The Red Rose of Anjou

by Jean Plaidy

  So Alice took the silver and found the money for the garments and shoes, and more also for there were all sorts of people to pay on the way and the Queen could not begin by making a bad impression by not paying her dues.

  At last they came to Barfleur where two ships lay in the bay awaiting them. One was the Cokke John of Cherbourg in which Margaret and her immediate entourage were to sail and the other, Mary of Hampton, was for the rest of the party.

  It was a short journey across the Channel for the strong southeast wind blew them over, but it was exceedingly uncomfortable and almost as soon as they had left the shore Margaret was dreadfully sick.

  Most of the party were ill but not as violently so as Margaret. Alice, feeling dreadfully ill herself, tried to minister to her but Margaret could only murmur: ‘I never before felt so ill. I just want to die.’

  It was a great relief to all when land was in sight.

  Alice bent over Margaret and whispered: ‘We have arrived. This sickness will rapidly pass once we are on dry land.’

  All the same she went to call her husband for the Queen seemed to her to be suffering from something more than the effects of the sea.

  There was great consternation for spots were beginning to show themselves on Margaret’s face. Alice opened her gown and saw that they were also on her chest.

  ‘God help us,’ she cried. ‘The Queen is suffering from a plague.’

  The Marquess told his wife to wrap the Queen in a blanket and he would carry her ashore. Alice did as she was bid and taking the Queen in his arms Suffolk waded through the sea with her to the beach. From the town came the sounds of revelry and many people having seen the ship lying off the land had come down to greet her.

  There was a hushed silence as Suffolk placed her in a litter and took her with all speed to a convent in the town of Portsmouth. This convent was known as Godde’s House, and there the doctors attended her and under their instructions the nuns nursed her.

  There was great consternation for it was believed that the Queen was suffering from the dreaded small pox which would almost certainly mean her death or at best her disfigurement, so it was with tremendous relief that after a few days Margaret appeared to be suffering not from small pox but a mild form of chicken pox and the spots began to disappear without leaving any mark behind them and she herself, under the care of the nuns, began to recover.

  Meantime Henry, all impatience, came riding to Southampton and immediately sent for Suffolk to hear the latest news of the Queen.

  ‘She is recovering, my lord,’ said Suffolk. ‘We have all been so anxious, but the Queen’s illness was not what we feared. There is nothing but a minor outbreak of some pox and she is recovering fast.’

  ‘I wish to see her. Does she know I am here?’

  I think not, my lord. But you may rest assured she is as eager to see you as you are to see her.’

  Fearful that he might find her hideously disfigured and might not be able to hide his revulsion, Henry said on impulse: ‘I will not come to her as the King. I wish you to tell her that I am a squire who has brought a message for her from the King. Then I may see her as she is...naturally...without ceremony, you understand.’

  ‘Perfectly, my lord. I will tell her that the King’s squire has brought a letter from him.’

  Margaret was seated in a chair. She was pale and wan and had a rug wrapped round her. Suffolk came to her and told her that the King had sent one of his squires with a message for her. Did she feel well enough to receive him?

  ‘But I must receive the King’s squire,’ she said.

  ‘Then I will bid him come to you.’

  Vaguely she saw a slight young man, simply dressed, with a self-effacing manner. She scarcely looked at him as he knelt before her and presented her with a letter. She took it while he watched her as she read it.

  ‘Is there an answer, my lady?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I will write to the King when I feel a little better,’ she said.

  When the squire had gone she lay back in her chair and Alice came in to her.

  ‘I understand,’ said Alice, ‘that a squire brought a letter to you. What did you think of him?’

  ‘The squire?’ cried Margaret. ‘I scarcely noticed him.’

  Alice began to laugh. ‘You have no idea then who that squire was?’

  Margaret continued to stare at her.

  Alice went on: ‘It was the King. He was so eager to see you and he did not want to disturb you by a formal visit so he came as a squire.’

  ‘The King!’ cried Margaret aghast. ‘My husband. But I allowed him to stay on his knees!’

  ‘Serve him right,’ said Alice. ‘If he comes as a squire he must expect to be treated as one.’

  ‘Oh Alice,’ cried Margaret, ‘you ask what I thought of him. I wonder what he thought of me!’

  Henry was meanwhile writing to the Archbishop of Canterbury. He had seen the Queen in private and he was delighted with her. She was all that he had believed her to be but it was clear to him that she was still very weak and forsooth they must wait awhile before the marriage could be celebrated.

  ###

  The marriage was to take place on the 22nd day of April in the Abbey of Titchfield and the Bishop of Salisbury would perform the ceremony. Margaret was quickly recovering from her malady; she was young and healthy and the fact that her indisposition had not been that dreaded one which at first had been feared was a sign, said those about her, that she would be fortunate in her new land. Alice could not help commenting that it would have been even more fortunate if there had been no illness at all, but she did not say so to Margaret who in her weak state of health was happy to be assured of good omens.

  She thought a great deal about the humble young squire who had knelt before her; she greatly wished that she had taken more notice of him; but she did know that he had a gentle face and that made her feel reassured.

