must bring all his efforts to defeating the invading forces of Margaret. Henry did not count; he was a poor, half-mad puppet. Margaret was the enemy. It was a pity Henry had married such a forceful woman.
The great news was that the king would be coming to Middleham to join my father for the march to Bamborough.
I had never seen Richard so excited.
I said to him: "I am longing to see the king. I want to see for myself that he is all you say he is."
"He is all of that and more. Whatever I said of him could not be praise enough. He will be going into battle. How I wish I could go with him."
"One day you will," I replied and he nodded happily.
My father wanted the most lavish feast prepared something to outshine even Warwick's standards. The king would be at the castle only one night, for the next day at dawn he and my father, with their armies, would be marching to Bamborough.
Servants dashed hither and thither; my mother gave orders in the kitchens; and Isabel and I were instructed how to behave. We must be a credit to our father.
"I long to see the king," said Isabel.
"They say he is the most handsome man in the kingdom."
We heard his approach when he must have been some distance away, and
Isabel and I were in the turret with some of the ladies waiting. And then we saw the cavalcade and the king was riding at the head of it.
Reports of him had not been exaggerated. He was magnificent. Our mother, who joined us, said: "We must go down there to greet the king," and with her we went down to the courtyard. Our father was at the gate of the castle and we joined him there.
The king had leaped from his horse and advanced towards us. I had never seen such a good-looking man. He was very tall and there was an immense vitality about him; his features were clear cut and perfectly formed: but his greatest charm was that air of affability, his warm, friendly smile and I discovered that was for everyone, even the humblest; he looked on all men as though they were his friends and all women as though he longed to be their lover. It was what is called charm; and it would always bring people to his side.
"Ah, friend Warwick!" He beamed on my father and I glowed with pride. That look conveyed love and reliance; and I could see that my father was greatly gratified. Later I realised that he regarded the king as his creature, the puppet to do his will; handsome, gracious, made to be loved by the people; the facade behind which lurked the true ruler of the country, for the king, given what he wanted a life of luxury, easy living, and above all women would be content for the Earl of Warwick to rule England. That was what my father thought at the time.
"My gracious lord," he said, "may I present my lady wife."
"Countess." murmured the king.
"My mother was about to kneel but he had caught her and, putting his hands on her shoulders, kissed her on the lips.
"Your pardon, Warwick." went on the king.
"Temptation was too great."
And there was my mother blushing, smiling, a victim of his enchantment.
"My daughters, Isabel and Anne, my lord."
"Charming, charming." And before Isabel could kneel, he had taken her hand and was kissing it. Then he turned and did the same to me.
He said something about my father's being the most fortunate of men and from that moment we were all caught up in his spell. I understood how he had enslaved Richard.
There was feasting in the great hall, but my father was grave, no doubt thinking of Queen Margaret and wondering how many men had landed with her and whether they should leave immediately for Bamborough. The king showed little concern and none would have believed from his demeanour that he might be on the point of losing his kingdom.
When the meal was over my father conducted the king to the bedchamber which had been prepared for him. They would be leaving at dawn for Bamborough. I was awakened in the early morning by the clattering of horses' hoofs and voices below. And then all was quiet.
They were anxious days. My mother talked to us about the state of affairs in the country more than she ever had before. I think it was because she was afraid. With a Yorkist king on the throne we were all safe; but that could change suddenly. When I was very young, there had been an occasion when we had all had to leave with great speed for Calais, of which town my father held the captaincy. That was when, briefly, Henry was king again.
Now I was eight years old and Isabel thirteen of an age, I suppose, to understand a little of what was going on around us. Perhaps my mother thought that she should prepare us for a possible change in our fortunes.
"It is Margaret," she said, as we sat over our needlework.
"She is a persistent woman, and now she has a son who, she hopes, will inherit the throne one day and she is determined that he should do so."
"My father will never allow that," said Isabel.
"It might be beyond his control. There will be battles ... and if it should go against him ... oh, how I wish we could all be at peace!"
"We were until this woman landed," said Isabel.
"She is the kind of woman who will never give up. She knows what she wants and is determined to get it and that is the throne of England."
To get it she will have to beat our father and that she can never do," said Isabel firmly.
"It has been done before," our mother reminded her.
"But my father soon changed it."
"He would be pleased to hear your confidence in him."
"He is the king really."
"Hush, child! You should not say such a thing."
"But one must speak the truth."
"One must adhere to the truth but when it is dangerous to mention it it is better not to do so."
"My father will soon have won," said Isabel stoutly.
"I do not want to go to Calais again."
"Alas, Isabel, it might not be what we want but what is thrust upon us."
I wondered why my mother was so apprehensive, and it occurred to me that it was because she was so much wiser than Isabel.
"S." she went on.
"We must pray for victory while we prepare for defeat."
After that she talked to us often about the situation.
"It was a pity Edward the Third had so many sons," she said.
"It makes too many claimants to the throne. Strange, is it not, that men crave for sons." She looked a little sad and I felt I ought to apologise for being a daughter as well as Isabel, but I was glad to be reminded that some men could have too many.
Poor Henry. She felt sorry for him. She was sure he did not want the crown. He would have been happy with religion, a life of contemplation. She had heard it said of him that he wished to be a monk or enter the Church. Perhaps if he had done that he would not have gone mad in the first place. And now he suffered from periodic attacks of insanity. It was the case of his grandfather, Charles the Mad of France, all over again. She wondered whether if his madness had come to him through his mother, the family that lady was reputed to have had with Owen Tudor was equally affected.
She ended up by telling us that our father was a very clever man; he was the most important and powerful man in England and while he was in control England would be safe. On the other hand, we must not think it would be too easy. There were enemies all around us and we must be prepared.
But on this occasion we were saved from disaster. Messengers arrived at the castle. When news had reached Margaret that the Earl of Warwick, with the king, was marching on Bamborough, she immediately abandoned all thought of fighting and took to her
ships. God must be looking after the Yorkists, for He sent a storm which shattered her fleet.
It was victory. But not entirely. More news came. Margaret had escaped and had arrived at Berwick with her son: she was well and ready to fight another day.
Having seen the magnificent Edward, I wanted to know more of him and his family, and Richard was not averse to telling me about them, which surprised me, he being so reticent about most things. But he was very proud of his family.
I said: "I thought your brother, the king, was all that you said of him." That pleased him, of course, and put him into a communicative mood.
"I have another brother, too," he said.
"George. He is almost as wonderful as Edward ... only just not quite. And I have a sister Margaret. She is a wonderful person."
"How lucky to have so many brothers and a sister when I only have Isabel."
"There were seven of us," he said.
"Four boys and three girls."
"Seven! Quite a large family."
"Large families are good to have."
"Sometimes there can be too many sons who claim the throne," I said, remembering my mother's words.
He ignored that and went on: "It is those about my own age whom I saw most of. My brother Edmund was with my father when he was killed at Wakefield." His voice shook a little. I doubted he would ever forget that terrible event.
"Then I had two sisters, Anne and Elizabeth. They were sent away to be brought up in some other noble house. Edward and Edmund were at Ludlow. I stayed at Fotheringay with the younger ones George and Margaret. George is three years older than I. My brother made him Duke of Clarence when he made me Duke of Gloucester."
"Tell me about George and Margaret."
"George is very handsome and everybody loves him."
The Reluctant Queen Page 2
