by Anne O'Brien
We heard none of this, thank God, only: Warwick is at Middleham.
Had I thought that the world was turned on its head, with the King a prisoner at my father’s hands? That was not the half of it. Within a week of Francis’s visit, all had collapsed about us, in a quagmire of apprehension. Our security in Warwick Castle might be transformed into an imprisonment at any moment, with Edward laying siege at our door.
‘We shall all be put to the sword. Our lives will be forfeit!’ Margery knew what would happen, of course. When did she ever not? Hysteria rose in her voice like a squall at sea. ‘We shall all be imprisoned in a dungeon in the Tower for the rest of our lives.’ Margery hunched her shoulders. ‘We’re traitors. We’ll be called to account. You see if my words don’t come true!’
‘Don’t speak like that!’ the Countess snapped, her eyes on Isabel’s extreme pallor. ‘If you cannot guard your words, then remain silent. In fact, I think you should take yourself off to the kitchens.’
Margery exited with the flounce of a misunderstood loyal retainer of long standing, leaving the Countess to try to mend the harm. ‘All has been restored as it was, Isabel. Edward will not be driven to revenge.’
Empty words, as the Countess well knew. Isabel might nod in relief, grasping at straws, but I was not convinced. Only time would tell.
We were summoned, all of us, to journey to London to meet with Edward on the sixth day of December.
‘Why did you release him?’ my mother asked fretfully. ‘Why put us in this danger?’
The Earl, returned to us, his face sharpened by frustrated ambition, admitted his failure in bald terms. ‘It was simple in the end. I couldn’t rule without him. I could not raise an army to put down the rebellion without Edward’s co-operation. And, typically, Edward drove a hard bargain. No freedom, no army!’
‘And shall we pay the ultimate penalty?’
I held my breath, sick to my stomach, already imagining the edge of an axe graze my neck.
‘It depends on how essential he sees the Nevilles to his government and the peace of the realm. ‘The Earl took my mother’s arm and led her towards the stairs to their private apartments. ‘True, the Woodvilles are fewer on the ground—’ his smile as he recalled Rivers’s execution held no humour ‘—but with Hastings and Gloucester snug at his side, I would say we’re not essential to Edward at all.’
Which was in no way comforting.
We were to present ourselves—the Earl and Countess, Clarence and Isabel and even myself—before the King at a Court reception at Westminster, in the magnificent Painted Chamber used to impress foreign dignitaries. I understood what awaited us, what he was about. We all did, without words being necessary between us to explore Edward’s intentions. If Edward was intent on revenge, it was to be before the assembled nobility of England. Humiliation was the order of the day.
Fear gripping hard, my heart thudding beneath my breast bone, I wished it to be over, our fate decided, whatever the outcome. Edward had deliberately set the scene to awe and impress. Oh, yes, he was the master of such display and grandeur. It was difficult not to stumble to a halt in dismay, for the whole Court was assembled before us, all damask and silk, feathers and jewels. The crowd might be festive, but this gilded room with its high beams and stained windows was as heavy with authority as any place of law. Rebellion was a dangerous commodity that should be stamped out. I thought Edward would have no mercy.
Once I had been persuaded that Edward was in the wrong and that one day he would see the light and restore the Earl to pre-eminence. How could he now, when the Earl had raised his sword against him? What price would we pay? Exile? Death? I glanced at the Countess for reassurance, but found no help there. Her composure hid a fear as sharp as mine.
And here was Edward himself. Magnificent, towering well above six feet, his pre-eminence vaunted in cloth of gold, a gold coronet to rival the gold of his hair and a heavy chain on his breast catching the light. Whatever debt he owed to my father for past services to the Yorkist monarchy, now he stood in judgement and awaited our coming. He would make no concessions to the man who had ordered his arrest at the point of a sword, had kept him behind stone walls and locked doors. By the end of this night I too might have a taste of the horrors of the dungeon.