  Henry was thinking a great deal of Margaret. She had seemed so young and frail wrapped in her rugs and he had been overwhelmed by tenderness. She was also very pretty in spite of being pale but that somehow made her vulnerable. He was delighted with what he had seen and he was looking forward to their marriage with an enthusiasm of which he would not have believed himself capable before he had seen her.

  He prayed earnestly that the marriage would be a happy one. He was, as ever, desperately in need of funds for a wedding was necessarily an expensive matter and he had been forced to raise money on the crown jewels to pay for it. He had had the wedding ring made from one of gold and rubies which had been given to him by his uncle Cardinal Beaufort. It was his coronation ring. His uncle had so often during his reign come to his aid with the money he would need. The Cardinal seemed to have inexhaustible coffers into which he could plunge in an emergency, and Henry often wondered how, without this uncle, he would have survived all the difficulties which beset him. Now he was going to use the Cardinal’s ring for Margaret.

  Presents were arriving for the Queen—one of them was rather extraordinary and rather difficult to handle. 11 was a lion, which after it had been duly admired had to be sent to the menagerie at the Tower.

  So the wedding took place. It was not as grand as the proxy wedding in France had been but as the bride and bridegroom held hands they ceased to be afraid of each other and they realized that affection was already beginning to grow.

  Solemnly they made their vows and as they listened to the Bishop’s address they both inwardly vowed they would do their duty.

  ‘Blessed is everyone that feareth the Lord; that walketh in his ways.

  For thou shalt eat the labour of thine hands; happy shalt thou be and it shall be well with thee

  Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine by the sides of thine house; thy children like olive plants round thy table.’

  They were young; there were many years before them. It was their duty to produce heirs to the crown. They both vowed they would not be f
ound lacking.

  For Margaret Henry was the perfect husband. Gentle, courteous, eager to be loved and to give her the utmost devotion. She recognized his weakness and that endeared him to her. She wanted someone to lead, to guide, to take care of. And she sensed that Henry was just the man for that.

  And Henry saw in Margaret the young girl who was lovelier every time he looked at her and he could not forget the small fragile-looking creature he had first seen wrapped in rugs. He had begun to fall in love with her then.

  Thus the marriage appeared to have a successful beginning.

  ###

  For the first few days after the ceremony the royal pair were lodged at the Abbey. They had an exhausting programme ahead of them and Henry felt that after her short convalescence and all the ceremonies of the wedding Margaret needed a rest.

  They were pleasant days getting to know each other, Henry revealing his feelings slowly, Margaret becoming more sure of herself as the hours passed.

  They would have to go to London for her coronation, Henry explained, and that was to take place at the end of May.

  ‘But first,’ Henry told her, ‘we must make our progress through the country. Everyone will want to see you. I am anxious to show them what a beautiful bride I have.’

  Feeling stronger every day Margaret was growing excited at the prospect of her life as Queen of England. She was realizing how dull it had been until now when she had been a background figure—a younger daughter of a King who was not quite a King and was always trying to find some way of avoiding creditors.

  She had developed a taste for attention when she had become important in the marriage business and the King of France had seen her as a means of recovering Maine and Anjou. Now she had a country of her own. She had a husband who was already beginning to adore her, to respect her, to talk to her and listen to her opinions. The King ruled the country and the Queen would rule the King. It was a very pleasant prospect.

  Alice brought her down to earth sharply.

  She had been looking through her wardrobe. I had no idea,’ said Alice, ‘that you had so little with you. What of the clothes you will need for your ride to London? The people expect a show of splendour from a Princess now a Queen.’

  ‘But I have no more than those you see.’

  ‘Those with which you travelled through France. You can’t mean that you plan to wear those again. Besides...they are not fine enough. Where is the wardrobe your father must have provided for your arrival in England?’

  ‘He provided none.’

  Alice sat down on a stool and covered her face with her hands. After a few seconds she stood up. ‘I must see my husband at once and he must see the King,’ she said.

  ‘But Alice, what a fuss to make about a few clothes!’

  ‘A fuss? By no means. You must make a good impression on the people. They are not very fond of the French you know and they must not have a chance to criticize. They will welcome you because you represent peace. But you must look like a Queen.’

  Alice remembered ceremony enough to ask leave to depart. She went at once to her husband who immediately saw the

  Consternation reigned when the situation was explained, but within a few hours Suffolk’s valet John Pole was riding as fast as he could to London and he was commanded to bring back with him—with all speed—a certain Margaret Chamberlayne who was one of the finest dressmakers in the City.

  Within a very short time Mistress Chamberlayne arrived and with her were bales of very fine materials. Several women were immediately found to work to Mistress Chamberlayne’s instructions and gowns were made which would be considered suitable for the Queen’s progress to London.

  Henry, who never cared very much about his own clothes, was delighted to see Margaret splendidly arrayed. Margaret herself was delighted. She was liking England more and more every day.

