Certain that there would be peace now with both Warwick and Margaret defeated and Henry’s heir dead, Elizabeth found more energy for her daily tasks and was enjoying assisting her grandmother with an altar cloth she was working on when another exhausted looking messenger was ushered in. Cecily Neville had a proud, aristocratic face that may have at one time been beautiful. Her auburn hair was pulled back severely, emphasizing her clear blues eyes that quickly took in all around her. Though she was strict, she was not unkind, and Elizabeth enjoyed their time together.
“What is it?” demanded the duchess.
“Rebels are approaching the city”
“Rebels? What rebels are left?”
“Fauconberg,” he replied breathlessly. “With an army of almost 20,000. The mayor suggests that the royal family,” he tipped his head toward Elizabeth, “move to the greater security of the Tower.”
Elizabeth did not know who this Fauconberg was or what this latest enemy had against her father. She looked at her grandmother questioningly. This lady who had faced much stronger opponents in her long and tragic life looked barely perturbed by this latest threat.
“Thank you. You may find sustenance and rest in the hall.”
The messenger bowed and accepted his dismissal.
“Who is Fauconberg, grandmother? Does he want to be king, too?”
Cecily snorted in a quite undignified manner. “No, he is simply causing trouble. Sometimes men have no idea what they will actually do if they are victorious in their ridiculous quests!”
Elizabeth scrunched up her face doubtfully. Surely this man must have some objective, and men must have their reasons for following him. She had no time to consider it further or ask additional questions as her grandmother had moved on to ordering servants to prepare for a move to the Tower.
The city of London refused to open its gates to Fauconberg’s army, despite his assurances that they had no intentions of ravaging the townspeople. Their only goal was reinstating Henry on the throne. In the Tower, Elizabeth could hear evidence of the attack on London Bridge and smell smoke of burning buildings.
Elizabeth’s uncle, Anthony Woodville, had joined them at the Tower and assisted in its defense. Anthony, Lord Rivers since his father’s death, was handsome and intelligent. His stories kept Elizabeth in rapt attention for as long as he was willing to tell them. An able soldier like her father, Anthony was even more passionate about intellectual pursuits and had a library larger than any Elizabeth had ever seen.
When news of Edward’s approaching army sent Fauconberg into retreat, Anthony pursued them. With breathtaking quickness, Fauconberg was captured and executed. Elizabeth heard the news and breathed a sigh of relief. Surely there was nobody left to take up the fight against her father.
She was correct.
With no one left to fight for King Henry VI, he died in his rooms at the Tower on May 21. Elizabeth heard that his death had been ordered by her father to avoid any further uprisings, but she chose to believe the official statement that he had died of melancholy following the death of his only son and heir.
April 1483
Elizabeth dreaded entering sanctuary again, especially since she was less than convinced that it was necessary. She was no longer the little girl who worshipped her beautiful mother, but was now an intelligent young woman wondering if her mother wasn’t making everything worse. As if things could be worse, when her father was dead.
On April 9, just days short of his 41st birthday, Edward had sickened and died after a damp day of hunting. It seemed lacking in honor for a man who had gloriously led troops and reigned over the greatest kingdom in the world to meet death because of cold and wetness, though she supposed that the extra weight he had put on in recent years didn’t help either.
Maniacal screaming and the sounds of scurrying came from the room she was about to enter. She took a deep breath and lifted her chin, preparing for the onslaught before pushing the door open. Her mother was in the middle of the room surrounded by open trunks haphazardly filled with gowns, jewels, and gold plate. A cloud of disarrayed silvery blond hair flew around Queen Elizabeth’s head as she barked out orders to the stooped men and women around her. Elizabeth was the calm in the middle of the storm.
“Mother, surely this is all unnecessary,” she insisted. “Why are you so sure that our uncle Richard means us harm?”