But then my heart leaped, breath caught. Suddenly the splendour of Edward, for me, paled into insignificance. For my attention was caught by the man standing at Edward’s shoulder. Of course, I knew it must be, that I would see him here. Was this not one of the main reasons for my dry-mouthed anticipation? He had been at Court for almost a year now, experienced enough to be at his brother’s side. Taller, more substantial, his shoulders broader beneath the gleaming tunic, but that was not the change that struck me. In those few months his ability to dissemble had hardened so that his hooded eyes and firm line of mouth revealed nothing. As St George, and in my dreams, I had remembered a dark maturity there. Now I saw that he had an authority that had nothing to do with his clothing or his surroundings, but all to do with his direct gaze and the proud tilt of his head, the set of his shoulders. Did he see me? I thought that he did, but his eye did not linger, instead coming to rest on the Earl. I was of no account to him.
We halted within the encircling ranks of the Court. I could actually hear it, the moment that the whole Court held its breath. I held mine too, aware of every sensation, every little movement in the air around me. A tight band squeezed around my ribs. Beside me, my mother straightened her spine. It seemed that the tension would break, to shatter into sharp crystal to cut and tear. I could feel it screaming through my blood. The Nevilles would pay for their defiance.
But Edward smiled. Bright and warming, like the sun from behind a bank of storm-cloud. Where he might have drawn his sword as a symbol of his righteous anger, instead he raised both hands, palms up, in open-handed acceptance. His voice might carry to every corner of that vast room, but the tone was gentle, softly persuasive.
‘My lord of Warwick. My brother Clarence.’ He stepped forwards to obliterate the divide. ‘You are right welcome. We have missed you at Court since my return here. Welcome indeed.’ He clasped the hands of the Earl and Clarence as if there had never been enmity between them. ‘You have always been my best of friends and will be again. I swear there’ll be no ill will between us…’
As smoothly as a length of Florentine silk against the skin, we slipped back into the stream of noble society. The rigid ranks opened, then closed around us as if nothing were amiss, taking the tone from their king, whilst Edward laid his plans before my father. So carefully constructed. So clever. So magnanimous in his victory. How could the Earl of Warwick do anything but accept this offer of reconciliation? Whereas Edward, cunning to the last, spoke openly of his intentions towards his dear cousin so that the whole Court might know his desire to clip the Earl of Warwick’s political wings. Alliances, dispositions of land and titles. All designed to chain the Earl to Edward’s side through slippery gratitude. But what did I care? Everything in me was caught and held by that quiet figure at Edward’s side who was wilfully, bloodchillingly ignoring me.
‘Gloucester…’ Edward drew him forwards. ‘I have been telling my lord of Warwick of my confidence in your abilities…’
He was close enough for me to touch if I had dared. If I dared…But I had grown up since we last met and not merely in the tally of months since that unsatisfactory encounter. I lifted my chin. I would prove my worth as a Neville daughter. I would apply my own new-found female skills. The long months at Calais and Warwick had been well spent by me.
Edward was formally introducing him, explaining…
‘I have given sovereignty in Wales to my brother of Gloucester.’ Edward’s smile grew even more bland as Clarence stiffened on an indrawn breath. ‘Gloucester is also Constable of England, pre-eminent in power only to myself.’
I slid a glance, full of admiration. I could never have anticipated his new status. Constable of England, in ultimate control of the securi
ty of the realm. No wonder Richard had the stamp of authority, a cool dignity that kept others at a distance. He had always been solemn, but I had always been able to burrow into his thoughts, beneath his skin, under his composure. I seemed to have lost that ability, seeing only the inscrutable mask he chose to wear. Was he, unlike the King, unwilling to forgive our bloody sins? Would he reject me far more forcefully than I had rejected him at Middleham? His present polite words, carefully chosen and reserved, gave me, to my irritation, no hint at all.
When politics claimed the general discussion, Richard turned, at last, to me. He bowed. I swept the floor with my skirts.
‘Lady Anne.’
‘Your Grace.’
Richard extended his hand to raise me to my feet, which I did with smooth poise, placing my fingers, lightly like thistledown, in his. And I remembered before everything Francis’s parting advice. I would show the Constable of England that I was no longer given to petulance or foolish embarrassments. I was gracious and dignified.
