Within a week Isabel’s dresses no longer hung on Anne like sacks. Studying her with the critical perusal of an older sister, Isabel found no fault. It was hard though to think of Anne as a grown woman. The sisters continued to comfort each other and share their experiences. Isabel turned to her mirror and with a slender finger pushed at the thin arch of her eyebrow. “Uncle George, still Archbishop of York, may come by, Anne. The twitching hypocrite.”
Anne thought of her youngest uncle. His timing was amazing. He always landed on the winning side. She was curious about the others.
“What has happened to John Fortescue?” Anne knew all the military leaders were dead. She had wondered about the man who was so kind to her in France.
“He and Dr. Morton are in prison. ‘Tis said Fortescue will soon be free and plans to become a lawyer. Although he was a tutor to Prince Edward, he swears he has always been loyal to York.”
“Margaret of Anjou?” Anne found it difficult to say the name.
“After being paraded through London streets in a cart, she was put in the Tower.”
“It really doesn’t matter where she is now, Isabel. She will struggle no longer now that her son and heir is slain.”
Isabel nodded affirmatively. “The King must realize that too, or she would have been executed. Everyone wanted to see her head roll. She caused such misery and pain.”
“And Henry. Is he still in the Tower?”
“No longer. Henry was executed the night King Edward returned to London. Though he was demented, Edward did not want him to be the cause of another rebellion.” Isabel spoke with detachment. Her mind didn’t dwell in the past. She just wished George would come to bed sober for a change so she could have another child. She had angels and cupids woven into their new bed hangings.
Anne knew Isabel’s thoughts, and could sympathize with her sister’s yearning to conceive again. “Clarence says that mother is still in sanctuary at Beaulieu Abbey in Portsmouth.”
‘“Yes, Anne,” Isabel turned from the mirror. “I am not even allowed to communicate with her. She grieves for our father, I am told, and ages faster than her years.” She tried to give Anne more cheery things to think about. “I’m having a dress made, a deep blue with slashes of silver. Would you like a gown for Richard’s return? Blue is good with your hair and eyes.”
“You are so thoughtful, Isabel.” Anne’s hands were locked so that the knuckles appeared white. “I often become depressed when I think back on those black days. Richard delivered me from the darkness, but now he is far away again.”
Isabel put her arm about her sister. She remembered how Anne comforted her in her time of need and now it was her turn to repay that kindness. “You say Richard took care of you after Tewkesbury, and he said he wouldn’t forsake you, so he will return. Don’t you realize by now Anne,” a note of envy hung on Isabel’s words, “when Richard makes a vow, it is forever.”
II. CHAPTER 9
A few weeks later, standing beside the massive Tower on the Galley Quay with Isabel and Clarence, Anne looked up-river at the pride of the city--London Bridge. She couldn’t have imagined it. “It’s so immense, Isabel.”
Isabel nodded. “Nineteen arches and a drawbridge. See the hodgepodge of homes and shops? I always think they’re going to slide right off into the Thames.” The sight of the Lancastrian victims from Tewkesbury marred the impressive scene.
Anne swallowed hard. “All those heads on pikes.” She could see dead flesh on the skulls, bloody strands of knotted hair, and haunting, hollow eyes. Repulsed, she turned away to the river. Dozens of tiny boats darted back and forth across the Thames like restless minnows, carrying passengers to the opposite side for a pence. Everywhere men were calling out “Wagge! Wagge! Go we hence,” and the more costly their garment, the quicker a boatman and his wherry appeared.
Heavy merchant galleys moved in stately procession, ignoring the small boats criss-crossing their paths. The sharp aroma of salted codfish drifted in the air from Billingsgate. Fishermen caught smelts, salmon, pike and flounder from the same pier on which they waited for transport. It was so alive, the odors, the noise, and the commotion. Paris was said to be four times as large as London. But that city was as gray and still as winter skies, unlike the bright color, sounds and motion of this wonderful city
Anne shaded her eyes and strained to see up-river. “Look Isabel. The Royal barges! Oh, so beautiful!”
Isabel nodded. “Six of them. A procession.”
