by Jean Plaidy
After her ceremonial churching which was attended by twenty-five of the highest ladies in the land including ten Duchesses, Margaret had left for Windsor. She had decided that it would be best for the King to stay there for a while where he could be free from too much exposure. She knew of course that the rumours were thick in the air and that very soon there would be some decision made as to who was to rule the country. As Queen she believed she should and she was going to fight for the position.
In the meantime she prayed for Henry’s return to sanity, but he still showed no sign of having the least idea where he was.
Surely the child would awaken something in him?
Young Edward was dressed in his magnificent christening robe and Margaret put him into the arms of the Duke of Buckingham. With Somerset on one side of her the three of them went into the King’s bedchamber.
He was seated in a chair, his plain unkingly clothes hanging loosely on him, his hands dangling at his sides and he was staring listlessly in front of him.
Margaret went forward and knelt at his feet.
‘Henry, Henry, it is I, Margaret, your wife. You know me. You must know me.’
He stared over her head and she felt a great urge to shake him.
‘Henry,’ she cried sharply. ‘You know me. You must know me.’
There was still no response.
‘We have a child,’ she cried. ‘A son. It is what we wanted. More than anything we wanted this son. The people are delighted. They are calling for him...and for you. You must rouse yourself.’
There was no flicker of intelligence in those lack-lustre eyes.
She returned to Buckingham.
‘Bring the baby,’ she said.
Buckingham came forward. He held the baby out to Henry, but Henry just sat there, mute and unaware.
###
It was well known that the King was incapable of governing and that he suffered from some strange illness. They did not call it madness but people were talking of his French grandfather and everyone had heard what had happened to him.
So while the King remained thus there would have to be a Protector of the Realm, a King’s Lieutenant, someone who could stand at the head of affairs until the King recovered.
As the Queen, it is my place to act for the King, thought Margaret. Her mother and grandmother had done so when the occasion arose, and she could see no reason why she should not do the same.
Matters drifted on. Christmas came and still no decision had been made and Henry remained in his strange state, unaware of anything that was going on around him.
Margaret, after having consulted with Somerset and Buckingham, decided to take matters into her own hands. With their help she prepared a bill setting out what she considered her rights.
She wanted to rule the country in Henry’s name. She would be the one to appoint whom she chose to the important posts in the government; she should have power to bestow bishoprics on members of the clergy; and she should be assigned what was necessary to keep her, the King and the little Prince in the state due to them.
Parliament pretended to consider. They were delighted by the birth ol the Prince but they were certainly not going to place more power in the hands of Margaret whom many held responsible for the disasters in France. Somerset was unpopular; he was allied with the Queen. It was decided therefore that the task must fall to one who was near to the throne and at the same time a strong man who was capable of governing: the Duke of York.
Here was triumph. Proud Cis was beside herself. She gathered her children and while she held young Richard in her arms—he was only a year old -she told them how their great father, who should really be King, was now head of the country.
‘We must make sure that he remains so,’ she said and her words were directed in particular to her tall, twelve-year-old son—handsome Plantagenet in looks, already earning a reputation for wildness—the son of whom she was most proud.
Edward declared he was ready to fight for his father’s rights and the Duke laid his hand on his shoulder and said, ‘When the time comes, my son. When the time comes.’
And it would come. They were all sure of that.
The Queen was furious. They had slighted her. She was the Queen; she had produced the heir to the throne. The Regency should have been hers.
The Duke of York wanted to play the game with caution. He declared to the Parliament that he accepted office only because he considered it his duty to do so. The King must know that— as soon as he returned to health—he, York, would stand aside.
As a man who believed he would one day be King he wanted to show his determination to uphold law and order. Kings could not rule satisfactorily without that, and he had made up his mind that one day he was going to rule.
He appointed his brother-in-law Richard, Earl of Salisbury, Chancellor. He would surround himself with friends in high places and the first thing to do was to be rid of Somerset, who was impeached and sent to the Tower.
It was hardly likely that his enemies would stand aside and allow York to rule in peace. It was soon necessary for him to march to the North and suppress disturbances where certain noblemen led by the Duke of Exeter had raised their standards against him.
During those months of his Protectorate York showed himself to be the strong man the country needed. He was cautious and well aware that there was a great deal of support throughout the country for the Lancastrians. The King was the King and the people were fond of him—imbecile though he might be. There were many stories in circulation about his clemency and his gentleness. ‘Poor Henry!’ they said. His Queen was a virago. She was French; she was extravagant; she ruled the King; but still she was the mother of the heir to the throne. York knew that the time had not come to make the great bid. In the meantime he contented himself in governing the country, which all had to admit he did with more skill than his predecessors. He had captured Exeter, and Somerset was his prisoner, but he brought neither of them to trial. He was not sure what effect that would have on the people.
