Rebellion

by Livi Michael

  If Louis was surprised he didn’t show it. ‘What letter?’ he said. She held it out to him.

  The king read it, shaking his head. But if it was a forgery it was a good one.

  ‘The Princess Elizabeth is already betrothed, is she not?’ he said. ‘To Warwick’s nephew?’

  The queen shrugged. ‘He has declared himself king,’ she said flatly. ‘I daresay he can make what arrangements he likes.’

  ‘You don’t think,’ said Louis, ‘that this is a ruse to bring your son back to England? Where he will be instantly executed?’

  The queen was silent. That was exactly what she thought.

  ‘Well, you are free to go,’ said the king. ‘Give the English king his chance to exterminate the Lancastrian line.’

  The queen closed her eyes.

  ‘She is very young, is she not, this princess?’ Louis continued. ‘What is she – four years old? And your son will need an heir, when he attains the throne.’

  The queen bowed her head. She knew that Louis was right. Edward of York would take any chance he could to eliminate the House of Lancaster. The only reason her husband was still alive was because he had a living heir.

  Are there so few choices? she thought. In the end there is only life or death.

  ‘Let me send for the earl and countess,’ Louis said.

  In the end she consented to grant Warwick an audience. But she stiffened like a hostile cat when she heard his footsteps approaching.

  Without saying anything she walked over to her chair and sat in it rigidly. He stopped a little way from her, lowered his gaze to the floor and got to his knees,

  addressing her in the most moving manner he could devise, begging her pardon for all the wrongs he had done her and humbly beseeching her to pardon and restore him to her favour. The queen gave him no answer, and kept him on his knees a full quarter of an hour.

  Georges Chastellain

  *

  Within myself I suspended all thought. If I had begun to think of my position now, abasing myself before this woman whom I had regularly described as a she-cat from hell, I could not have gone through with it.

  An earlier Warwick would have risen after a moment’s silence and left the room. A still earlier one would not have been there at all.

  One minute lengthened into two, then three.

  I forced myself to concentrate on other things. The pain in my knees to begin with – when did that stiffness start? Soon my neck and shoulders began to ache and then I had to concentrate differently: on the silence itself, though that was scarcely comfortable, then on the pattern on the folds of her dress. More than one thread had come loose and there were other places where the stitching was frayed.

  A small cluster of fluff and dust blew gently, hesitantly, across the floor between us.

  There were distant sounds, the noises of the palace; a boy leading horses across the yard. But I could feel silence expanding in my head and heart. It seemed to me that if anyone had asked me in that moment what I was doing there, I could not have told them.

  Then an image rose in me unbidden of that little coffin being lowered into the boat and tears pricked my eyes.

  Somewhere outside a bird began to sing; a fluting, melancholy song to welcome the evening.

  Then at last I thought I should have to move, when Louis himself stepped forward.

  *

  ‘Enough, madame,’ he said. ‘I myself will guarantee the fidelity of this earl.’

  And Queen Margaret broke her silence at last, addressing the king rather than the earl. The prince, she said, would not go to England, but remain with her in France. She demanded that Warwick should publicly withdraw his slanderous remarks about the paternity of her son, and the earl assured her he would do this, both in France and England once he had conquered it for her. He looked up for the first time as he said this, and saw them both misinterpreting the redness of his eyes. The part of his mind that was detached in any circumstances knew that this was no bad thing.

  And the queen, after a further protracted silence, extended her hand.

  36

  The Duke of Clarence is Not Content

  Clarence stepped forward from the shadows in the corridor, but if Warwick was startled he did not show it.

  ‘I see you have changed the rules of the game, mon père.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The rules. Of the game.’

  Warwick tried to move on but Clarence was blocking his way. The earl looked at his son-in-law with distaste. He’s been drinking again, he thought. ‘We’ve been through all this,’ he said.

  ‘You’ve been through all this,’ said Clarence. ‘And you have changed the rules.’