They watched as the floating giants of carved wood sailed toward the Galley Quay. Canopied with striped silk, garlanded, and trailing wind-caught pennants. White swans were swimming in high-necked arrogance around them.
“All this for us?” Anne asked.
“I don’t know.” Isabel was uneasy.
Anne, Isabel and the Duke of Clarence had been summoned to a Royal outing by invitation from the King. They were to travel as far as Windsor Castle by barge, a long journey. George had vowed at first that they would not travel by water. “I’ve no stomach for ships,” he’d said, staring at the parchment from which dangled the Royal seal. “And I see no reason why a traitor’s daughter should attend.
Isabel put her head on Clarence’s shoulder and stroked his cheek. “No doubt the King thinks to thank you for all you have done for him,” she murmured.
Now as the boats drew closer, Isabel was less certain. The Royal barge stopped at the quay. King Edward himself came ashore to greet them. The wind blew a piece of hair across Anne’s forehead and caught at her skirts. The King was so tall; she barely came to his shoulder. Her curtsy was half greeting, half trembling.
“Welcome, Lady Anne,” he had a soft wooing way. A very different demeanor than that at Tewkesbury. “Back to England, to London, to life again.”
Anne looked up at him. His hair was golden in the sun. Pearl and diamonds blazed like sun and roses from his linked collar.
“I am happy, very happy, to be in England again, Your Grace.”
“You look more attractive than the sullied, frightened person I saw at Tewkesbury. Delightful.” He broke off his flirtatious remarks after a glaring glance from the Queen. “You must meet the Queen. Isabel, George, you’re both well?” He barely glanced at them.
“Damn!” George’s curse carried in the summer air. “Are we to ride with the Queen on this tedious journey? He knows I can’t abide....”
“Hush,” Isabel cautioned. “We’ll sort it out.”
Queen Elizabeth Woodville, assisted by several gentlemen, had stepped lightly out of the barge. She felt every day of her thirty-six years. Six years older than her husband, she knew the effort it took to convey the impression of beauty untouched by time. She held out a ring-laden hand for Anne to kiss. “Anne Neville,” she said in flat tones. “Welcome.” And a bane on you, she thought with rancor. Vile, no doubt, like all the Nevilles.
Anne curtsied deeply. She was wary of Elizabeth Woodville. The Queen’s eyebrows, plucked to a thin line, lifted slightly. “I hope you have renounced your past transgressions.”
She made it sound like a lifetime of evil. Anne answered slowly, aware the King was watching and a wrong word could put her in the Tower. “I cannot renounce what I was forced to do.”
Elizabeth Woodville smiled slightly. She fashioned a trap. “And you feel no shame at the grief your scapegallows father has brought upon England?”
Anne looked away. Nearby, she could see a galley unloading bales of damask and soft velvet. Further along, the great cranes of London were swinging bales of incoming commodities from ship to wharf. She felt that her life as a free person was balanced as precariously as the bales on those cranes. “I regret,” she began, “no, it’s not just regret I feel, it is sorrow that the tragedies of this past year have happened.”
Elizabeth Woodville acknowledged this with a slight wave of her perfumed hand. “And your penance? Perhaps you should shave your head in grief for the rest of your life to atone for your sins,” she said facetiously. She actu
ally wished she could order it.
Anne felt embarrassed. The Woodville Queen was without mercy. Without replying, Anne turned away and knelt before the King, dimly aware that all were watching. “Your Grace, I love England, and I accept you as the anointed King with all my heart. What do you want of me?”
Edward quickly lifted Anne up. “Little cousin, that is sufficient.” A faint tenderness softened his face. “I gave the Duke of Gloucester permission for you and he to wed when he returned from his mission in the north. Now that he has returned, that celebration may take place after the proper dispensations are arranged.”
Anne was startled. “Richard! He’s here? Oh, please don’t tease me.”
Edward laughed. “Cousin, never before have I gone to such lengths to arrange such a cheerful meeting. Usually, I leave such pleasantries to the ladies. But my youngest brother is very persistent these days. I’ve had no peace since he returned from Scotland.”
“Richard is near?”
