"He is twice my cousin," said Edward.
I nodded.
"That is so the son of my sister and your father's brother. We must welcome him warmly for he has neither father nor mother now."
Ts he coming back to Middleham?"
That has not yet been decided, but he will be under your father's care. Edward, why do you not lie down for an hour or so? I shall see that you are ready in good time before you are expected to join us."
He looked grateful, and I went out and left him. I was uneasy and above all things I should have liked to take him back to Middleham. If there was one person who should be looking after him now surely that was his mother.
Later young Edward, now Earl of Warwick, joined us. I was very interested to see Isabel's son. He was eight years old two years younger than my Edward. He brought back memories of Isabel; he did not remember his mother, so I could not speak to him of her. He had been barely three when his father had died. Poor little orphan!
I thought he might be a companion for my son, but Richard was unsure whether it would be wise to have him at Middleham. He could not forget that he was Clarence's son. The children should not be held responsible for their father's sins, I said.
Richard thought he would rather wait awhile and test the boy before he made him a close associate of our son. In the meantime young Warwick could have his own household at Sheriff Button. Richard's nephew John, the Earl of Lincoln, was in residence there; and it seemed to Richard that that would be a good home for Warwick, at least temporarily.
When we entered York we were given a tumultuous welcome. We had been accepted in London but not with the rapturous delight shown to us here.
Richard, of course, had brought peace to the north; it was up here that his worth was recognised. He belonged to the north and the northerners showed that they realised this.
The people of the town had long awaited his arrival and had been making lavish preparations for weeks. The streets were hung with banners, there were pageants at every corner and the mayor and the aldermen with noted citizens of the town, all in their colourful costumes, were waiting to proclaim their loyalty.
Richard was overcome by emotion. This greeting came from the hearts of these people and was not given in exchange for a holiday and free wine. On behalf of the citizens the mayor presented Richard with a gold cup filled with gold coins, and for me, there was a gold plate similarly filled.
I had rarely seen Richard so pleased.
"These people do not pretend." he said.
"One senses their loyalty. Their feelings come from the heart. We will stay here for a while and there is no reason why Edward's investiture should not take place in this city."
I was relieved. This meant that Edward would not have to travel another long distance for a while.
I said I thought it an excellent idea.
"We shall have to send to London for the necessary garments and whatever will be needed," I said.
That shall be done," replied Richard.
The citizens of York were delighted at the prospect. There were more days of pageants and entertainments. A banquet was given by the mayor, and players were engaged to amuse us.
The investiture itself was a grand ceremony, but for me it was fraught
with anxiety. I knew how exhausting these ceremonies could be, and I was watchful of Edward throughout. He had a wonderful spirit. I wished that I could make him see that he must not feel guilty because of his weakness. I wanted to tell him that his father loved him as dearly as I did, but he did not find it easy to show his love. It was not easy to explain that to a ten-year-old boy.
I was relieved when the ceremony was over and Edward had come through without any signs of great exhaustion. We walked from the minster, our crowns on our heads, with our son, now Prince of Wales, beside us, and the shouts of the crowd were deafening.
I wished that we could have lingered at York, but despatches were coming from London. There was a certain restiveness in the capital. What was the king doing in the north was being asked? He was not merely lord of the north now; he was King of England. Rumours started that he was so enamoured of Yorkshire that he had had a second coronation there.
"One should always take heed of the people," said Richard.
"I shall have to leave for the south. Our son should go with us."
"Richard." I said.
"Have you noticed how these ceremonies are tiring him?"
Richard nodded sadly.
"I am deeply aware of it, Anne." he said.
"Will he ever grow out of this weakness?"
"You were not very strong as a boy." I reminded him.
"And yet now you are as strong as any man."
Ts his some internal weakness?" He looked at me and, for the first time, I felt there was a hint of ... well... not exactly blame ... but was it criticism? Edward's weakness came through me. Was he implying that? Perhaps I was too sensitive. Perhaps I imagined what was not there. But I did fancy I read thoughts flashing through his mind. How could the great Warwick have produced such a weakling? Isabel had died. No one believed she had been poisoned by Ankarette Twynyho. She had died of her weakness, but although two of her children had also died, she had still been able to produce two healthy ones. I had been unable to do even that. My only child, the Prince of Wales, was a weakling. And over all these years I had shown no sign of further fertility. I was no use to him ... as a queen ... as a wife.
This was unfair, of course. Richard had always been tender and understanding ... a faithful husband. But the seed was sewn and the terrible doubt would live on in my mind. The fault was in me. I could bear only one weak child, and I was therefore unfitted to be the wife of a king. Passionately Richard longed for children ... sons. For all the venom she had aroused, Elizabeth Woodville had fulfilled her duties as a queen and had produced a healthy brood for Edward.
I was very unhappy.
Richard, sensitive to my sadness, put an arm round me.
"We will take care of him, Anne. We will restore him to health. Tis true, I was a poor thing in my youth. I did not have the right frame for all that heavy armour. I used to hide my weakness just as Edward does. He has no need to do that from us. We understand. We must make life easier for him. Yes ... when he is older, he will grow out of his weakness, even as I did."