“You are a young fool!” her mother retorted. “Your dear uncle has kidnapped your brother, and you would like to sit here embroidering while he comes for the rest of us?”
Elizabeth refused to raise her voice. “It can hardly be considered kidnapping for him to take custody of Edward. After all, father did name him Lord Protector.”
The queen snorted as though she had never heard such idiocy. “Your father put too much faith in his brother of Gloucester. I will not be making that mistake, and you are coming with me.”
“Of course, I will do as my lady mother pleases,” Elizabeth allowed. “But I feel that we are creating undue conflict when we should all be preparing together for my brother’s crowning.”
“If there is a coronation,” her mother mumbled.
“Why would you say that?” Elizabeth asked, feeling some of Mary’s bravery at the moment. If only Mary were still alive, she thought. She would be bold with mother and possibly more able to convince her of her folly. If only her father had not suddenly died! That strong true prince – how could he be taken from this world so unexpectedly and so young? The loss of those she loved weighed heavily on Elizabeth’s slender shoulders.
Her mother stopped short in her chaotic movements to look Elizabeth in the eye. “Richard has . . . . taken custody of your brother. He has arrested my brother and son. Do you think this is simply so that he may come to London for the crowning ceremony?”
Elizabeth wasn’t sure how to answer for her uncle’s actions. Why had he arrested her uncle, Anthony, and her half-brother, Richard Grey? His motives were not clearer to her. She was just more willing to trust in him because her father always had.
“I will go see to my own packing,” she said and left the room.
~~~~
By the time Richard, duke of Gloucester, and the newly declared Edward V had entered London, Elizabeth Woodville and her other children had once again entered sanctuary at Westminster Abbey. Elizabeth had reclaimed the window seat that had been hers as a child. More than enough time was now available to think about the past and about where the future would take her.
Continued efforts to convince her mother that Richard was simply fulfilling his role as Lord Protector had fallen on deaf ears. When Anthony Woodville and Richard Grey, the queen’s brother and son from her first marriage were executed for treason on Richard’s orders, Elizabeth made no further attempts to discuss it.
Elizabeth remembered the fun-loving yet shy Richard, and wondered what treason he could have possibly participated in. Many hours were spent in prayer, not only because there was little else to do, but Elizabeth truly felt comforted when she gave up her troubles to God. She wished for the opportunity to speak with her uncle. Her father had trusted Richard with his armies, large portions of his country, his life, and his heir. For these reasons, Elizabeth was hesitant to not trust him, but her mother’s ranting was starting to take root. Whispered rumors and the unmistakable truth that he had ordered the killing of her beloved half-brother made her mind a fertile ground for doubt. Maybe her father had made a mistake.
Once again she wished for Mary’s comforting presence. Elizabeth’s younger sister had been carried off by illness not a year before their father. Mary would not have been afraid to ask the difficult questions and probably would have marched right up to the duke of Gloucester and asked him exactly what his intentions were. But Mary was gone and would no longer speak the words Elizabeth only dared to think.
She also couldn’t help but selfishly wonder what this would all mean for her. At seventeen, she was at an age for marriage, and had almost been given to the Dauphin o
f France before he had humiliated her by choosing to break their betrothal and make his promise to Margaret of Austria. To be put aside for a mere child! Elizabeth was happy to not have to leave her home country, but the offense still stung her pride. Who would her brother, now that he was king, marry her to? Or would it be the decision of her uncle Richard?
For weeks Elizabeth dwelled on these questions bouncing around in her mind, not solving any of the mysteries that assailed her.
Elizabeth’s father, her sister Mary, and her half-brother Richard Grey, were all dead. Her younger brother, Richard, duke of York, born three years after Prince Edward during much happier times, had been allowed to join Edward at the Tower of London. That left Elizabeth with her increasingly unstable mother, and four young sisters for comfort and company. She longed for the day that she would be able to leave this place and the gloom of her mother’s paranoia.