  So the journey to London began. It was a triumph. Margaret was beautiful in her magnificent new garments, her abundant golden hair glowing reddish in the sunshine, streaming about her shoulders; a circlet of gems was on her head, and her blue eyes were alight with excitement; a faint colour glowed in her cheeks, and she looked every bit the fairy Queen as she rode through the countryside with her husband. The fact that she was small and rather fragilely built added to her charm for the people. She looked so dainty. Everywhere she went the daisy was displayed and people who came to see her pass all carried the flower—most of them fabricated, waving them ecstatically.

  ‘The war is over,’ they said. ‘This marriage means peace.’

  So they cheered and the cheers were for peace as well as for Margaret; and when they shouted ‘Long Live the Queen’ they meant also ‘Prosperity is coming’.

  It was a warm welcome and it was for her. They made that clear. It was time their King married and gave them an heir and here was the bride—a bride from France to settle the war. Now there would be a coronation and then a royal birth. And no more war. Good times were coming.

  At length they arrived at Eltham Palace and there stayed for a few days to prepare themselves for the journey into London. Margaret knew that now the important ceremonies were about to begin. But Henry’s devotion to her was growing every day and she felt complete confidence in her power to charm his people as she had their King. She had not met anyone so far who had not expressed delight in the marriage; but she did know that there were some who were opposed to it. The powerful Duke of Gloucester was one and she must be ready for him when he appeared, as he most certainly would.

  From Eltham the royal party set out for Blackheath and there coming towards them was a procession consisting of all the high dignitaries of London. The mayor, the aldermen and the sheriffs of the city made a colourful spectacle in their scarlet gowns while the craftsmen who accompanied them were in vivid blue with embroidery on their sleeves and hoods of vivid red. They had come hither, the mayor told her in his welcoming speech, to conduct her into the City of London.

  Margaret responded graciously and was exceedingly glad that Alice had noticed how ill equipped she would have been to face such a brilliant assembly. She could never be grateful enough for Alice’s care—nor for that of the Marquess. I shall insist that they are duly rewarded, she promised herself Henry will be willing to do anything that I ask him to.

  Another party had arrived at Blackheath. This was led by a man of great importance. She could not help but be aware of that. It was apparent in the looks of almost near reverence in the faces of those about her. They were astonished too. He was old but handsome in a raddled way; he was most splendidly attired and the livery of his attendants was dazzling.

  He rode up to the Queen, bowed low and made a fulsome speech of welcome.

  Margaret was responding with her usual grace when the King said: ‘My lady, I should present you to my uncle the Duke of Gloucester.’

  The Duke of Gloucester! The enemy! She could see the wise old face of her uncle Charles; she could hear his voice: ‘You will have to beware of the Duke of Gloucester.’

  She was too young to have learned to hide her feelings. This was the man who had done everything to oppose her marriage. He was going to try to undermine her. His wife was in captivity because she had made a waxen image of Henry with the purpose of destroying him. The enemy indeed.

  ‘I thank you, my lord, for coming to welcome me,’ she said coldly and turned away.

  Everyone about her was aware of the snub to mighty Gloucester and knowing he had inherited his share of the famous Plantagenet temper, they awaited developments in an awed silence.

  Gloucester however did not appear to notice the slight. He was very gracious and when he wished to be, in spite of his ravaged looks, he could he charming.

  ‘What a pleasure,’ he said, ‘to find our Queen so beautiful. The King is a man to be envied for more than his dominions.’

  ‘There are always those to envy kings,’ said Margaret. ‘It is to be expected, and accepted as long as they do not at
tempt to replace them.’

  Margaret had always had a ready tongue and it was something she had never learned to control, in her grandmother’s household she had never been seriously provoked; but she had heard so much about Gloucester’s opposition to her marriage and she was too young to hide her resentment.

  ‘Ah,’ said Gloucester, ‘that is wisdom indeed. But who, my lady, would not wish to be in the King’s place now that he possesses such a blooming bride?’

  ‘You are gracious.’

  ‘My lady, I would welcome you to the country, which I am sure you will rule well...with the King.’

  He had turned so that his magnificently caparisoned horse was side by side with hers.

  ‘It would give me great pleasure,’ he said, ‘if you would rest at my Palace of Greenwich for some refreshment before proceeding into London. The people are going to love you so much that they may impede your progress with their cheers and their pageants. They all wish to show you how delighted they are that you have come to us.’

  Margaret was about to say that she was in no need of refreshment and had no intention of resting at his Palace of Greenwich when the King said: ‘That is gracious of you, uncle. The Queen will enjoy seeing Greenwich.’

  There was nothing .she could say after that but she did not glance at the Duke riding beside her and she wondered that Henry could be so affable to one who, everyone said, was his enemy.

  The Duke riding beside her was smiling gaily. He talked to her about Greenwich and how fond of the place he had become since it had passed to him through his Beaufort uncle. Not the Cardinal whom she had met but his brother Thomas, Duke of Exeter.

  ‘I was granted a further two hundred acres in which to make a park. I have done this so we have some good hunting there. You like the chase, my lady?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then you will find great pleasure in some of our forests. I always say we have the best in the world. When I was granted the land I had to agree to embattle the manor, and make a tower and a ditch...and all this I have done. So I shall proudly welcome you to Greenwich.’