Meanwhile Margaret, secretly furious that she had been passed over as the Regent, saw clearly that if she was to keep her power it could only be done through the King. Henry was her salvation. He would do as she said. All her strength had come through him. If he remained in this state of idiocy that would be the end of her hopes to rule.
Henry must get well.
With characteristic energy she set about the task of nursing him back to health. In the first place she believed that he could never get well while he was at the centre of affairs in Westminster where there were too many people visiting him and too much talk about his condition. People would keep on talking of his grandfather and expecting him to go raving mad at any moment.
It was not Like that. She thought she was beginning to understand what might have happened. Henry had never wanted to be a king; that office on which men like York—and even Somerset—cast covetous eyes was a penance to Henry. He hated the ceremonies, the conflicts, the desire to maintain his position; even the progresses through the country which he seemed to think were the answer to all evils were not so very agreeable to him. As Margaret saw it a resentment against a fate which had made him the King had culminated in this complete collapse, this shutting off of responsibility, this rejection of a crown.
Of one thing she was certain—the potions, the syrups and the fomentations were not what was needed at all. It was Henry’s mind which had deserted him; his body was not really sick.
She had found a new doctor, a certain William Hately and he agreed with her theories.
‘Get the King away,’ he had said. ‘Take him to some quiet seat where there can be an atmosphere of peace about him. He may be susceptible to conflict around him. We cannot know that.’
‘You mean take him to some place where the people are loyal to him. Where there would be no room for his enemies. My dear doctor, it is not always easy to know who are one’s friends, who one’s enemies.’
‘There are parts of the country which are firmly loyal to the King and who tolerate the Duke of York only because he stands in the King’s place while the King is indisposed.’
‘He was always rather fond of Coventry. He has had a more loyal welcome there than anywhere. He was interested in the building of St. Mary’s Hall and took great pleasure from the tapestry there.’
‘Let us try it, my lady. It may not help but we must try everything.’
‘We will go to our castle of Coventry,’ said the Queen.
She would be glad to get away, to devote herself entirely to the needs of the King. She knew it was useless to try to fight York at this time. Somerset was in the Tower and York’s strong yet restrained government was having its effect. The fact that men like Somerset and Exeter were under restraint and had not been executed showed a tolerance in the Duke of York which pleased the people. They were already beginning to trust him.
As soon as the King is well that shall be an end of York, Margaret promised herself.
And that brought her back to the great need of the moment: the recovery of the King.
They travelled to Coventry, the King in his litter. On the Queen’s orders they took the byways and avoided the towns but they could not make a secret entry into Coventry and the people of that city came out to cheer them as they passed through. The King lay still and silent in his litter with Margaret riding beside him, gorgeously apparelled as became a Queen. She it was who acknowledged the cheers of the crowd, though she knew those cheers were for the King and not for her. Never mind. They were for the Lancastrian cause and that was what was important.
Coventry, in the county of Warwickshire, was almost in the centre of England and took its name from a convent which had once stood on the site and had been founded as long ago as the days of King Canute. It was destroyed by the traitor Edric in the year 1016 before the coming of the Normans. However Earl Leofric and his wife Lady Godiva founded a Benedictine monastery on the spot and richly endowed it. It was at that time that the town began to prosper. The castle was built and was in the possession of the Lords of Chester. The city had been walled in at the time of Edward the Second and had six gates and several strong towers. The castle had eventually passed into the hands of the Black Prince and it became one of his favourite residences.
It seemed a very suitable place to bring the King and, if it were possible, nurse him back to health there.
The days passed quietly. Margaret spent a great deal of time with the King. She talked to him although he did not hear her, but William Hately believed that there was a possibility that one day he might. The worst thing, said the doctor, was to treat him as though he were an imbecile.
‘His senses are clearly there,’ he insisted. ‘They are slumbering. It is for us to awaken them and we shall only do that by gentle methods.’
He was astonished and so were others to see how Margaret adapted herself to life at Coventry. She who had been so forceful, so ready to state her views, so determined that they should be acted on, was now playing the role of nurse and mother, dividing her time between her husband and her son, trying to arouse the shrunken mind of one and to assist the expanding one of the other.
It did not occur to them at that time that this was a further indication of her character. She was bent on one purpose: to nurse the King back to health that he might take his place in affairs again and she rule through him since they would not allow her to without him.
But it was more than that. There was a tenderness in Margaret. Faithful as she was to her friends, so was she to her husband. Her affection for him was firm; he had brought her out of France where she was of little importance and had made her a Queen. He loved her; he listened to her; he adored her. She was not going to forget that. She loved him and as Margaret could never do anything by halves, she loved him deeply; during that period her devotion was entirely for her husband and son. For Henry her emotions were loving and protective; for her son something like adoration and intense possessiveness.
