Succession

by Michael, Livi

  ‘They should be afraid,’ she said, ‘but they are not. If they were truly afraid they would open the gates. They are defiant. Do they want my men to lay siege to the city?’

  Duchess Anne did not know how much longer she could cope with the pain in her knees, her hip.

  ‘Your majesty would have the right,’ she said faintly. ‘No one could blame you.’ Her voice seemed to be getting fainter. The queen looked at her.

  ‘Are you not well?’ she asked, rather sharply.

  ‘It is nothing, your majesty. Only my hip. And old age, I suppose. And – widowhood.’ She managed a brave smile. And could sense a change in the queen’s mood as she looked at her.

  ‘Be seated, all of you,’ she said peremptorily, and with a series of minor groans and creaking movements, the four aldermen and the other duchess rose gratefully from their knees and took seats at the table. Duchess Anne tried and failed to move, and the queen held out her hand. ‘My lady,’ she said.

  The duchess took the queen’s hand. Very small and frail it looked, quite belying her character. The duchess hoped profoundly that her weight would not pull the queen over, but pushing at a pillar with her other hand, she somehow struggled to her feet.

  ‘You are in pain,’ said the queen.

  ‘My hip,’ the duchess replied with a little gasp. ‘It does not like the weather, your majesty.’

  The queen nodded once. ‘None of us like the weather,’ she said. ‘My men have travelled from the far north of this country, through drenching rain and snow. They have fought a great battle to save you all from murderous rebels and traitors. They are exhausted and starving, and how are they paid? By being locked out of the city they have defended with their lives.’

  She was addressing them all, but none of them replied.

  ‘You have travelled this day only from London,’ she went on, ‘and already you are tired and hungry, no doubt. I would offer you refreshments, but as you see,’ she held out her hands, ‘I have nothing to offer.’

  Various appeasing noises came from the aldermen – it did not matter – they did not expect – it was too good of her majesty – but abruptly the queen’s mood seemed to shift again.

  ‘Come, my lady,’ she said, ‘let us sit together.’

  Ignoring a glare from the Duchess of Bedford, who, as widow of the king’s uncle, should have taken precedence, Duchess Anne manoeuvred herself into a chair that was next to the queen and a little way from the rest of the group, so that when the queen spoke it seemed as though she were speaking to the duchess alone.

  ‘I feel your loss very deeply,’ she said, fixing her great dark eyes on the duchess’s face. ‘Your husband was one of our greatest friends.’

  Unexpectedly, the duchess felt almost tearful. ‘Ah, my lady,’ she said.

  ‘He gave his life to our cause.’

  And my son, the duchess thought. Her eldest son – the light of her eyes. He, too, had died in these unending wars.

  ‘We have both suffered,’ the queen said. ‘We both know what it is to be alone.’

  She spoke as if she too had lost her husband, the duchess thought.

  ‘We are women alone,’ repeated the queen. ‘Who is there to help us? Who will take our hand in our hour of darkness, or accompany us into the valley of the shadow of death?’

  Well, about half of England in your case, the duchess thought, yet at the same time she was strangely moved by the queen’s words, as if they had found a corresponding echo in her own heart.

  Also she was aware of a sense of pressure from the aldermen and the other duchess. Speak, they were saying to her silently.

  ‘Your majesty has many loyal subjects in the city,’ she began.

  ‘It does not seem like it,’ said the queen.

  ‘Oh, your majesty – they are as loyal to you as they have ever been – but they are afraid.’

  ‘You said that before,’ said the queen. ‘Why should they be afraid?’

  Of the great mob you have let loose across the countryside, no one said, cutting a swathe of destruction thirty miles wide.

  ‘They seek your assurance,’ the Duchess of Bedford said, evidently tired of being left out, ‘that if you come to the city there will be no plunder or looting.’

  And one of the aldermen said, ‘If we have your solemn assurance, majesty, we will open the gates.’

