Clarence forced himself to be calm outwardly, but within, his anger was building, as was his resentment at the preference given to Richard over himself by the King once again. He was determined to thwart the union of Richard and Anne Neville, and reassert himself.
II. CHAPTER 11
At Windsor, as the King was preparing for the evening’s festivities, his mother paid him an unexpected visit. Cicely Neville, Duchess of York, pointed a bony finger at her eldest son. “Edward, you’ve thrown your cousin Anne to the wolves. They’ll show her no mercy.”
“Second cousin, mother.” Edward answered mildly. He had struggled for years to keep straight his mother’s many relations. Cicely was the youngest daughter of twenty-three children of Ralph Neville, first Earl of Westmorland. Her oldest brother, Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury, was Warwick’s father. Born in near Durham, Cicely now lived in considerable splendor at Fotheringhay.
“Anne is no longer a child,” he added, wishing his mother would not interfere. He liked Windsor, especially his luxurious private chambers. His newly refurbished bedroom had a portable night stool, a private terrace and a mirror among the bed curtains. “Richard has been the most loyal and trusting of all, and has borne himself regally in defense of the realm. He harbors no ambitions for the throne like all the others around me. His request to wed Anne deserves to be honored.”
Cicely was not finished with her concern. “So then you are permitting them to marry tomorrow.”
“Not tomorrow, mother.” Edward squirmed. He was thinking of a hot bath and his squires scraping him down until he felt fresh and tingly. “They must first obtain an ecclesiastic dispensation. And George is against their joining. He wants every scrap of the Neville lands and property. He may have some good reasons to contest the marriage, but I will not deny Richard. I will find some way to compensate George for his perceived slight.”
“George isn’t easily gulled. He will find a way to take Anne out of the way, mark me. ” Cicely smiled at her favorite son. It was obvious Edward had not thought things through.
She held up a freckled hand and waved it in Edward’s direction. “And the Woodvilles. They already despise her for being Warwick’s daughter.” A second finger snapped. “Buckingham is also a problem. He’s been fawning after Richard since you returned and will view Anne as a threat to his influence with him.”
Edward closed his eyes, weary of all this political talk. He needed to prepare for this evening. “She and Richard will be at supper tonight, mother. You can mention your concerns to them then.”
“I certainly will, and I will talk with George as well. Sometimes I’m afraid for him, too.” Cicely gathered her full skirts about her and hurried from the room.
Edward watched her go with relief. He thought fondly that mothers were impossible. Yet he had to admit they were usually adroit at seeing the total picture. He shrugged and yelled for his squires.
Anne, too, was excitedly thinking on the Royal affair and the solar assigned to her when a brown-haired girl came by the door, and curtsied.
“I’m Anne Fitz Hugh, daughter of Lord Henry Fitz Hugh. I’m down from Oxford to be with my betrothed, Francis Lovell. Everyone calls me Nan. We will be sharing this solar.” She said it all in one breath.
Anne was amazed. “I knew Francis Lovell when he trained at Middleham. We grew up together.”
“I know, my Lady. Francis speaks often of those days.” Nan smiled without rancor. “If Francis were a poet, you’d be the lady of his poems.”
Anne blushed, but noticed that the idea did not bother this happy-faced girl. “Will Francis be at dinner?”
Nan Fitz Hugh nodded. “Everyone will be there. The Duke of Gloucester has the whole castle jumping because of you. The gleemen you hear have been practicing for days.” Nan picked up a mirror and quickly set to rights her own hair and dress. “Windsor is crowded. I think they will have to house guests in the prison cells soon.” Nan went to a draped rack, pulled aside a covering cloth, and held out a dress of creamy silk, the neckline wrought in delicate green leaves intertwined with hearts and powdered with tiny jewels. “Do you like it, my Lady? The Duke told me to have the very best made for you, so here it is.”
Anne pressed a niece of cool silk to her cheek. “It’s beautiful. How was there time to make it? How did you know my size?”
Nan laughed. “Plantagenet men order things done in a wink.” She snapped her fingers to emphasize her remark. “He gambled you’d wear the same size as Lady Isabel, and her dressmaker is very chatty. But we must hurry.”