Edward nodded affirmatively. “A most splendid setting for a delightful reunion. A fine September day, all London around you, minstrels, refreshments, a barge festooned in greenery. Your Richard is in the third barge in line and will dock when we pull away.” Still smiling, the King turned to Isabel and Clarence. “You’re to go on the fourth barge with Lord Hastings. We will talk again at Windsor.”
George’s face flushed. This was the first he had learned of Anne’s betrothal to Richard. “But Lady Anne is still under attainder by the council as an enemy of the realm. Besides she is in mourning for her father.”
It was easy to see why people loved Edward. His laughter was warm, boyish. “George, I have given her full pardon, and as for her mourning, Anne looks about as mournful as a wild rose. And even more lovely. Don’t you agree, wife?”
Elizabeth Woodville had resumed her cushioned seat in the barge. “A wild rose for Gloucester and what for Clarence? ” She smiled, her tiny teeth showing briefly. “Will you give him lands or a dung heap?”
The Queen enjoyed seeing the brothers argue and didn’t bother to hide it. It gave her more control over Edward. Since she had borne the King a son, Elizabeth Woodville was a great power. No one would dare cross her.
Edward laughed again. Clarence swore to himself. Isabel pressed her sister’s hand. “May you have a happy meeting with Richard, Anne. We will see you at Windsor.”
II. CHAPTER 10
The third barge arrived. Richard stood near the front and Anne waved as the barge pulled up to the quay. Fleetingly, she tried to be demure; to wait quietly as Richard stepped to the pier. Then, forgetting everyone else, she half-ran toward him, skirts pulling at her ankles, the little cap of seed pearls slipping back on her head.
“Anne.” He drew her toward him. Their hands entwined and the river, the barges, the city became but a dim background. He touched her hair; a surge of euphoria coursed through his body as his arm encircled her waist. “ More beautiful than my memories.” His lips sought hers.
Anne lifted her face to him. The days at Tewkesbury had not prepared her for this Richard. Then he had been weary and sweaty from battle and wearing bloodstained armor. Today he was a Prince of the realm, with emerald green color showing in the slashing of his sleeves, and a brooch of diamonds and emeralds set in his velvet cap. Beneath the festive clothing his young, agile body exuded steely strength.
“It doesn’t seem possible, Richard. Here. Together.” Her voice faltered.
Richard helped her into the barge and led her to a cushioned seat separated from the rest of the boat by a curtain of brocade and velvet and sheltered overhead by a gold-tasseled canopy. Anne leaned against him and the trembling in her heart began to quiet. She would no longer be alone in a violent world. Her Love was here beside her.
Richard called to the minstrels at the front of the boat and they began to play the lively Pas de Brebant, a dance tune, blending pipe and taborg lute and harp and bells. The lilting notes drifted back while, like a giant water flower, the barge moved up the Thames, following the bend of the river toward Westminster. Great warehouses bordered both sides. The aroma of spices, a blend of cloves and nutmeg, drifted from a Venetian galley.
At another wharf, a Flemish caravel discharged Holland cloth, and a fine ship from Spain rode low in the river, heavy with its cargo of wood, iron and oil. The white swans still followed, hoping for handouts. A tiny wherry crossed their path, and an over stout gentleman was repeatedly drenched because it was so loaded down. Howls of protest from the man to his careless boatman mingled with the music of the minstrels.
Anne laughed and leaned back in Richard’s arms. “I’ve lived so long on dreams.” Her hand rested on his shoulder. “Tell me what we are seeing, Richard. I don’t know London Town.”
Richard kissed her lightly. “Oh, a King and a Queen, some swans, an ugly bulk of buildings called Steelyard, owned by the short-tempered merchants of the Hanse, and a Duke who sees nothing but you.”
“Surely you see the cranes,” she teased.
“I am blinded by your beauty, Anne. Would you care for some refreshments, my Love?”
Anne laughed and nodded in assent. In a moment, a squire appeared with two goblets and a tray of tiny meat pies, fruits and cheeses.
Richard continued his description of the sites. “There, just beyond Charing Cross, is Westminster Palace and the Abbey. I think London’s soul is in the Abbey. It’s a glorious place. I must take you there sometime.” He smiled down at her. “Sweeting, your eyes are dreamy. Am I such a poor guide?”
