by Anne O'Brien
Prince Edward knelt, and I likewise. The bishop joined my hand to the Prince’s. It was all unreal. This was not me. How could it be me?
Confident, Edward spoke the words of the vow in a clear voice, legally binding himself to me in a tie as unbreakable as that of the formal marriage ceremony. When he felt the shivers run through me yet again, he turned his head with a smile of such understanding and concern that my breath caught on the words I must utter.
Don’t worry so. You will be my wife. Our future together will be assured. What can now prevent our return as King and Queen of England?
It was as if the words of assurance flowed from him to me through our joined clasp, so that I too made my vow in as steady a voice as I could manage. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, I saw Richard’s familiar dark features superimposed on my betrothed’s face. I blinked, running my tongue over suddenly dry lips. Then it was Edward again, his rich hair gleaming, his handsome face alight with the glory of the achievement.
It had all taken less time to create me a princess than it took me to break my fast at the start of a day.
Chapter Ten
THE Earl faced Queen Margaret in her audience chamber. Standing discreetly with her ladies, a careful expression much practised of late stamped on my face, I could read the impatience in him. He was past the moment of urging her with soft words and encouragements. It made me wonder what he would have to say. If it stirred the Queen to anger, I would feel the repercussions.
‘I can wait no longer, madam, marriage or no marriage. The time for invasion is now. Edward of York faces a rebellion in the north, in Yorkshire, and has taken an army there to suppress it. What better time to launch an attack from the south? If we are to dislodge him from the throne with the least possible bloodshed, now is the time. I can be in London before the end of next month, God willing.’
The Earl had proved more than accurate in his prediction. There was no marriage anywhere close on the horizon. The Pope was proving resistant to French and Neville gold. As the summer had crept on, July into August, frustrated at the delay, the Earl had already moved his operations to the coast, gathering troops and transport, leaving the rest of us in Angers. Now as autumn loomed he was back in Angers, in no way pleased, to lay his plan before Margaret.
Margaret looked sceptical. Her fingers tapped against the arm of her chair.
‘Too soon, Monsieur de Warwick. We are insufficiently prepared to take on the Yorkist forces. We know that the usurping Plantagenet is skilled in battle.’
The Earl swept away the cautious words with a controlled gesture. ‘I am prepared, madam. London is the key to dominating England. Once in London, I can rescue his Majesty King Henry from the Tower. When he is restored to his crown and his kingdom, all true Lancastrians will rally to his banner. The Yorkist support will melt away. Then all will be in place for your return, to your husband’s side.’
‘Yes!’At his mother’s side, Prince Edward hissed his delight, his face illuminated at the glittering prospect. ‘You must indeed go, my lord.’
The Earl bowed. ‘Meanwhile, Madam—’ he gave his attention back to the Queen ‘—I must leave my daughter and the matter of her marriage in your care.’ His glance flickered momentarily to where I stood.
‘Of course, Monsieur de Warwick.’ Margaret was smooth as day-old whey. ‘I anticipate the event with as much joy as you do. And I agree. Nothing should be allowed to stand between you and success in England.’
She smiled thinly and allowed the Earl to salute her fingers.
I was permitted to leave my post beside the Queen to take my own leave of the Earl with my mother and sister. Heavy emotion met me at the door of the private room, even though the Earl and Countess had said all they needed to say to each other privately. How many times had the Earl ridden off to war, leaving my mother behind? But it never became easier for the women of the household whose lot it was to wait and worry and imagine the worst. The Countess was well versed in controlling her fears, but she found it difficult to smile.
‘Will you get word to us?’ Still she clasped the Earl’s hands in hers, reluctant to let him go.
‘When I can. You must be strong and have faith. Have we not overcome all obstacles in the past?’The Earl took her into his arms and held her close. She sighed with her face hidden against his shoulder.
The sense of loss forced me to fight against a sudden threat of tears.
‘I know. But I shall worry.’