  Warwick shook his head and Clarence said, ‘Is it all agreed, then?’

  ‘As we said it would be. You agreed to it, remember?’

  ‘You agreed to it,’ said Clarence, ‘with Louis.’

  ‘As you will,’ said Warwick, and made another attempt to walk past, but Clarence didn’t move. ‘I just wondered where I fit in,’ he said, ‘in this new game.’

  ‘It’s not a game,’ said Warwick, ‘and you know very well what the arrangements are.’

  ‘Remind me.’

  The earl had just come to the end of a protracted and difficult negotiation with the queen and did not want to explain anything. ‘If you have any objections you should raise them with the king.’

  ‘Why would I have objections?’ countered Clarence. ‘Oh yes – because I stand to gain nothing from this new arrangement as you call it – nothing. I am in fact one step further away from my goal.’

  Warwick started to speak but Clarence pressed his hand against the earl’s chest. ‘I have left my country, rebelled against my brother the king – committed treason – and for what? To remove myself still further from the throne.’

  ‘You are no further –’

  ‘The prince will have heirs – why would he not? And then, where am I? Nowhere. But you – your position is secure – better than before in fact – you will be king in all but name.’

  He prodded his father-in-law in the chest. Warwick grabbed his wrist. ‘I would not do that if I were you,’ he said.

  ‘Why not? What do I have to lose? Apart from my life. Would you take that from me as well?’

  Warwick did not want to lose his temper now, after three days of keeping it.

  ‘We’ve all lost something,’ he said, and the image of the little coffin came to him once more.

  ‘Not you.’

  ‘None of this is as we initially planned,’ Warwick said, gazing intently at his son-in-law. ‘And none of it is set in stone.’

  Clarence flushed angrily, miserably. ‘I have lost my son,’ he said. ‘My brother – all my family. I don’t see what you’ve lost.’

  Warwick let this pass. ‘Circumstances have changed, that’s all,’ he said. ‘When we get to England they may change again.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Although this was neither the time nor the place, Warwick lowered his voice. ‘King Henry – is not fit to be king,’ he said. ‘He will not last long. From what I have heard of his son, he is not fit either. It is possible,’ he said carefully, ‘that matters will sort themselves out in England. The people do not want a foreign king.’

  For an instant he saw hope flare in Clarence’s eyes. ‘And then?’ he said.

  ‘I’m not a fortune teller,’ the earl said. ‘We will act as circumstances dictate.’

  Clarence nodded slowly. ‘You’ve made promises before,’ he said. ‘Suppose I don’t agree to this new scheme?’

  Warwick released his son-in-law’s wrist but maintained his gaze until the younger man lowered his eyes. ‘Well then what?’ he said softly. ‘Will you wage war on your brother alone? Or throw yourself on his mercy? Do you think he will welcome you?’

  He saw the hope die in Clarence’s eyes. The young man took a step back. ‘What will I do?’ he whispered.

  Warwick looked at him with contemp
t. ‘Go to your wife,’ he said. ‘Ask her what she has lost.’

  He pushed past Clarence and walked away, reflecting, somewhat bitterly, that soon he would have not one but two difficult sons-in-law.

  37

  Prince Edward is Not Content

  ‘Why should I not go with them?’ he asked for the hundredth time. ‘It’s my country.’

  ‘And when it is won you will go to it,’ the queen said.

  ‘But I should win it,’ he said. ‘What’s the purpose of staying here?’

  ‘To keep you safe, so that you can rule your country. When the time comes.’

  ‘But my father will rule – that’s what you said.’

  ‘Your father – is not well,’ she said. ‘He does not have it in him to rule. The Earl of Warwick thinks he will rule in his stead – but we will not allow that to happen. As soon as your father is made king again I will persuade him to step down in your favour.’

  The prince had begun to pace. ‘The earl will never allow it.’

  ‘He will have no say in this.’