  ‘Do you bargain with me?’ the queen demanded.

  ‘No, no,’ said Duchess Anne, almost laughing. ‘We are begging for your grace.’

  The queen looked at her and her sudden anger seemed to drain away again.

  ‘What do you think I should do?’ she said.

  Aware of the full force of the Duchess of Bedford’s glare upon her, Duchess Anne spoke almost timidly.

  ‘If they could have some reassurance from you, your majesty – some words of comfort and hope – that we could take back to them, saying that you pardon them for their crimes against you, perhaps – and that they will not be harmed.’

  ‘That your men will comport themselves with discipline and respect,’ put in one of the aldermen.

  ‘That people will not lose their livelihoods or their homes,’ said another.

  ‘And there will be no riots or burnings,’ added a third.

  The queen looked from one to the other. ‘They have listened to rumours and lies,’ she said.

  Duchess Anne said, ‘Then tell them, your majesty – tell them in your own words, that you, their beloved queen, will protect them like a mother.’

  For a long moment the queen was silent. Then she said, ‘They should take it for granted that I will protect them. Why do they doubt me – and not my enemies?’

  ‘They have not heard you, my lady,’ said Duchess Anne. ‘They must hear your own words.’

  The queen rose and walked to the back of the room, gazing at the tall windows. The four aldermen looked at one another, and towards the Duchess Anne. The Duchess of Bedford also seemed to be trying to catch her eye, but Duchess Anne gazed downwards, at the fine-grained wood of the table. Finally the queen spoke.

  ‘They should not need my assurance,’ she said, without turning. ‘They should obey me, without requiring any proof.’

  No one spoke.

  ‘But I will write a letter,’ she said.

  LETTER FROM MARGARET OF ANJOU

  TO THE CITIZENS OF LONDON:

  FEBRUARY 1461

  The late Duke of York, of extreme malice long hid under colours … has on an untrue pretence feigned a title to my lord’s crown, royal estate and pre-eminence, contrary to his allegiance and several solemn oaths freely sworn by him, and fully proposed to have deposed him of his regality … [his associates] have promulgated several untrue [rumours] that we intend to … rob and despoil you of your goods and property [but] we desire that you know for certain that none of you shall be robbed, despoiled nor wronged by any person [in our company].

  [The aldermen] … promised a certain sum of money to the queen and the Duke of Somerset, suggesting that he should come to the city with only limited numbers. Consequently certain spearmen and men-at-arms were sent by the duke to enter the city before he came: of these some were slain, some sore hurt and the rest put to flight. Immediately after, the commons, for the salvation of the city, took the keys of the gates where they should have entered, and courageously kept and defended it from their enemies …

  Thereafter King Harry, with Margaret his queen and the northern men returned homeward towards the north, against which northern men as they went homeward, did harms innumerable, taking men’s carts, horses and beasts, and robbing the people [so that] men in the shires through which they passed had almost no beasts left to till their land …

  An English Chronicle

  And this was the downfall of King Henry and his queen, for if they had entered London they would have had all at their mercy.

  Annales Rerum Anglicarum

  Less than an hour [after the king and queen left] … reports circulated that the Earl o
f March with 40,000 Welsh [was on his way] …

  Newsletter from London, 22 February 1461

  The Earl of Warwick met with the Earl of March beside Oxford … and he sorrowed sore for his father and for his brother the Earl of Rutland, and for the two battles which had been so costly. But then the Earl of Warwick informed him of the love and favour that the commons had for him, and that they wanted him to take the crown of England, and so his heart was somewhat made glad and comforted. But he was sorry that he was so poor, for he had no money.

  So on the 26th day of February Edward Earl of March came to London out of Wales and the Earl of Warwick with him and 40,000 men with them both, and they entered the city of London …

  Then came tidings of the coming of the Earl of March to London and all the city thanked God and said: Let us walk in a new vineyard and make a gay garden in the month of March with the fair white rose of the Earl of March.