I shook off my foreboding. I would pray as never before that I might be fertile.
"Richard," I said.
"He cannot make the journey to London."
"We should all be together. It is what the people expect."
"But after this exhaustion, he needs a long rest. He needs care. He needs freedom from strain. He needs tender nursing."
"So he must go back to Middleham?"
"Yes, Richard, and I must go with him."
"But ... you should be with me. You have just been crowned queen."
"I want to go with you, Richard."
"I think you, too, find the ceremonies exhausting."
"No ... no. I get a little tired. I think everyone does. But I am thinking of that special care which only his mother can give him."
Richard stared blankly ahead of him.
I cannot do this, I was thinking. And then: but I must. I should be with Richard, but my son needs me more.
"You think you must go with Edward then?" said Richard slowly.
"I do."
"And you could not leave him to the care of others?"
"I know I should be with you. The people will expect it. There will be rumours."
"Rumours? I shall know how to deal with rumours."
"It is hard for me. I want to be with you. I want to be all that you would wish me to be. I love you, Richard. I have since those days at Middleham, but this is our son."
"I understand," he said.
"He needs you more than I do. If you come with me you will be unhappy thinking of him."
"And if I am with him, I shall be thinking of you ... wanting to be with you."
"It
is a situation in which there is no true satisfaction. Life is often like that, Anne."
"I want you to understand, Richard. My heart will be with you."
"And if you were with me it would be with Edward. I see how you feel and I think you are right. Edward has the greater need."
I went to him and put my arms about him. He kissed my hair.
"Very soon," he said, "the day after tomorrow mayhap, I must leave for London and you will go back to Middleham with our son."
Edward and I left York and I insisted that he ride in a chariot. I rode with him, for, as I said to him, I was glad to be carried. I had found the ceremonies very tiring. He looked pleased and I thought what a common trait in the human character it was to find pleasure in the fact that other people suffer from the same weaknesses as we do ourselves.
From then I would get my son to rest by complaining of my own tiredness.
With us rode Edward's cousin, young Warwick. As I watched him I wished that my Edward had his strength. Not that Warwick was all I should have looked for in a son. I was sure that my Edward had the better mind.
I think Isabel's son would have liked to come with us to Middleham, for he and I became good friends and he liked to listen to accounts of my childhood which I had spent with his mother.
How sad it was, I thought, for a child not to remember his mother and very little of his father.
So I told him how beautiful Isabel had been, how merry, how excited when she had known he was coming into the world, and his sister Margaret also. I was not sure where Margaret was at this .time. I supposed she was being brought up in some noble household and I thought what a pity it was that brother and sister had to be parted, and could not enjoy their childhood together as Isabel and I had.
I was sad when I had to leave young Warwick behind at Sheriff Button. His cousin John, Earl of Lincoln, who was the son of Richard's sister Elizabeth, Duchess of Suffolk, was in residencethere and Warwick was put in his care. We had an enjoyable stay and I was relieved to feel that Warwick would be happy there. We should be able to visit each other, I told him; and that seemed to please him. Then my son and I travelled the short distance to Middleham.
In spite of leaving Richard, I could not help a feeling of pleasure at being in the home I loved. As soon as we arrived, I took my son to his bedchamber and insisted on his retiring at once. He was very glad to do so.
I lay on his bed with him; we were contented with our arms about each other. I had made it clear that there was to be no ceremony between us. We were going to forget that I was the queen and he Prince of Wales. I was just his mother and he was my little boy.
For the next weeks I gave myself up to him entirely. I was with him all the day. I watched over his meals, and if I thought he was a little weary, I insisted on his taking them in his bedchamber. There we would eat together.
I have the greatest satisfaction in remembering that my son was happier during that time than at any other.
And what was so heartening was that his health began to improve.
If Richard could have been with us, I think I should have been completely happy. I was the best remedy Edward could have. My loving care was better than any physician.
On some days we rode together, but I would not allow him to be too long in the saddle, although sometimes he wanted to be.
All through the long golden days of September this way of life continued and at the end of each day I would thank God for the improvement in my son. I was able to assure myself that he was going to grow into a strong man.
Perhaps it was folly to believe good can last. The blow came from an unexpected quarter.
Trouble must have been fermenting for a long time before I had a hint of it. Perhaps I should have known there would be some discord. Richard had come to the throne in an unusual manner. Edward's son was still in the Tower with his brother, and the young always touch the hearts of the people. Richard was surrounded by enemies. He, more than any, knew he lacked the charismatic charm of his brother. The people forgave Edward his sins because he was so handsome and charming. Not so Richard. Richard was sober, hard-working, trying to do his duty, to lead the country into what would be best for it. But he was not handsome and he rarely smiled.
The people could not love him as they had Edward only those in the north would be faithful to him because they felt he belonged to them.
