"Oh, if only Henry were strong! I should have married a strong man ... a man like Edward who calls himself King of England. A man like Warwick. What a pair we should have made! But they married me to Henry. He knows nothing of the evil ways of men. He is a stranger to evil. For him it does not exist because he does not possess it himself. He would be every man's friend, so he believes every man to be his friend. He shrinks from punishing his enemies. Oh, why am I talking to this child of matters she cannot understand?"
"I am understanding now," I said.
"You have told me so much."
She was looking at me, but I was sure she did not see me. Her thoughts were far away.
A little later she told me about the scene in the Temple among the roses. There was a meeting in the Temple." she said.
"It was all about the losses in France. Henry's father was the great victor. He strode through France, subduing the French. Harfleur, Agincourt, Orleans, Paris. It was all his. He would have been crowned King of France if he had not died. My Henry was in fact crowned there. And all that has been lost. They blamed it on Somerset. There will always be scapegoats. But the English were beaten because of divine intervention. It was Joan of Arc, with God's guidance, who turned the English out of France and made the poor weak dauphin a wise king. But Warwick, your father, wanted to turn my Henry from the throne and put his own king there. He wanted to show the world that he was the kingmaker. It is your father I speak of. Do you hear me, child!"
"Yes, I know," I said.
She looked at me and smiled suddenly, her mood changing.
"And you are his daughter, a meek, fragile child. Life plays tricks. King Rene', my father, was a lover of peace and poetry, and he sired me. I should be more fitting to be Warwick's daughter. Is that not odd of fate, child?"
"Yes," I said.
"It is very odd."
"I was telling you. They were at the Temple. The whole company was aware of the enmity between Somerset and your father. Warwick was blaming Somerset for the losses in France, which was nonsense. Warwick was blaming him because he knew he was my man; and Warwick was laying his plans then. I do believe that your father longed above all things to be king. He could not be, so he had to be content by making them. Somerset was a Beaufort ... grandson of John of Gaunt, who was a son of Edward the Third.
"Tis true that he was born out of wedlock to Katherine Swynford, but she afterwards married John of Gaunt and the children were legitimised. So you see why the Beauforts are a proud race."
"Yes." I said.
"I have heard that."
"They make their presence felt. Somerset despised Warwick. Where would he have been but for his marriage to Anne Beauchamp and through her getting the Warwick title and estates? To come to wealth and power in such a way does something to a man. He must for ever be putting himself forward so that none may doubt that he came to greatness through his own endeavours. You may have heard the story how they walked in the gardens after the meeting, to cool their tempers perhaps, and then Warwick picked the famous quarrel with Somerset, accusing him of ambitions which I believe Somerset had never dreamed of. I knew Somerset well. They said he was my man. That was why Warwick hated him. His hatred was really directed at me."
"Why should he have hated you, my lady?"
"Because he wanted to guide the king and I had shown that it was my place to do that. He hated me because I was strong and saw through his schemes. So he struck at Somerset ... my best friend ... but he meant the blow for me. There in the gardens he accused Somerset of bringing defeat and humiliation to the country. He talked of the great victories of the king's father which had been brought to nothing."
I shivered. I had heard so many times of the encounter in the rose gardens. But always from the other side. It was Somerset who was the enemy: Somerset who had lost the territories in France, who was the tool of that virago, the queen who was now our friend.
"It is clear why Warwick was for York. There are blood ties between them. He wanted to set a king of his choosing on the throne because he knew I would never allow him to govern Henry.
"It became clear in the gardens that day that Warwick was planning the destruction of the House of Lancaster, and wanted to set up York in its place. Somerset, on sudden impulse, plucked one of the red roses and held it high. The red rose is the symbol of our House of Lancaster, just as the white is that of York. Somerset said: "I pluck this red rose, the symbol of the House of Lancaster, which I serve with my life."
"I know," I said.
"And then my father picked a white rose and said: "This is the white rose of York. Let every man take the rose of his choice. Then we shall know who is with us and who against us."
"Ah. You have heard the story. Who in this kingdom has not? And that was it. The stage was set. The War of the Roses had begun."
"Madam," I said.
"Are you well?"
I thought she looked as though she were going to faint. She was lying back in her chair, exhausted. I knelt beside her and she put out a hand and touched my hair. That was unusual, for she was not given to affectionate gestures.
"Warwick's girl," she murmured.
"Why do I talk thus to Warwick's girl?"
We sat in silence for some minutes and then I knew that, although I was Warwick's daughter, she no longer hated me.
Although I could not cast off my terrible fears of the future, my strange relationship with Queen Margaret did help to make the days more tolerable. We were all wondering what was happening. How was my father faring? Where, I asked myself, were Isabel and my mother?
I often thought about Richard. What was he doing now? What was he thinking? He would be a staunch supporter of his brother and therefore my father's bitter enemy. It was all so unexpected. My father had been one of the heroes of his youth. He had often betrayed his admiration for him and I think he had ranked only second, after his brother of course, in his estimation. And did he ever spare a thought for me?