  Gregory’s Chronicle

  On Thursday 26th February the Earl of March and the Earl of Warwick came to London with a great power and on the Sunday afterwards all the host mustered in St John’s field … Then it was demanded of the people whether Harry were worthy to reign still and the people cried ‘Nay! Nay! Nay!’ Then they were asked if they would have the Earl of March as king and they cried ‘Yea! Yea! Yea!’ Certain captains then went to the Earl of March’s place at Baynard’s Castle and told him that the people had chosen him as king. He thanked them and by the advice of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishop of Exeter and the Earl of Warwick … he consented to take it upon him. On Tuesday 3rd March he caused it to be proclaimed that all manner of people should meet him on the morrow at St Paul’s at 9 o’clock and this they did. Thither came the Earl of March with the lords in goodly array and there went on procession through the town singing the litany. After the procession the Bishop of Exeter delivered a sermon, declared the Earl of March’s right and title to the crown and demanded of the people whether they would have him as their king as their right demanded, and the people cried ‘Yea! Yea! Yea!’ Then all the people were asked to go with him to Westminster to see him take his oath.

  London Chronicle

  When he came to Westminster Hall he alighted and went in and so up to the Chancery, where he was sworn before the Archbishop of Canterbury, the chancellor of England and the lords, that he should truly and justly keep the realm and maintain its laws as a true and just king. Then they put royal robes on him and the cap of estate, and he went and sat in the chair as king.

  London Chronicle

  Edward of York was at that time nineteen years old.

  John Benet’s Chronicle

  56

  The New King

  I could see the throne, a light coating of dust on the crest, a cold gleam on one corner.

  This is it, I thought, this is it, for which my father lived and died. It seemed to grow luminous and shimmer in my eyes. A trick of the light, surely; great curtains of light were coming through the windows, streaming with dust.

  It was not to be, Father, it was not to be, I told him, as if his dust too were streaming in with the light. Less than five months ago he had lain his hand on this same throne and turned to face the assembled lords. Less than nine weeks ago, he was killed.

  Now, when I put my fingers lightly on the rounded edge, before taking firmer hold, I swear I felt his fingers descend with mine. And the hard surface grew warm.

  And so I sat on it, as he never sat. And was deafened by the roar of approval from the crowd, as he must have been deafened by the silence.

  To all the people which there in great number were assembled were declared his title and claim to the crown of England, whereupon it was again demanded of the commons if they would admit and take the said earl as their prince and sovereign lord, which all with one voice cried ‘Yea! Yea!’ Which agreement concluded he entered into Westminster church in solemn procession and there as king offered and after took homages of all the nobles there present.

  Hall’s Chronicle

  Thereafter he went through the palace to Westminster church, where the abbot and a procession awaited him in the church porch with St Edward’s sceptre, which he grasped, and so he went into the church, offered with great solemnity at the high altar and at St Edward’s shrine, before coming down into the chair where he sat in the seat while ‘Te Deum’ was solemnly sung …

  London Chronicle

  [Then] he returned by water to London and was lodged in the bishop’s palace … and on the morrow he was proclaimed king by the name of King Edward IV throughout the city.

  Hall’s Chronicle

  And so Edward, oldest son of the Duke of York, took possession of the realm of England at Westminster.

  Brut Chronicle

  It remains to be seen how King Henry, his son, the queen and other lords will bear this, as it is said that the new king will shortly leave here to go after them.

  Newsletter from London, 4 March 1461

  And after the king rode north with all his lords to subdue his subjects and avenge his father’s death.

  Brut Chronicle

  57

  Henry Stafford Receives a Summons

  I do not want you to go,’ Margaret said. There was a tight feeling in her chest and throat because of all the words she could not say. Henry said nothing, but made a slight adjustment to the timepiece he had been devising from a series of weights and measures.