~~~~
On June 22, 1483, crushing news was delivered to the family, burying Elizabeth’s hopes ever deeper. An act of Parliament had declared the children of Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville bastards. Proof was brought forward in the person of Bishop Robert Stillington, who professed to have performed the betrothal ceremony of Edward and Lady Eleanor Butler. Eleanor was the daughter of John Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, and had died in 1468 so was no longer available to give testimony in the case.
With this came evidence that Elizabeth’s mother may not be as paranoid as Elizabeth had previously believed. Richard of Gloucester, claimed the throne for himself, as his bastardized nephews were ineligible for succession. Rumors found their way to Elizabeth’s ears that he was hesitant to accept this role, but it had been pushed upon him by the council. In the end he had accepted. Elizabeth was astounded and decided that she had nothing to lose by confronting her mother.
As she strode into her mother’s room, she felt the steel in her spine convert back to willow. Elizabeth Woodville, dowager queen of England, no longer shone with the beauty that had enabled her to ensnare a king. Darkness circled her eyes, and her smooth skin seemed to have aged upon hearing the announcement that she was nothing greater than one more of King Edward IV’s mistresses. She held a wiggling little Bridget and would not let go of this last child they had created together. Elizabeth eased herself down next to her harried mother and gently took her arms, releasing her grip on the energetic toddler. Bridget happily scampered away while her mother stared into space not seeming to notice.
“Mother?” Elizabeth took her mother’s hands in her own and noticed that the aging process had not spared them. The queen had so carefully kept herself youthful, but just a few months of neglecting her routine was telling. “I must know if it is true.”
“Oh, Edward,” the older Elizabeth sighed. “I don’t know.”
The fact that her mother had not adamantly denied the story was evidence enough for Elizabeth. The rumor could be true. If her father was not truly married to her mother and she was a bastard, so was her poor little brother who had been raised to be king.
“What will we do now? We cannot remain in sanctuary forever.”
The queen, who had schemed all her life to improve the station of her family, seemed out of plans. She lifted her eyes only for a moment before giving her daughter an almost imperceptible shrug.
“I will see if I can arrange for a doctor to visit, mother. You seem not at all yourself, and you still have your children to think about. Even if we are all bastards.”
She stalked out of the room, knowing that she had been harsh, but no harsher than her mother had been with her plenty of times before. This was their reality now, and they must decide how to proceed.
The doctor who was called upon did seem to brighten the former queen’s outlook. Elizabeth wasn’t sure that her mother had actually been ill, but was thankful for his ministrations anyway, up until the moment that she understood her mother’s reasons for improved spirits.
“Elizabeth, I must speak to you at once,” her mother demanded.
Elizabeth removed herself from the grasp of four year old Catherine to follow her mother from the room. Cecily, who was now fourteen and longing for freedom even more than her older sister, took charge of their little sister.
When Elizabeth entered her mother’s room, she noticed that the dowager queen seemed to have regained her regal bearing. Though she would never look young again, Elizabeth Woodville had salvaged her confidence that bordered on arrogance.
“What is it, mother?” Elizabeth asked.
“I have wonderful news for you!”
Elizabeth felt her insides begin to churn.
“What is it?” she repeated.
Her mother stood and took both of her hands.
“A betrothal for you, my darling!”
Elizabeth freed her hands and turned away, wishing for the hundredth time in the past few months that she could escape.
“A betrothal? How could you have negotiated a marriage while we remain self-enforced prisoners?” She spun on her mother. “And with who?” she added almost as an afterthought.
Keeping her smile firmly in place, her mother approached Elizabeth again and placed her hands on her shoulders. “With Henry Tudor, my daughter. He is Lancaster’s final red rose, and the two of you will unite the warring factions.”
Elizabeth could not believe what she was hearing. She melted and was thankful for the bench within reach. She shook her head to remove this disheartening information from it to no avail. Her mother had betrothed her to the enemy of their family.