It was to be expected that the Marquis of Dorset would make trouble if he could. He was, after all, Elizabeth Woodville's son. He had tried to scheme with Hastings and Jane Shore. Hastings had lost his head and Jane Shore her possessions; but the wily marquis had lived to fight another day.
Naturally he would seize his chance. But what so shocking, so outrageous, was that his accomplice should be the Duke of Buckingham.
I could understand Richard's dismay and when I heard what had happened which was not until some time after this had taken place I reproached myself because I had not been with him.
Yet in my heart I knew I had been right to come back to Middleham to nurse my son.
What had happened seemed unbelievable when I remembered Buckingham's enthusiasm for Richard's claim to the throne. He had been the one to make the announcement and to have his men shout for Richard in the Guildhall. I remembered how he had outdone everyone else at the coronation in his magnificence his badge of the burning cartwheel displayed on the trappings of his horse, his enormous retinue which had reminded people how my father used to travel in his case displaying the Ragged Staff instead of Buckingham's Stafford Knot.
It was inexplicable. What could have happened to make him change his allegiance so suddenly?
I could only think it was some private ambition which had brought about the change. He had a flimsy claim to the throne. His mother was Margaret Beaufort, daughter of Edmund, second Duke of Somerset. Henry the Fourth had tried to exclude the descendants of John of Gaunt and Catherine Swynford from the succession, but there was a theory that this would be illegal as they had been legitimised. But, of course, if Buckingham was indeed in line to the throne, there was one who came before him and that was Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond, whose mother was that Margaret Beaufort, daughter of John Beaufort, first Duke of Somerset. She had married Edmund Tudor and Henry was her only son. She was now married to Lord Stanley, for Edmund Tudor had died at an early age and Henry Tudor had been brought up by his uncle Jasper Tudor, and he was the son of Henry the Fifth's widow, Katharine, and Owen Tudor.
Lady Stanley was a forceful and formidable lady, harbouring high ambitions for her son Henry who was at present in exile in Brittany, no doubt very closely watching events in England.
Buckingham's defection may be traced to an accidental meeting with Lady Stanley when he was travelling between Worcester and Bridgnorth. Buckingham was most impulsive and reckless; the only man I ever knew to rival him in that way was Clarence. They were both feckless and ready to act without giving very much thought as to what the consequence of that action might be. I felt sure this was what had happened to Buckingham.
He was faintly disgruntled because he had not yet received the Bohun estates which Richard had promised should be his, and consequently he was ready to listen to Lady Stanley.
Moreover, he had been on very good terms with Morton who was his so-called prisoner in his castle. The bishop was a shrewd and clever man who would know how to handle Buckingham. Morton was a Lancastrian who would be delighted to see the red rose flourishing again. Richard had completely misunderstood the characters of both Buckingham and Morton, and it had been a great mistake to put them together. They were schemers, both of them, but whereas Morton was firm in his support of the Lancastrians, Buckingham would sway this way and that according to his feelings at the moment. And at this time he was veering away from Richard; and between them, Buckingham and Morton hatched a plot.
It would be desirable, they decided, to see the Houses of York and Lancaster united. This could be done by the marriage of Henry Tudor to Elizabeth of York, King Edward
's eldest daughter. Dorset would be willing to work for such an end because it would bring the Woodvilles back into prominence; and it would rid them of the man who stood in their way: Richard the Third.
They had invited Henry Tudor to come to England with what forces he could muster; and the uprising was planned for the eighteenth of October; and when Buckingham raised his standard at Brecknock, it was inevitable that Richard should get news of the intended attack.
Richard was at his best in such a situation. He quickly marshalled his forces. Luck was with him. There had been heavy rains on the Welsh borders and the Severn and the Wye were in full flood and impassable. Buckingham could not join his allies who were to arrive in a fleet provided by the Duke of Brittany.
Thankfully, the entire mission was ill-fated. A storm dispersed the fifteen ships so that Henry Tudor, with Dorset, was unable to land, and could do nothing but return to Brittany.
Buckingham's attempt to replace Richard had failed.
Richard was incensed. His own motto was "Loyaulte me Lie" and he had adhered to it throughout his life. There was nothing he hated more than disloyalty.
He denounced Buckingham as 'the most untrue man living' and a price of one thousand pounds was put on his head, and when he fell into Richard's hands there would be no mercy. Richard would remember Hastings another one-time friend turned traitor and he had lost his head the very day he was denounced.
I wondered how Buckingham had felt he, the flamboyant nobleman who regarded himself as of royal descent a fugitive fleeing for his life.
He went northwards to Shropshire and made his way to one of his old retainers, a certain Ralph Bannister, who helped him and set him up in a hut in the woods surrounding his house at Lacon.
Poor foolish Buckingham! He learned that there were others beside himself ready to betray for the sake of gain. The reward of one thousand pounds was irresistible to Bannister; and one morning Buckingham awoke to find himself surrounded by guards.
They took him to Salisbury on a charge of treason. Buckingham was ever hopeful. He begged for an audience with the king. There was so much he could explain, he declared, if only he had the chance to do so.
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