It was a great task she had set herself; and she was determined to do everything in her power to make it succeed.
It was galling to learn that York was making a success of his task. He had now been appointed Protector and Defender of the Realm and Church and Principal Councillor of the King.
Margaret looked ahead to a future which could be gloomy if the King continued in his present state. There was no suggestion in the declaration that York was regarded as King; and as soon as Henry recovered, or the Prince came of age, his authority would cease, but it infuriated her to think that he would have control over that precious infant in the cradle.
But not yet. The boy was too young and she was determined to bring Henry back to sanity.
The months passed. The wearisome task went on. Sometimes Henry raised a hand and that would send her hopes soaring. At others when she fed him he seemed to show a little interest in the food. Once she thought his eyes followed her as she crossed the room. That was a great advance. Then for days he would lapse into complete immobility again and she despaired.
Little Edward was her salvation. She spent a great deal of time with him. When he smiled at her a great tenderness welled up in her and she held him so tightly to her that he whimpered to be free. He was beautiful; he was her compensation; each day her maternal love seemed to strengthen. Everything...yes everything, was worthwhile...while she had her baby.
Christmas was approaching. Henry had been in this state for more than a year. It was a long time since she had brought him to Coventry. William Hately was her great comfort. I shall never forget what he has done for me...and for Henry, she promised herself. When she despaired William Hately would have some hope to offer. When he thought he detected a change in the King, they would watch for it together.
‘Sometimes I think you are as much my physician as the King’s,’ she told him.
It was a few days before Christmas. Margaret went into the King’s room. Her heart leaped for the King smiled at her.
‘Margaret,’ he said, and held out his hand.
She went on her knees by his bed. She could not bring herself to look at him. She feared she had imagined she had heard his voice. She believed that this must be some dream.
She felt his fingers on her hair.
‘Margaret,’ he said. ‘My Queen Margaret.’
She lifted her face. She could not see him clearly for her tears were blinding her.
Then she said in a small choked voice: ‘Henry...Henry, you are going to get well.’
She could not wait for more. Her emotions, which she had kept so long in check, were breaking free. She went into her room and for the first time for months she wept.
###
Margaret went to William Hately. She looked at him in bewilderment.
‘I know,’ he told her. ‘I have seen the King.’
‘He is well. He is recovered. He is himself again.’
‘My lady, let us go gently with him. His mind will be delicate as yet. It has been dormant so long.’
‘You are right,’ she said. ‘We must go carefully. What of our baby? He has not seen him yet.’
‘Wait awhile. He is as a man coming out of a long sleep. Let him awake slowly. It is best for him. Do not let us overburden his mind with any matter which could distress him.’
‘Our child would delight him.’
‘It is true but it would remind him that there is the heir to the throne. I think we should not let him think of his kingly duties as yet.’
Margaret was ready to follow the doctor’s advice.
‘At least,’ went on William Hately, ‘let us wait a few days. Let us see what this cure really means.’
So they waited. Margaret sat with him. He talked a little and then slept for long periods. Margaret was terrified when he fell into one of these long sleeps that when he awakened he would be as before.
But this was not so. He continued to improve.
‘At Christmas,’ he said, ‘it is my custom to send an offering to the shrine of St. Edward the Confessor.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Margaret. ‘He was always your model. You always said that you would rather be like him than any of your great warrior ancestors.’
‘I did and I meant it. And I would send to Canterbury to the shrine of St. Thomas à Becket.’
‘Your wishes shall be carried out. I shall see to that.’
He took her hand and kissed it.
Christmas was celebrated quietly at Coventry Castle but there was a great hope in Margaret’s heart. The long months of anxiety were at an end.
She and the doctor decided that the time might be ripe to present Henry with his son.
She carried the Prince into his bedchamber and held him out to Henry.
‘Henry,’ she said, ‘this is our son.’
He looked from her to the baby and memory came back to him. Yes, she had been pregnant before the darkness descended on him. That was long ago. This child was now a year old.
‘Our child, our Prince,’ he said wonderingly.
‘The same, my love,’ said Margaret, her emotion threatening once more to overcome her.
‘What did you call him?’ asked Henry.
‘Edward. 1 thought it was a good name. I thought the people would like it.’
‘I like it,’ said Henry.
Then he put the palms of his hands together and began to pray.
Young Edward looked at him wonderingly and was not sure whether he liked him. He turned to his mother and looked as though he were about to cry until the jewelled necklace she was wearing caught his eyes. He seized it and so great was his interest in that that tears were avoided on his first meeting with his father.
Afterwards Margaret sat with Henry and he told her that he remembered nothing of what had happened since his illness overtook him. He had not been aware of anyone or anything.
‘I have been with you these many months,’ she told him. ‘I have nursed you myself I did not trust anyone else.’