With quick nimbleness, Nan helped Anne change, lowered the shoulder line, and pulled in the waist. “Now for some cochineal paste for a blush.”
Anne felt rather wanton and realized with amazement she enjoyed the feeling. “The dress is so low, Nan.”
Nan laughed. “And you with not a freckle on your shoulders. Even lower would be perfect.” She combed Anne’s hair long and loose and sprinkled jasmine perfume on her bare shoulders.
“Everyone will stare at me.”
“Of course. You’re a bit of a legend already. A sad story with a happy ending.” She clapped her hands. “I almost forgot. Jewels too from your lover, forgive me, His Grace, the Duke of Gloucester.” She opened a box lined in velvet and Anne saw a gold filigree collar with the letters R and A entertwined.
“Do you like it?” Nan fastened the collar. “A ladies’ maid was supposed to be here. I can’t imagine what keeps her. I’m afraid we’ll be late. There’s the supper horn. Oh, St. Serverus, the hat.”
“My hat?” Anne looked in amazement at the tall, pointed headdress with the veil of silver tissue, which Nan Fitz Hugh held out. “It is so tall. Will it stay on?”
“Oh yes, it’s all the fashion. From Burgundy, I believe. The Princess Style.” Nan worked busily with hairpins and the arrangement of the veil, and then held up the mirror. “See!”
Anne touched the folds of the dress, the delicate collar, and the towering headdress. Gifts of love. It had been a long time. “To dinner then, Nan.”
“Yes. Holy Saints be with us.”
II. CHAPTER 12
Most of the guests were already present by the time Anne and Nan made their way to the Great Hall at Windsor. Tonight torches and candles lighted every recess of the stone vaulting. The air was heavy with the scent of spices, rich food and flowers. The King, already seated under a canopy at the high table on the dais, had joined his minstrels in a ribald song. Servants scurried about with great platters of meat in thick sauces and flagons of wine and mead. Many of lesser rank had seated themselves at lower tables, running perpendicular to the King’s table, and they were squeezed closely together on one side so the other might be free for service.
Anne stood in the entryway for a moment, hesitating, then realized that the squire who had just bowed before her was requesting he be allowed to conduct her to the head table. She smiled at Nan and followed the squire, very conscious of the glow of the cream silk and her bare shoulders, aware, too, of the whispers and cranning of necks. St. Agnes, let the hat stay on, she thought, and held her head high. She curtsied before the King and Queen. Edward smiled. The Queen frowned and tore at bits of white bread.
“You look most fair, cousin. ” Edward grinned wider. “And so very young. It makes us all feel the weight of our years.” Anne heard the Queen choke on her wine. Edward didn’t appear to notice. “Gloucester,” he called, “you best claim your lady else all the gentlemen will be asking for her favor.”
Richard was by her side in a moment. “I do so claim.” His ducal coronet gleamed against his dark hair. Tonight it glowed like flames in blue and gold. He put her hand through the bend of his arm and escorted her to a place beside him at the high table. Somehow in that Great Hall he filled Anne’s entire field of vision. Never had he looked more handsome, more sure of himself. She realized with a start he was performing various introductions.
The young man on her left was Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckigham, marri
ed to the Queen’s sister, Katherine. His hands drummed on the table; constantly glancing at the Queen. He did not have much liking for her or his Woodville wife, who was sitting two places down from the Queen. How surprised the whey-faced Woodvilles would be if they knew his mind, Buckingham thought. They would not be pleased.
Richard continued his introductions. “There’s the Queen’s other sister, Mary, in silver silk, and William Herbert, the young Earl of Pembroke, and, of course, Clarence and Isabel....” He stopped, seeing that Anne was looking down the Hall.
“Yes, it’s Francis Lovell, Sweeting.” Richard smiled at his friend. “Were you surprised to find you shared a solar with his betrothed, Nan? I meant to tell you on the barge, but I forgot. It seems I can only think of one thing at a time when you are near.”
Anne’s plate had been filled with delicacies. She dipped a piece of partridge in sweet sauce. “Richard, you remembered well enough to make this occasion like my saint’s day when I was a child. The dress, the jewels, and the gleemen. We must have music at Middleham.” She thought of how Richard had protected her cherished her, and not just this day. She smiled at him. “It will take me a lifetime to repay all your kindness.”