“How could you?” she demanded. “What do you mean warring factions?! Father crushed the Lancastrians and Henry Tudor is in exile!”
Vomit threatened to rise in Elizabeth’s throat as her mother replied. “Your father is no longer here to keep him in exile though, is he?” She looked very pleased with herself, and Elizabeth wondered if her mother was only happy when she was scheming.
“You plan to rebel against your husband’s brother, the man he named Protector of the Realm?”
“It is the only way.”
“But Edward is the one who should be king, if not Richard. Do you think Henry is going to invade and then hand the crown over to my brother?”
“Edward is dead.”
She said it with such certainty, yet complete calmness. Elizabeth had heard the rumors, of course. Her brothers had not been seen at the Tower for weeks, but to assume them dead and be prepared to replace them. Their own mother!
“How can you say that? Surely my uncle has simply had Edward and Richard moved to some more appropriate residence.”
“Do you hear yourself? You naïve girl!” The former queen stormed around the room as if looking for something on which to take out her anger, her dress stirring up the rushes and dust on the floor.
“Do you hear yourself?” Elizabeth whispered, forcing her mother to calm her movements in order to hear Elizabeth’s soft voice. “You calmly state that your sons are dead at the hand of our uncle, the king. Yet you do not mourn them, but look for a way for me to supplant them with this creature Tudor.”
Raising her hand and her face flushed, Elizabeth’s mother stopped herself short of actually striking her child. Elizabeth surprised herself by standing firm before her mother’s threatened violence.
“Once again, I know the truth from what you do not say rather than what you do.” She rose to leave the room and narrowed her eyes at her mother, daring her to stop her. “You did not deny father’s precontract, and now you do not deny that you scheme against your own sons to replace them with their sister, only because you hope for more power for yourself that way.”
Elizabeth rushed from the room without waiting for her mother to respond.
~~~~
On Christmas Day, 1483, Henry Tudor stood in the cathedral at Rennes to declare his promise to marry Princess Elizabeth of York.
When Elizabeth heard of this, she increased her efforts to convince her mother that they should leave sanctuary. How could they plan a rebellion aga
inst Richard, and truly against her brothers, without making a better attempt to discover the truth? She was determined to be back at court, and invitations for them to return were not in short supply.
March 1484
Richard stood in front of the mayor and aldermen of London. They looked expectant, relishing the embarrassment of their king. Wringing his hands and twisting his rings, Richard cleared his throat and forced his hands to be still at his sides. No one would guess from looking at him that this was the brother of Edward IV. Thin and wiry, where Edward had been towering and muscular, Richard could hardly have looked less like the king that every person in London wished hadn’t died. Looking more like their father, Richard duke of York, who had attempted to take the throne three decades earlier, Richard III made a public proclamation.
“I do solemnly vow, as the King of England and follower of the Lord Jesus Christ, that I will watch over and protect the wife and daughters of my brother, the late King Edward IV. Should the Lady Elizabeth Woodville choose to remove her family from sanctuary, I will see that they are provided for as fits their station and that suitable marriages to gentlemen of the realm are arranged.”
When he was done speaking, he quickly turned and strode away from the distasteful scene while two of his men left the hall to take the news to Elizabeth Woodville.
The dowager queen gave in to her daughters and brother-in-law after squeezing this public promise from Richard, ensuring her family’s safety and well-being. The girls were relieved and overjoyed that they would soon be free and wearing beautiful gowns, eating delicious food, and flirting with handsome men. Elizabeth was as anxious as her sisters to rejoin the world but did not speak of her exiled groom-to-be.
Richard greeted them upon their return to court. Elizabeth remembered him as seen through the eyes of a child, for he had spent much of his time ruling the north of England for her father rather than in London. She had more memories of her father speaking of his faith in Richard of Gloucester than of the man himself.
Plantagenet Princess, Tudor Queen: The Story of Elizabeth of York Page 3