The only surprise for me was that Clarence was there, returned to Angers with the Earl, in some good humour, probably with the promise of action at last. He was full of energy and quick laughter and beamed at Isabel. I found the change of mood astonishing. All the confident ambition, the arrogant assurance of the past, seemed to have been restored.
‘We shall be in control before winter sets in.’ His eyes held a wildness at the prospect. ‘With Louis’s forces behind us, my brother is doomed. Soon we’ll be together at Westminster, Isabel, I swear it.’
I could not understand his enthusiasm. There would be no ultimate glory in the outcome for him, so why would he choose to fight under Edward of Lancaster’s banner? He had got little or nothing out of the deals brokered by the Earl, except for some distant recognition that if Lancaster failed, if I bore the Prince no heir, then the crown would in some distant time revert to the children of Clarence and Isabel. A worthless, ephemeral sop to keep Clarence loyal, in my opinion, yet it seemed enough to transform him into this gleeful anticipation. Or was it? I watched him as he reassured Isabel. Something momentous, beyond the mere invasion, had occurred to change his manner. I tried to crush my dislike of him. At least Isabel, under his attentions, was stirred from her lethargy.
‘God keep you.’ The Earl pressed his lips to my mother’s forehead. ‘I’ll send for you when it is safe.’
‘And I will come.’
For me it was the first of such leave-takings that I remembered. When my father had fought at Edward’s side at Towton, I had been only five or six with little understanding. Now this uneasy parting seemed to have no reality to it. It felt no different from the numerous times the Earl had ridden from Middleham to London on royal business, but the tiny, ugly thought squirmed its way into my mind that this was war. This could be the last time I would ever see him. The Earl’s own father had died on a battlefield…I pushed the thought away, furious with weakness. It would not be. Was our victory not inevitable?
‘Be a good daughter,’ he urged, drawing me close. ‘Don’t allow the Queen to depress your spirits. You will make a magnificent princess, and one day Queen of England.’
My cheeks grew hot at the unexpected compliment. ‘I will. When we meet again in London, I shall be married and Prince Edward will be restored.’ I firmed my shoulders and lifted my head. I would make him proud of me. That would be the memory he would have of me as he faced Edward of York in battle.
The Earl walked towards the door, catching Clarence’s attention to join him.
‘Don’t let the Queen slide out of this marriage.’ His final advice to the Countess.
‘Surely she will not. The betrothal is sanctified before God.’
The Earl turned back for one moment, his face grim. ‘Do you think? When would anything be allowed to stand in Margaret’s way? If she can find a means to get the throne for her son without a Neville commitment, she will surely do it. Even at this late hour.’
‘What did Clarence tell you to put you into such a good mood?’ At the end I had seen Isabel in a close communication with Clarence, and not merely a hasty farewell. She had touched his hand, a nervous fluttering gesture, her eyes wide on his face. Something of importance, to stir my suspicions again, as I appraised the strong colour in Isabel’s cheeks and a glow to her eyes. It was almost conspiratorial. ‘What did he tell you?’ I pursued as I saw a mulish expression tighten her features.
She made to turn away, hesitated. ‘I cannot say.’
‘Why not?’ Moving swiftly to prevent her es
cape, I stared her down. Her lips might be pressed close to fold in a secret, but she was bursting to tell someone. It might as well be me. She looked at me, clearly deciding whether to confide in me as her sister, or spurn me as her hated rival for the crown. She glanced towards the Countess, who had followed the Earl to the door.
‘If I tell you, you must promise not to tell anyone.’
So I was her sister for the occasion. ‘I might.’
‘You must swear it.’ Her hand crushing my fingers, increasing my suspicions.
‘I swear it, then. But quickly. I must return soon. The Queen has a sharp tongue, and when displeased she can lash out…’
Isabel was not interested in my plight. ‘My lord has had a letter from Edward,’ she whispered, her face alight.