Richard lifted his glass. “To our lifetime together, Anne. Until the stars leave the sky. Even that will not be long enough.”
Suddenly a trumpet blew, interrupting all conversation. Everyone turned to the door while a herald shouted out that Lady Cicely, Duchess of York, entered. Enveloped in velvet, ermine and the heavy scent of musk, “Proud Cis,” as she was generally called, walked with quick steps to her eldest son, the King. Anne saw her exchange greetings with Edward, nod briefly at George and Isabel, and come their way.
“Best make room, Sweeting,” Richard sighed. “My mother’s going to join us.”
Anne eased her chair closer to Buckingham and pulled her skirts about her ankles.
“If you would please, Madame, and if the King will give me leave.” Buckingham rose and bowed formally toward Cicely, “you may have my place. I’d be honored.”
Surprisingly, Buckingham’s voice was pleasantly mellow. His pinched, restless face suggested emotions only partially held in check. Women everywhere. He hated them all. He hurried through the torch-lit corridors. The chance to leave had been heaven-sent. Cicely took his place. She was used to having her own way. Her own Court at Fotheringhay was totally centered around her every whim. Without further notice of Buckingham, she faced her niece. “Welcome to Court, Anne Neville.”
Anne politely kissed the rough skin of Cicely’s hand. “Thank you, Madame.” Anne knew how proud Cicely was of her Neville descent.
Cicely heaped her plate high with food, including swan, peacock, plovers, several small blackbirds, and other meats too covered with pastry shells to be identified. While she devoured the mound of food, Cicely bluntly examined her niece, until Anne flushed.
Richard tried to bridge the pause. “I’ve not seen you in many months, mother. All’s well at Fotheringhay?”
“Oh, well enough.” Cicely wiped her mouth with a heavy linen napkin, which she tossed to the squire who stood beside her. “I decided to come and see for myself whom you have chosen for a wife.” She patted Anne’s cheek. “You look a bit delicate, my dear, but I like your face. Childbirth will fill you out,” Cicely laughed loudly, “though a full bevy of seven healthy babes, and five dead ones too, did nothing for me. Well, Richard, marry the lass and be off to the North before George causes trouble. I saw him just now. He’s in a foul temper.”
“I hope not to anger George.” Richard spoke evenly.
Anne looked from mother to youngest son and felt there was much she didn’t know. Richard was deeply worried about George of Clarence, and so was his mother. She saw the King was in animated conversation with Lord Hastings.
Cicely followed Anne’s glance. “Will Hastings is in charge of all this as Lord Chamberlain, Anne.”
“I see, Madame, he must be a true friend of the King.”
Cicely shrugged. Her fingers tapped impatiently on the table. Suddenly she exclaimed in low, staccato bursts, “everyone knows, even the Queen. Why not you? With the help of this so-called ‘friend’ Hastings, my son is being led astray. He tires of the Queen who has alienated all his true friends. He’s weary, too, of the entire Woodville family and their everlasting clamor for power and money. They owe Edward everything, but they help him none. And in a crisis, they slink away to places of safety. No battles were led by Woodvilles at Barnet or Tewkesbury. A pity your father didn’t execute more than the Queen’s father. God rest the souls of your father and his brother, John Neville. At least they didn’t shrink from death defending a cause.”
Anne took a deep breath and looked away. “But there will be peaceful years ahead, Madame. The King has a fine young son.”
“Oh aye, peace, but it comes too late for Edward. Too many deaths and betrayals to remember. God pity him. He becomes less kingly each day. He finds life flat and stale. More mistresses, more hunting, more ceremonial pomp, and more indifference.”
Richard leaned across to his mother. “Edward will overcome his adversity, mother. This past year has stressed him greatly.”
Cicely rubbed her neck, which had turned red with emotion. “You’re too young to know real adversity, Richard.”
“The King will always have my loyalty.” Richard spoke the simple words with intensity. Loyaulté Me Lei would become his moral compass.
The Duchess continued in a low rasping voice. “I know he will Richard, but beware also the Queen.”