‘I would thank you for the message, your Grace.’ I lowered my lashes, my voice, I hoped, demurely soft. ‘Francis repeated it perfectly.’
‘As I valued your letter,’ he replied, without inflection.
‘I rejoice in your new office, your Grace. At your high standing with the King.’
‘My brother has been more than generous.’
And why are you being so obtuse? ‘I must apologise for the manner of our parting, sir.’ I smiled, just a little. Tilted my head, interestingly. ‘I hope we can become reacquainted whilst I am at Court.’ Now I tried a direct stare, catching those dark eyes looking at me with some unreadable intent. Curved my lips, just so. Promising much, but committing to nothing.
‘I too hope that we shall find the opportunity, lady.’
And why are you being so terrifyingly formal? Richard’s brows rose infinitesimally. I was no longer sure about the straight stare, or the sharp appraisal that he made no attempt to hide. By the Virgin, Richard! What shall I say next, to spur some impulsive observation from you?
I did not need to. The interruption to our stilted reconciliation came, as shattering as a blast from one of Edward’s new cannon, to spin my thoughts into a breathless whirl.
‘…so I have given it some lengthy thought, Warwick. The betrothal of your daughter Anne.’ My head whipped round with less than elegance. ‘I might reconsider a betrothal between your daughter and Gloucester…’
But I did not hear the Earl’s expressions of gratitude nor see the ingenuous curve to Edward’s mouth. I was hardly aware of any of my surroundings, except Richard, once more placed firmly at the centre of my world. For a brief moment I thought he looked as startled as I. Then once more the composure was hammered back in place.
‘It will give me the greatest of pleasure.’ He inclined his head in a little acknowledgement. Which he might well say if invited to sample a bowl of thick pottage on a winter’s day! What was he thinking? I had no idea.
‘Well?’ whispered Isabel when she could.
‘I don’t know. He was as lost for words as I. At least he did not spurn me as the daughter of the enemy.’
‘No…’ Isabel sounded entirely unconvinced. ‘But that might be because Edward demanded his acquiescence. How can you know his true feelings? How can you ever know?’
‘Do you see what he’s doing?’ the Earl demanded. ‘Every man at Court must see what he’s about—and probably rejoice in it. The mighty being brought low!’ Behind the closed doors of Warwick Inn, he exploded in fury, face white, eyes burning. All the pent-up emotion of that long evening erupting to bring me back to earth from the bright cloud on which I had floated since the astonishing proposal.
‘He’s isolating us,’ Clarence snarled, much as he had snarled since he had bowed himself out of his brother’s presence. ‘Handing out gifts and preferment to every grasping family who will lick his boots and promise fealty. But not to me! Not to his own brother! Gloucester made Constable of England over me…’
Despite her own misgivings, the Countess tried for peace in her household. ‘I see what Edward has not done. If not for his mercy, we might have been settling into the dubious hospitality of the Tower. With an axe hanging over our necks.’
‘So we are forgiven!’ acknowledged the Earl. ‘How generous of him!’
‘You are as powerful as you have ever been,’ the Countess countered. ‘Edward has not robbed you of any of your power or your lands.’
‘He’s walling us in on all sides with families who would glory in our downfall. Stone upon stone he’s building, until our Neville heads will not show above the parapet. The Percies in the north. Gloucester and the Herberts in Wales. The Staffords in the Midlands. Even my brother of Northumberland is rewarded above me. Now Northumberland no longer, but Marquis Montague!’ My father almost spat the words. ‘A Marquis, forsooth! To take precedence over me! Preferment to all but the Earl of Warwick. All we have, as you so aptly remarked, is our necks.’
‘For which we should be grateful. And Richard promised for Anne. Is that not what you wanted? Both our daughters to tie the knot with Plantagenet tight.’
The Earl shook his head. ‘I see the mailed fist within the velvet gauntlet. I’m not persuaded of Edward’s good faith, however fair his manner. I think he would lull us, rob us of potential allies, and then grasp the first opportunity for revenge.’