“I was just listening to your voice,” she confessed. “I wish time could stand still, that this day could last forever.”
“As do I.” Richard was suddenly pensive. “Is George being troublesome?”
Anne sensed his change of mood. “Somewhat. He considered himself my guardian until he learned of the King’s pardon, and he seems quite resentful that the King has agreed to our marriage. I am fearful of him Richard.”
“He would take all your inheritance. I’ll not abjure your birthright.” Richard put down his wine. “Anne, we’ve so little time. When I thought I’d lost you, a part of me died.” He pulled her to him. His muscular leanness pressed against the soft silk of her dress. It was as though she’d never been kissed before. Her lips parted under his; they tasted the wine of each other’s mouths. “Sweeting, we will marry soon. Anne, you’re all I’ve ever wanted. Let the others vie for power. You are heaven and earth to me.”
He drew her to him so their heads rested on a single pillow. “Anne, I was at Middleham but a few days ago. Nothing has changed. Even the wildflowers on the moors bloom as before. It’s home, Anne, but only if you’re there. I want to go back, away from Court, all the Woodvilles with their political games, and George’s rantings.”
She watched him as he spoke, seeing the intense blue of his eyes, the high Plantagenet cheekbones, the ardent line of his mouth. So she had envisioned him, now she could touch his face. “Richard, why do we linger here? When do we leave?”
They both laughed heartily. Richard kissed her joyfully. “Within a week, Anne. It should take no longer. Our own Uncle George, the Archbishop, can arrange the papal dispensation. I’ll settle these land matters.” He kissed her on the nose, the top of her head, and the fullness of her lips.
“Richard,” Anne clung to him laughing. “You were never so impetuous as a boy.”
He looked at her in mock solemnness. “And where’s that shy little girl I used to know?”
The white swans followed the Royal barges all the way up the Thames to Windsor, their number increasing as the riverway grew narrower and the water more gentle. In the early evening Windsor was alight with the western sun slanting across it; a giant mass of crenelated towers and walls set in a frame of green fields. The town hid behind the castle, but there were a few colorful tents pitched upon the greensward near the river, and even at a distance there was an air of activity, as gaily-dressed people moved about like gaudy figurines. A trumpet call of
a York herald marked the end of the voyage. Pages, squires and servants raced from the castle.
Richard smiled at her reassuringly. “Windsor’s a friendly castle, Anne, not so stark as it looks. I think you’ll find all to your liking here.”
“It’s beautiful.” She stirred lazily in his arms. “Not dismal like so many Norman buildings.”
“Well, my little one, the Normans were mainly building fortresses. They didn’t trust the local population.” Richard grinned. “Can’t say I blame them. The Anglos and Saxons were a butchering lot to say nothing of the Celts. But Windsor began as a hunting lodge, a place of pleasure. Everyone is always in a festive mood here, even as I hope George will be.”
Anne saw the mists of evening had begun to encircle the taller of the castle towers. “George has a dark side. I don’t think we really know his mind. But if Isabel loves him he must have virtues. Still we must be wary.”
“Of course, Love. This past year must have been nothing but worry for you. But you are safe now and the King will vouchsafe you.” Richard stepped onto the pier and lifted Anne after him. She stayed in his arms a moment longer than necessary before walking toward the tower-bordered Inner Gateway, which led to the Middle Ward of Windsor Castle.
The barge with George and Isabel, in contrast, reeked with hatred and recriminations. Clarence considered himself guardian of the Neville affairs, if not Anne. Should Anne and Richard marry, he could not claim her half of her mother’s land and possessions. “This cannot happen,” he blurted to Isabel. “The King has given Richard all of her father’s land, and by permitting him to wed your sister, he will have her inheritance as well. My clever brother does not love Anne, he just wants all her inherited lands and property should they not revert to the Crown. I will not allow it.”
Isabel tried to calm Clarence, who was making Lord Hastings uncomfortable with his loud talking. “You must not offend the King, George. Edward has done well by you and I will gladly give you my share of the inheritance if it will give you peace. Let us enjoy this Royal affair at Windsor this evening.”
Anne of Warwick The Last Plantagenet Queen Page 14