  ‘But I am to marry his daughter.’

  ‘You are to be betrothed to his daughter,’ she said. ‘We will leave it at that for now.’ She paused, and he waited, but this was not an easy subject for her. They had never spoken of sexual matters. She was not sure whether he had any experience, but she suspected not. There was a streak of something in him that was unexpectedly like his father, when in every other respect he was unlike her husband.

  But surely John Fortescue, or Jasper Tudor, or any of the knights who kept her son company would have apprised him of the basic facts?

  ‘Once you are betrothed,’ she said slowly, ‘you must keep no intimate company with her – you should not stay with her at any time.’

  ‘Not even in church?’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ she said sharply. ‘There must be no heirs of this union – not now – not ever.’

  He was looking at her with that intent, hostile stare. ‘I do not like her.’

  ‘That’s good,’ she said, then at the look on his face, she added, ‘As soon as you are king we will have this arrangement annulled. We will find someone else for you to marry. You will be able to have anyone you choose.’

  ‘Warwick will have something to say about that.’

  ‘Warwick may say what he likes,’ said the queen. ‘I don’t propose to let him take the reins of government as Richard of York did. That must not be allowed to happen. If Warwick is father-in-law to the king there will be no stopping him. He will be more dangerous than Richard of York ever was.’

  ‘But he will rise against us.’

  ‘Then we will destroy him,’ said the queen. ‘All that matters is that you have as little association with Anne Neville as possible. You may be charming to her in public – in private, stay away.’

  ‘That would be easy,’ said the prince, ‘if you would let me go to England.’

  The queen sighed. ‘I would as soon send you with a pack of wolves as with the earl and the duke. They would have you poisoned, or stabbed in the dark. Clarence still hopes to be king.’

  She went over to him and touched his face, but he shook her off. He did not like these displays of affection. ‘So I am to stay here – with you – like a child.’

  There was so much hostility in his eyes that it frightened her. It is his age, she thought.

  ‘Is that so hard?’ she said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘It is hard,’ he said, walking away.

  [In September 1470] there landed in Devonshire the Duke of Clarence, the Earl of Warwick, the Earl of Pembroke and the Earl of Oxford with a company of Frenchmen … as they made their journey they made proclamations in King Henry VI’s name and daily drew to them many people …

  Great Chronicle of London

  King Edward’s army … was at Doncaster … nearby at Pontefract was John Neville, brother of the Earl of Warwick … When he heard of his brother’s return his former loyalty to King Edward changed to treachery and he plotted to use the numerous forces he had collected on royal authority to seize the king. Thanks to the diligence of a spy the king was warned and saved himself and his companions by fleeing to the port of Bishop’s Lynn …

  Crowland Chronicle

  King Edward sent for lords and other men but there came so few people to him that he was unable to make a field against them. Then he with Earl Rivers, Lord Hastings, Lord Howard and Lord Say … obtained ships and sailed to the Duke of Burgundy who had married King Edward’s sister …

  Coventry Leet Book

  King Edward fled with two flat-bottomed boats, and one of his own small ships, with 7[00] or 800 followers who possessed no other clothes than the ones they were fighting in; they did not have a penny between them and scarcely knew where they were going. The king … gave the ship’s master a robe lined with fine marten’s fur, promising to reward him better in future … By chance my Lord of Gruthuyse, the Duke of Burgundy’s governor in Holland, was at the place where King Edward wanted to disembark. Straight away he went to the ship King Edward was in to welcome him … and dealt honourably with them [giving] them several robes and paying all their expenses for the journey to the Hague … then informed the Duke of Burgundy about this event.

  Philippe de Commines

  38

  Queen Elizabeth Hears the News

  She wouldn’t believe it until her husband’s flight was cried throughout London and all the bells began to ring. Her heart pounded rapidly.

  She tried to get up, but was hindered by the weight of the child she was carrying and sank back in her chair. One of her ladies mistakenly assumed she was fainting, called for wine and tried to open the neck of her gown.