Anne placed a timid hand on Richard’s arm, wondering if she dared change this mood, which was draining all sweetness from the evening. “I think the minstrels are playing the Danse au Chapelet. I still remember some steps from the dancing master at Middleham.”
Richard smiled in relief. Pages were bringing in hand basins and ewers for washing. The giant cake, a replication of Windsor Castle, was reduced to bits and pieces. Other food was also being whisked away.
Cicely rapped her son on the hand. “Enjoy tonight, Richard, but tomorrow take this pretty child and go north.” Cicely chuckled and Anne caught a glimpse of the vivacious charm that had once endowed this woman with the name of Rose of Raby.
“Mother you’re right. I’m in no mood to wait for the papal dispensation or the land settlement. Time is too precious.”
II. CHAPTER 13
After the elegant Royal dinner, back at their solar, Anne and Nan Fitz Hugh prepared to retire. Nan blew out the candle and settled comfortably under the thick quilts of the bed. It was very late. “Every man envied the Duke of Gloucester tonight, Anne. An elegant dancer, all agile and grace. And you were his perfect partner, my Lady.”
Anne fluffed a pillow and sank pleasantly into the bedding. She and Richard had danced many rounds, giddy with wine and laughter. At the end of the evening, they, along with Nan and Francis Lovell, had taken a long, strolling walk back to the solar. Francis was the same steady person they had known in childhood. Richard’s friend and a man to trust.
“You and Francis must come to Middleham after Richard and I are married,” Anne murmured half asleep.
“Oh we will, with babies and baggage carts, thank you.”
Anne snuggled deeper under the covers. The wine was still warm in her blood, though not as warm as the memory of Richard’s kisses. The melodies of the minstrels rang distantly in her head.
It seemed to Anne she had been asleep but a few minutes when she was awakened by an urgent shaking. A ladies’ maid bent over her. “Lady, oh Lady, do waken.” The woman shook, terrified. “Your sister, the Duchess Isabel sent me. She’s in great need of you.”
“Isabel?” Anne sat up in bed, pulling on a dressing robe, pushing back her hair. “What’s amiss?”
“The Duchess be sick.” The maid blinked and added “turned red as a lobster.”
“Oh poor Isabel. It’s probably the measles. She never had them as a child.”
Nan Fitz Hugh
awoke and squinted at the woman in the darkness. “You were supposed to have come earlier this evening.” Nan’s voice was heavy with sleep.
The woman’s head shook back and forth, almost palsied. “No. No. I was told to wait upon the Duchess Isabel. Please Lady, hurry.” She grabbed a cloak from a peg. “ Here, the Duchess be out of her head with fever.”
“I’ll go with you, Anne.” Nan sat up in bed.
“No. But thank you. It can’t be serious.” Anne pushed her hair under the hood of the cloak. “I’ll be back soon.”
She followed the ladies’ maid through the corridors, still lit by an occasional taper, but it was the woman’s torch, an uneven flicker in the night, which showed the way as they hurried from the Upper Ward to the Middle Ward. Anne followed, puzzled. She could dimly see the squat outlines of the Salisbury and Garter Towers, marking the curtain wall and the west-most end of the castle, before the woman stopped in the vastness of the Lower Ward. A night patrol strode by at a little distance; there was the muted exchange of salutes.
“I thought the Duchess of Clarence was housed in the Upper Ward. Why bring me here?” Anne pulled her cloak closer and shivered.
The pounding feet of the patrol faded.
“Aye. She was.” The woman’s voice quivered. “The Duke arranged for me to take you to the Curfew Tower. Horses and carriage wait there.”
“The Duke?” Anne tried to see into the darkness.
“The Duke o’Clarence, m’Lady, his Duchess be sick, hot sick. She’d return to London.” The woman plucked at Anne’s sleeve. “Come. Please. Hurry.”
Anne hesitated. Why leave Windsor at all if Isabel was so ill? And in the darkest hours of the night? She crossed her arms and stood still. “I’ll wait here. Tell the Duke of Clarence to come to me and explain.”
The ladies’maid trembled. By the torch light her worn face was white and twisted with fear. “Lady,” she whispered. “I can’t take such a message. I must bring you. That’s what he give me the gold coin for.”
Anne of Warwick The Last Plantagenet Queen Page 15