It seemed incredible that everything should have changed so suddenly and in such a manner.
Queen Margaret was growing more and more impatient for news. "So many things have gone wrong in my life," she said.
"Sometimes I fear mat nothing will ever come right."
I did not know what to think. I must be loyal to my father, but if he were victorious Richard must be defeated: and the outcome of my father's victory must be the marriage I dreaded.
As the days passed I thought more and more of the ordeal before me. I could not like what I had seen of the prince. Moreover, I could not forget that I had heard of his asking for those executions and his sitting watching with apparent satisfaction while heads were severed. It was terrifying.
He had been only young. Eight, they said. And he would have been brought up to hate his enemies. But at the same time I was deeply disturbed.
I wanted to find out more about him and it was not difficult to lure the queen into talking of him, for he was her favourite topic of conversation. I was realising more and more what a sad and frustrating life she had led. She cared more deeply for her son than she ever had for anyone else. All her hopes were in him. She was prepared to make any sacrifice for him: and while she hated her enemies so fiercely, even more intensely did she love him.
I was developing a fondness for the queen. True, I was greatly in awe of her and at times the fierceness in her eyes repelled me, but now that she was talking to me with a certain frankness and making me see the sadness of her life, I realised how events had affected her, and I began to make excuses for her.
I looked forward more and more to our encounters, and I believed she did also.
And so I led her to talk of her son.
"My son!" She said the words with something like adoration.
"Anne Neville, there is nothing so wonderful in the world as holding one's own child in one's arms. One passes through a painful ordeal, and then one hears the cry of a child ... your own child ... a child which has grown within you and is par
t of you."
"Yes," I said.
"I understand that."
"I had thought it was a blessing which would be denied me. My son Edward was not born until eight years after my marriage."
"And all that time you longed for a child."
"All kings must have sons. I thank God daily for mine. Ever since he was born I have planned for his future ... for what would be good for him. Now I am proud of him. He will be Edward the Fifth of England, and when I see the crown placed on his head, that will compensate me for all my sufferings."
"Kings seem to have troublous lives." I commented.
She gave me a scornful look.
"A king has his destiny to fulfill; and those who turn him from his throne should be punished with death. How well I remember my joy. I could not believe it. Of course, in the beginning I had hoped, I had longed and prayed ... but I had thought, Henry being as he was, that I should never have a child. You would not understand my joy."
"I think I do,"I said.
"Of course, there were my enemies. York." She laughed with glee.
"Imagine York's feelings when he heard. This child would block his way to the throne. So they started rumours. The child could not be Henry's, they said. How could Henry beget a child? But you are too young to understand. What did I care? I laughed at them. I was exalted. I was the mother of a king-to-be. Oh, that was a wonderful time."
"I can imagine how you felt when he arrived."
"There was great trouble before that. It must have been two months before the birth when Henry showed signs of his first illness. It was a great sadness, a great anxiety. That should have been a time for rejoicing. We did not know what ailed him. It was only later that we learned. He could not move. He lay in his bed ... remembering nothing. It was the beginning of his strangeness. He was unaware that he had a son."
"Poor King Henry."
"That affliction came through his mother the daughter of Charles the Mad of France. They say such illness is one which can be passed on. The mother escapes but she gives it to her son."
"How very sad."
"It is at the root of all our troubles. These people would never have dared ... if Henry had not been She could not bring herself to say the word insane. I reached out and touched her hand. She took mine and held it briefly. I was always moved by these outward signs of affection between us. She was beginning to accept me as her daughter-in-law in spite of the fact that I belonged to the hated Neville clan.
It was on that occasion when she told me about the Tudors.
"I should have liked to have known Henry's mother," she said.
"She was French so we should have had something in common. She was a lady with a strong will, though outwardly she was very gentle. She had a very unhappy childhood, largely due to her father's madness and her wanton mother. For a time she and her many brothers and sisters lived in abject poverty. That was while her father suffered his periodic bouts of insanity. I believe when he was well and took up his duties of kingship that was changed. But poor children, it went on for much of their early childhood. Then she married Henry, the great conqueror of France, and it seemed that everything was going well for her, until her husband died and she was left with a little baby ... my Henry. Henry often talks to me about his mother, and always with affection. It is because of her that he has been so good to the Tudors."
"Who are the Tudors?" I asked.
"Oh, they are worthy men. They have always supported the House of Lancaster. Of course they would. Are they not Henry's half-brothers? You see, when King Henry the Fifth died, Katharine, my Henry's mother, was considered to be of little importance and her son had his own household governesses and nurses and so on and was taken right out of her hands."
"I always think that is cruel to children."
"Kings and queens have their duties and they are not in the nursery. Katharine made a life for herself with Owen Tudor. That is where the Tudors come in. It is a true story of romantic love lived in secret."
I listened avidly to what she told me of the widowed queen who had fallen in love with the humble Welsh squire and had married him ... some said; others were sure that she had not; but they were able to live together slightly removed from the court and so enjoyed a happy life with their children until they were discovered by the Duke of Gloucester, brother of King Henry the Fifth, who destroyed their happiness. Owen Tudor was arrested on a charge of treason and the queen separated from the children and sent to Bermondsey Abbey where she died.