‘A letter? From Edward? Asking what?’ The suspicion grew to terrible proportions, to fill my chest, to grip my throat.
‘Edward asks him to change sides,’ Isabel confirmed. ‘To abandon the Earl and the Lancastrian claims and return to the English Court, with promises of forgiveness and restitution.’
Hard shock robbed me of words as my mind tripped over the implications.
‘Have you nothing to say?’ Isabel demanded.
‘Does he trust Edward’s offer?’
‘He is his brother. They share the same blood,’ she replied simply.
‘And will he do it?’ I was aghast. ‘Will he betray the Earl?’
Now Isabel’s glance turned sly. ‘He has thought of it.’
‘Isabel!’
‘Hush! Don’t fuss, Anne. Don’t draw attention. He has decided not to do so. He still thinks…he thinks he would do better at the Earl’s side than at Edward’s.’
But seeing the way in which she clearly dissembled, I wondered exactly what it was that Clarence still thought. The horror of it left me cold. My father hemmed in by untrustworthy allies. King Louis was his own man, selfish to the last. Queen Margaret would always put her own interests first and those of her son. And now Clarence, considering a leap from Lancaster back to York…
‘I warrant he’s not told the Earl of this nasty little plot!’ I flashed back. The thought of the Earl engaged in battle, unaware that his son by marriage planned to go over to the enemy. How terrifying a prospect…
‘No. Of course not! And neither will you!’
‘But if Clarence is thinking about betrayal, the Earl should know…’
‘He is not! Have I not told you? He will not betray the Earl, but see, Anne, we cannot lose. If the Earl succeeds, then we return to power under Lancaster’s banner. But if our present situation fails—well, Edward will welcome Clarence back to his side. Edward has promised.’
How ridiculously simplistic! And the thought stayed with me that Isabel, selfish Isabel who could contemplate this treachery with such an ingenuous lack of principle, would not be past persuading her husband to do just that, to hop to Edward’s side, since there was nothing to be gained for Clarence in the Lancastrian camp. Could she not see that to do so could put the Earl’s life in danger? Was she so self-interested, to place Clarence’s ambitions before the Earl’s safety?
‘I don’t like this, Isabel…’
Isabel turned on her heel, disgusted, I presume, that I should question Clarence’s basic honesty. He had none, as far as I could judge, but Isabel would be deaf to any words of mine. It left me torn apart by indecision. Should I tell the Countess? What could she do? It would achieve nothing other than give her another source of anxiety. The invasion was underway for good or ill. And if Clarence was still firmly attached to my father’s side…But I despaired at the thought that the Earl might put his trust in a man who would change sides as readily as he would change horses in the thick of an energetic hunt. And my own sister could see no reason to blame him for it. I could do nothing, I decided finally, but hope that the Earl would never fully trust Clarence and would have his every movement watched. And if the Earl defeated Edward, than all my fears over Clarence’s betrayal would come to nought.
But if this invasion went awry through Clarence’s treachery…where would it leave me?
‘We were in great danger. There were soldiers fighting all around us, dead and dying. There was blood on my clothes. We had to escape from the Yorkists or we too would be put to death.’
I walked in the garden with the Prince. Now that we were betrothed I was allowed to do so, but never without a chaperon in close attendance. Not Margery, of course, because I was allowed no English attendant of my own. One of Margaret’s own women, Lady Beatrice, who also shared my room, walked close to overhear every word, before reporting back to her mistress. Not that the Queen needed to worry about any treacherous comment I might make to her beloved son. Did she fear that I would try to undermine her control over him? She need lose no sleep over that. The conversation between us was all one-sided. Prince Edward thrived on reliving every detail of his flight as a hunted fugitive from England.
‘We’d been defeated, our forces scattered, our fortresses seized. So we fled for our lives. We had rough ponies and set off with guides, riding only by night. I remember there was a servant who led my pony when I wanted to ride it myself. I was quite old enough, but my mother said I must tolerate the hand on my rein—’ He stopped to draw breath, narrowing his eyes at a stand of hollyhocks, as if he could still see the detail of his youthful adventure. Could still feel the anger at being thwarted.