But I could find no fault. I could see nothing but pleasure. Richard was to be mine at last, with the blessing of the King. I knew it was only because I was useful to tie the Nevilles to the crown, to soothe my father’s thwarted ambitions. I could accept that because a political marriage had always been my destiny, just as for my mother. But nothing could quench my spirits, that little bubble of satisfaction. I wanted this marriage and I wanted more than a political alliance with Richard of Gloucester.
I had come to the decision as he had assured me of his great pleasure. That was not enough. I wanted his heart as well as his hand. It was not enough that he should wed me because his brother ordered him to do so. If I loved him, I would have his reciprocation. I set out to woo Richard Plantagenet, whether he liked it or not.
I applied myself to a campaign of pursue and retreat in those weeks at Court with commendable vigour. I knew I must be patient—difficult, but necessary—to attract, catch his wayward regard, and then withdraw into a chilly distance. Entice him from his chivalric manners and see if I could entrap him. I determined to coax or shock or lure him, whichever would best work, from this newly acquired and impeccably polished self-possession.
Surely it could not be so difficult?
But perhaps it could. Perhaps I had a battle on my hands. I understood his conflicting emotions, and was not without compassion, but I had not liked what I had heard. A seed of dismay had effectively been sown when I heard the stark condemnation fall from Richard’s lips.
‘Do you not, then, wish to wed me?’ I had asked, eyes decorously downcast. How weary I was of being decorous.
‘I must, lady, if it is the King’s wish.’ He wasn’t unfriendly, I decided, so much as disciplined.
‘I thought you wanted our union. Before.’ I resisted glaring at him. Instead I allowed myself to glance at his face through my lashes. Unfortunately there was no relenting in his stern mouth.
‘That was before I realised I was part of Warwick’s plot to overthrow my brother. Marriage to you would secure my loyalties to the Nevilles. Then I was too young to realise it. Now I do.’ The dark eyes settled on mine, bright with indignation. ‘I do not like to be used.’
‘Who does? It’s no better for me.’ Soft voiced, a hint of gentle suffering.
‘I disagree. It would always have been your fate to marry where the Earl decided.’
No good would come of arguing that point. ‘Well—if you choose to keep me at arm’s length, Richard, and not to make the best of a marriage between us…’ Crossly, I resorted to character.
‘Have I said that I will not?’ Good, a hin
t of temper there. ‘All I said was that I dislike being manipulated.’
‘I know what you said! I find you most ungracious—and will seek better company.’
And I did.
But now Richard’s sense of ill usage must not be allowed to stand in my way. I would overcome it. And if I failed…but I would not. I was a Neville. So I flirted when I could, with Francis who saw my intent and complied with a boisterous good will that I fear fooled no one. Otherwise I kept Isabel company, to the detriment of our tempers and sisterly relationship. Never had a chaperoned lady stuck more closely to her chaperon when the object of her desire came close. Never had a chaperoned lady been so bored…
But Richard appeared to be weakening.
‘Will you join me in the hunt, Lady Anne?’
‘I am gratified.’ I curtsied. ‘But I will ride slowly with Isabel. In her condition she needs my company.’ It almost killed me to refuse, committing myself to a sedate perambulation at the rear of the field, when I could have galloped at his side.
Did I see Richard laugh as he rode off to join the King?
We worked through the whole gamut of Twelfth Night celebrations, manoeuvring aside and around each other as if we were engaged in the steps of a rounddance. Were we an object of amusement for those who watched? Unaware of anyone else, I neither knew nor cared. Richard remained as perfectly well mannered as any lady could desire, but so impregnably distant that it infuriated me. As I walked along the ill-lit corridor between Isabel’s and the Earl’s accommodations, Isabel having kept me at her wretched side to bemoan her increasing girth, I was finally forced to accept the inevitability of a cold political match between us.
‘Well, lady. You took your time. I’ve been here a good hour. And damned cold it is too.’
I lurched to a halt, heart leaping. A figure stepped out. ‘Who is it?’