  They had covered this ground before. The new king had immediately begun to send out commissions everywhere in the land. It was said that he would muster the biggest army that had ever been raised. He had promised to stamp out the threat from the north, the false king and his traitorous queen, who had sold Berwick to the Scots and allied themselves with that nation and with the French; both of them ancient enemies of England. He had promised that this would be the last battle: no more would the land be torn apart by war. Everyone who supported King Edward was promised rich rewards in the new Golden Age that would begin; everyone who didn’t would be automatically attainted.

  It was no longer possible to avoid this war.

  The people loved their new king. He was nineteen and had never lost a battle. He looked like their image of what a king should be: a towering giant with tawny hair; a great laugh that sounded most frequently on the battlefield.

  But her husband was not going to fight for him. His father and brother had died fighting for King Henry; he could hardly fight for the opposing side now.

  They had discussed this, and come as close to an argument as they had ever been. What would happen if King Henry lost? No one seriously seemed to think that he could win – even with the Scots behind him. And then what?

  What about me? she wanted to say. What happens to me if you are killed or attainted? How will I ever get my son back then?

  She had already lost so many people in this conflict. Her father, for one, if you went back that far. Her husband Edmund – still she could hardly say his name. Her uncle, the Duke of Somerset. And two fathers-in-law. She had cried, suddenly and fiercely, for Owen Tudor, as she had not cried for the Duke of Buckingham.

  And also, of course, she had lost her son.

  No one knew what had happened to Jasper, who still had custody of him. He had fled after the battle in which his father had been executed. It was impossible to get news, unsafe to travel or to send messengers anywhere in the country.

  She wanted to say all of this, promising herself that she would not cry, but she could not trust herself. All she could manage to say was, ‘I don’t want you to go.’

  And Henry listened attentively, just as if she had not said it before, moving tiny weights along a wire, saying nothing. He was not considering her. No one ever considered her.

  Then he said, ‘It is in Euclid, you know, the balance of equilibrium, the relationship between weight and force.’

  She did not understand him. He said, ‘I can no longer weigh my own life against this conflict. It will not balance.’

  T
hat was it, then. She was defeated by geometry. She turned sharply and left the room.

  Later she realized that what she should have said was that she did not want to lose him. It was true, in fact: she had grown accustomed to his patient, conscientious presence; even to the silences between them. She had discovered that she liked being married.

  She would miss him.

  But she didn’t say any of this. He concentrated on his plans for the new mill, she on the draining of a dyke.

  She was inclined to blame her mother, who had taken it upon herself to visit. Her own husband had joined King Henry and fought at the Battle of St Albans, despite his age. She had made many pointed comments, about those who sat on the fence, or who kept themselves safe at the expense of others.

  Margaret had managed somehow to bite her tongue. There was so much that she could say to her mother, even though it was not strictly relevant: about why she had given her up, for instance, when she had kept all her other children, why she had not fought harder to keep her. Had she ever longed to see her, to hold her, as she herself longed to see her own son?

  But she knew the answers, of course. She was the only one of her mother’s children to be the daughter of a duke; her mother had not given her up entirely, they had continued to spend time together, and so on.

  She knew the answers, and so there was no point asking the questions. But there was so much she did not know. Had her mother ever loved her father? How and why did her father die?

  She could have asked, of course, but she would not get any answers. She thought of all the words that went unspoken in the world, throughout time: what happened to them, where did they go? What would happen if they were all spoken? How different would the world be then?

  In private she prayed earnestly as usual, yet always with a hollow sensation – had she not prayed earnestly for Edmund, and for their son? She had discovered in herself a dull resentment against this God who never listened to her; who had allowed Edmund to be killed, her son to be taken away.

  She discovered this in herself and it dismayed her – what God would listen to her now? Still, she went through the form of prayer, increasing her devotions if anything, and the frequency of her fasts. Her eyes reddened, her skin grew papery and dry.