‘It must have been very frightening for you, my lord.’ It was difficult to know what to say. He did not need my participation other than as a silent companion to listen and—I suspected—to be impressed.
‘Yes. But I was brave,’ he continued without even a glance in my direction as we continued to stroll along the path beside the outer wall. ‘My mother said I was the bravest son she could ever have wished for. Was I not royal? Was I not born to be brave and strong?’
‘I’m sure you were, my lord.’
‘One night, when we had been travelling for—I know not how long—we were caught, captured by a band of outlaws, thieves and murderers, every one of them. They wanted to take our possessions and kill us. They threatened to kill me and forced my mother to hand over her jewels…’
He detoured up the steps that would take us to the battlement walk with its views over the soft green countryside, not waiting to see if I followed. I did, his words carrying down to me in his excitement. ‘A furious argument broke out amongst them, a rough, uncouth lot, over who would have her rings. They came to blows. My mother was so courageous, you would not believe it. She saw the chance, grabbed hold of my arm and ran. We ran and ran until we could not breathe and then we hid in the forest. When a traveller passed by—another rough brigand by the look of him—I shook off my mother’s hand and faced him. “I am Edward, the Prince of Wales,” I said. “One day I’ll be King. I demand that you take us to safety.” So the brigand took us up on to his horse. We escaped and got away to Scotland where the Queen welcomed us to her Court.’
This was my experience of the Prince who was charming, enthusiastic, full of attractive energy. His words spilled out, without reticence, unlike Richard, where it had taken persistent effort to get him to talk about his family and his childhood. The Prince was always ready to tell me about his early memories. And I listened avidly because his rambling tales opened a window on to both the Prince and Queen Margaret, on the bond between them. He so obviously admired her, to the exclusion of any other influence. I had fast come to the conclusion that there was no other influence in his life.
My thoughts drifted as they would, as the Prince launched into yet another tale of bravery and daring on his part, and melancholy settled heavily. I might owe my present loyalties to the Prince at my side, but Richard of Gloucester insisted on creeping into the periphery of my consciousness. What was Richard doing?
What could you possibly wish to know that would bring you any comfort?
The voice in my head drowned out the Prince as it lectured me for my foolishness. What would h
e be doing, but service to King Edward?
He is Constable of England with the security of the realm on his shoulders. He is Lord High Admiral and Chief Justice of the Welsh Marches. He has replaced your father as Chief Steward and Chamberlain of South Wales. He will be sitting in judgement in the Courts, raising troops, riding at Edward’s side to put down the rising in Yorkshire. He will be betrothed by now to Mary of Burgundy. And he has no thoughts for you!
As the Prince rambled into yet another memory, I imagined Richard on the battlefield, determined to preserve the crown for his brother with every skill learned and nurtured at Middleham. The Prince at my side was so immature, so self-obsessed in comparison, but then, I reasoned, trying for fairness, the Prince had never been given the opportunity to show his mettle. Perhaps when he became King he too would wield power with impressive authority.
‘If madam the Queen could risk so much, and all for me, then so must I risk everything to get the throne back for her.’
The Prince’s words caught my wandering concentration and I forced Richard to fade once more, to make a suitable reply. ‘Your father will be King, of course,’ I reminded him gently.
‘My father is not fit to rule. He is a witless idiot, old before his time. With luck he will not survive much longer.’ The sharp retort caught me up. Had Margaret encouraged him to think in this manner? ‘My father will be put away, somewhere in safety where he can mumble and pray and believe that he still rules the land, but I shall rule as soon as I am of an age. My mother says that it will be so.’
And then he returned—again—to his former preoccupations.
‘When we sailed from Scotland we were dressed in rags as if we were peasants. You would not believe…’