  Then they all surrounded her.

  ‘Do not distress yourself, majesty.’

  ‘It may not be true.’

  ‘God will protect us.’

  She tried to tell them that she was not fainting; it was just that she could not believe that her husband had deserted both her and the country he ruled. But in fact she did feel a little light-headed and out of breath. So they continued to minister to her until a commotion in the street distracted them.

  ‘Is it a fire?’

  ‘It’s the king’s men coming.’

  ‘Or the apprentices, rioting.’

  ‘It’s the Flemish merchants,’ said one, very definitely. ‘They are attacking the Flemish again.’

  The queen sent two of them down to ask the guards and they reported back in some excitement that a mob of Sanctuary men – debtors and thieves and all kinds of criminals – were rampaging through the city. They had broken open all the prisons, releasing murderers and cutthroats on to the streets. Everywhere there was plundering, looting and fighting. Armed bands of Kentish men were raiding and pillaging their way through Southwark.

  ‘What is the mayor doing?’ the queen asked, but no one could tell her. No one, it seemed, was in charge. And the royal guard could not get through to Southwark because the Kentish men were setting fire to the bridge.

  Her husband had fled and the city was in uproar. The red light of fires streamed in through the windows. Her ladies were panicking now like so many birds, certain that the mob would break down the walls of the Tower itself.

  In the end, in a fit of savage impatience, she sent them all away apart from one: an older woman who said little and thought much.

  ‘What should I do?’ she asked.

  ‘I think you should leave,’ the woman said.

  ‘And go where?’

  ‘Perhaps into Sanctuary.’

  ‘Sanctuary?’ The queen almost laughed. It was the resort of criminals; the first place that murderers, horse thieves and common outlaws sought refuge.

  ‘But as you’ve heard, they have all gone,’ her lady said. ‘They are running through the streets. Sanctuary may be the safest place in the city. If Warwick comes, the first place he’ll look is the Tower.’

  It was true, but the queen felt a ris
ing wave of panic; unfamiliar, because she did not usually lose control of her emotions. ‘He has already killed my father and my brother,’ she said. ‘He will not rest until he has killed us all.’

  ‘Even the Earl of Warwick will not break Sanctuary,’ her lady said. ‘Let me see if I can get a message to the abbot there.’

  As she left, Queen Elizabeth sank back into her chair. In a few weeks her child would be born. This was where she had planned her confinement, in the royal apartments of the Tower. But everything had changed now, her world had suddenly changed; she did not know how to navigate this new world.

  Her lady returned. She had sent a messenger to Abbot Millying, she said, but it was not certain that he would make it through the streets.

  One hour passed, maybe more, before the messenger returned. He was sweating and blackened with soot. He had not made it through the streets, but he had found a boatman and a barge who would take her majesty and the little princesses upriver to the abbey.

  So the little princesses were wakened and carried down to the river where the boatman was waiting for them.

  The messenger, John Reece, helped her into the boat. She stepped down with some difficulty because of her bulk. Once seated, with Cecily slumped over the mound of her stomach, the other two leaning into her side, the queen looked no further than the dark, glittering water of the Thames. She tried not to hear all the sounds of shouting and shrieking and breaking glass. As the boat bobbed and swayed, the cacophony faded, but the smell of the river slowly took on the stench of Sanctuary; rotting fish and vegetable matter floated by; a calf’s head struck the side of the boat.

  It was like the River Styx. She felt as though she was travelling to Hades.

  ‘I will go ahead to find the abbot,’ John Reece said. And before she could object to being left alone with a boatman who looked like one of the Sanctuary murderers, he had climbed out of the boat to the steps at the mooring place, and disappeared.

  The queen wrapped her cloak round her daughters. She didn’t look at the boatman but she knew that he was looking at her. Slowly she raised her eyes to him and he smiled. ‘Where’s your man, lady?’