"What a sad end to their story," I said.
"Life is often like that, as doubtless you will learn."
"And what happened to Owen Tudor?"
"He escaped from prison. Henry was good to his half-brothers and they have been loyal to him. They have served the House of Lancaster well. Owen was taken prisoner at Mortimer Cross and beheaded in the market place at Hereford on the orders of that man who calls himself King Edward the Fourth."
"Why do there have to be these wars? Why cannot everyone be happy!"
"Because there are rights to be fought for." She was fierce and angry again, and her anger was for the loyal Tudor who had lost his head, and I could not help remembering her glee when she had talked of the Duke of York's head with the paper crown. I recoiled from her. That was typical of our relationship. I felt repelled one moment and drawn to her the next. I suppose her feelings for me were somewhat similar. There were times when she remembered I was a member of that hated family, and at others she saw me as a poor helpless girl, buffeted by fate just as she herself must have been at my age.
War was a futile and terrible operation. Richard would not agree with me; nor would my father. Wars brought wealth and power to some, and it seemed that was what most men wanted.
One day when I was with the Queen we heard the sound of approaching riders. We rose and went to the window. Two men were galloping up to the castle. They had clearly ridden far.
I saw the queen catch her breath and without a word she hurried to the door and went down the staircase. I followed her.
The men leaped from the horses and came towards us. They were dishevelled and travel-stained but I knew before they spoke that they were the bearers of good news.
"Madam ... my lady." They knelt to the queen.
"The day is won."
There was ecstasy in the queen's face. It was clear that my father had succeeded.
The messengers were brought in. They must be refreshed, but first we must hear just a little more ... enough to reassure the queen that the victory was secure.
"Your Grace ... my lady ... when the earl landed the south fell into his hands with ease. Edward, who called himself king, was in the north subduing a rebellion there."
"And what of Edward now?" asked Margaret.
"He is in flight, my lady. They say he has left the country."
"He would not come here, I trow," said Margaret grimly.
"It is believed he is on his way to Holland."
"And the Duke of Gloucester?" I heard myself saying.
"The Duke of Gloucester, my lady?" said the messenger puzzled.
"He would be with his brother, I doubt not." "The impostor has been truly routed?" asked the queen.
"There is no doubt of this?"
"No doubt, my lady. No doubt at all. The earl has ridden through the streets of London, King Henry with him."
She clasped her hands and smiled at the messengers.
"You have ridden far, my good men. You shall rest a while. You shall be refreshed with food. Then you shall talk more to us."
She summoned one of the guards and instructed him to look after the men who had ridden so far with the good news and were now clearly exhausted.
Then she turned to me.
"The waiting is over. Your father has fulfilled his promise to me. And now, my child, you shall be the future Queen of England."
I could not share her exultation, but she was too happy to notice. I think that must have been one of the happiest mom
ents of her life.
Later I heard more of what had happened. Edward had been betrayed by the man who had been his most ardent supporter -my uncle John Neville. My father had often referred to John as one of the few Nevilles who had been a traitor to the family.
When my father had turned against Edward, John had maintained his loyalty to the king. He said he had sworn to serve Edward and would not break his vows and so could not follow his brother mighty as he was in this campaign to replace Edward with Henry.
Such loyalty from a Neville should have been well rewarded, but Edward had made a great mistake when he had slighted John Neville. One would have thought that the very fact of John's being a Neville would have made Edward appreciate his loyalty. But this Edward had failed to do. John saw himself as Lord of the North, holding it for Edward. Edward's mistake was to take the earldom of Northumberland from John and bestow it on Henry Percy, compensating John with the Marquisate of Montagu. John Neville considered this gross ingratitude after he had turned his back on his family to support the king. It was the deciding factor, the turning point, for, Warwick being in charge of the armies in the south, John only had to turn his army against the king to capture the north. This he did and Edward's army, realising that he was on the point of total defeat, deserted him. Thus he lost the day and had no recourse but to flee the country.
My father, having unmade Edward, then proceeded to make Henry king.
For so long we had waited. Now was the time for us to return to England. I was deeply disturbed. The one thought dominating my mind was my marriage to the Prince of Wales which would now be celebrated.
We must leave Amboise for Paris, said the queen. There we should meet Edward and we must make plans without delay.
I wondered if she noticed how depressed I was. She might have expected me to rejoice with her at my father's victory. She was almost reconciled to accepting me as a daughter-in-law. I had managed to please her, perhaps she thought I was quiet and unassuming and would be docile.
There were two thoughts dominating my mind. I should have to many Edward in England, so there would be a little respite. I tried to put that out my mind, telling myself there would be some time before it could happen. There would have to be a great deal of preparation. The other thought was Richard. What had happened to him? Where was he now and what was he thinking? How long would he and Edward be content to stay in Holland? They would be certain to make an attempt to win back the throne.
The Reluctant Queen Page 12
