Anne of Warwick The Last Plantagenet Queen

by Paula Simonds Zabka

  Red of face, eyes squinting in uncertainty, she reported the startling news. Her words came in jerks. “M’Lady, the Duke and all his Council met at the Tower this morning.”

  “Yes, but why are you so upset, Philippa?”

  “The Duke openly accused Hastings, Stanley, Morton and Rotherham of treason.”

  Anne looked at Phillippa in stunned silence. It had begun.

  “Hastings denied the charges. Most hotly, so it is said. Then m’Lady, the guards came and took the four away. Morton and Rotherham were imprisoned in the Tower. Stanley is confined to his own home.” Phillippa stopped briefly. “Jane Shore was also accused and will do public penance.”

  “And Hastings?”

  “Head shaved by a priest and immediately beheaded on Tower Green. They used some building timber for the block.”

  Anne continued, half in disbelief and half in expectation. “And the people of London?”

  “They are confused but quiet. There were rumors that the Duke will now seize the throne, but there is no outcry, no disturbances or riots. It was amazing. The Mayor took to the streets and assured the city that all was well, and the people seemed more relieved than worried.”

  Phillippa bent over her. “You’re very pale, m’Lady.”

  “I am a bit taken aback. Richard knew of the plotting, but I didn’t think he would take such drastic action.” Anne sat back and Philippa wiped her wet brow.

  In the late afternoon, and alone, Richard finally came. He had a sad countenance. “It’s done, Anne.” Strain filled his voice. “The conspiracy is crushed and the realm is secure. It was necessary to execute Hastings at once, for fear his men would come to his rescue.”

  Anne handed him a cup of ale. “One death is better than many.”

  “I will arrange that his wife Katherine will not be deprived of any rights. There was no attainder on Hastings. Nor will I put one now. And his son will be allowed to inherit all lands and goods when he becomes of age.”

  Anne could sense, by these decisions that Richard was trying to allay his feelings of guilt over Hastings’ execution. “Hastings was but one conspirators. What of the others?”

  “The others have been confined but will be released after a time. It was Queen Elizabeth who was the core of the conspiracy. Yet she will be spared if she but comes out of sanctuary and ceases her plotting. This will give her sons assurance that we mean her no harm, and we will gain their trust.”

  “We must take both the boys to Middleham or Sheriff Hutton, Richard, to show them that England is more than what they see at the Royal Court.”

  “Yes. The boys should be together. You mentioned that young King Edward longed for his brother, Richard.”

  “Aye, he refuses to be anything but miserable.”

  “I think the Dowager Queen may have new thoughts about crossing you again, Richard. Send someone to her she trusts. Perhaps she can be persuaded to come forth with her son.”

  Richard slumped down on a bench, his back against the wall. “I could dispatch Thomas Bourchier, Archbishop of Canterbury, to her. He could make stones bleed.”

  “Send John Howard with him.”

  “Yes, Howard has such integrity. Even the Woodvilles must see that.” Richard smiled a little. “It is rumored she loathes sanctuary. Bad for the complexion.”

  Anne began arranging a bouquet of summer roses. “We must keep those boys safe. It won’t be easy.”

  His thoughts were far away. “The last time some of the Council tried to talk with Elizabeth Woodville she cried out, ‘the desire of a kingdom knoweth no kindred. May the nephew be sure of the uncle?’ “Perhaps she had a good question.”

  “Suspicion is her nature, Richard.”

  “She must believe that I can keep her sons safe,” he replied.

  Anne studied him, sitting there in the slanted sunlight, a man of slight build and tired looking eyes. Only a few really knew Richard’s sense of trust and loyalty. Would Elizabeth Woodville trust this Northerner, this rival in power, with both of her sons? She didn’t think so. The former Queen knew little of trust.

  But Elizabeth did understand political reality. Richard persuaded the Council that the Queen should give up her son Richard, as he was in no need of the protection of sanctuary, and should be with his brother Edward in the Tower apartments. A few days later, with the help of an armed guard and the persuasiveness of Lord Howard and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Richard, age nine, Duke of York, was reunited with his brother in the Tower. The boys roamed the place, under Brackenbury’s careful eye, and often played happily on the village green.

  Richard went to see them. “Prince Edward is not well,” he told Anne afterward. “There is a swelling and redness in the lower jawbone. He complains of pain and won’t eat. I’ve sent a physician.”

  “Does he talk of a coronation?” Anne slipped off her shoes and let her feet enjoy the deep softness of the woven rug,

  “He doesn’t talk of anything to me.” Richard discarded his cap and cloak. “Nor does the little one. His silence is more of fear than sullenness. Sometimes, in profile, I can see the lines of Edward’s face. At least the boys are away from the influence of the Woodvilles.”

  “And the Council? Do they still plan a coronation for young Edward?”

  Richard laughed though his eyes were dull. “All those self-serving men have heard Stillington’s tale by now. All urge me to the crown. Do they think I can make them all Lord Chamberlain or Constable of England?” He kept his tone light. “Not only the Council but most of the lords, prelates, even the influential gentry know the story. My Advisor, Will Catesby, believes it true.”

  “So your private thoughts on assuming the throne are now openly spoken of by others. Do you feel more justified in doing so, Richard?”

  “I am still uncertain, but becoming more convinced that it is the right thing for the Kingdom, and for us.”

  “I feel more certain too, Richard. Yet in the night, in the darkness, I think we both ask if our souls are forfeit for the crown. Has desire outrun reason?”

  Richard took her hand, holding it so tightly that the emerald ring pressed deeply. “The answer is not an easy one, my Love. It would help to know whether the people of London trust me to lead them as their King. I must go among them to explain the findings of Bishop Stillington and assure them that, if I do ascend the throne, the Kingdom will be safe and secure.”

  “If you think it best, my Love. I think you will be surprised how deeply respected and trusted you already have become. Your reputation and achievements in the North are well known, and you were readily received and welcomed when you were appointed as Lord Protector of the Realm.”

  “You continue to give me hope and encouragement, Anne. That you will become Queen someday is one of my greatest incentives to pursue this challenge. I could not consider the Kingship without you at my side.” Richard pulled Anne to him in a tender embrace and, after a sweet kiss, parted for a rendezvous with Lord Buckingham.

  Buckingham came directly to the matter. “Your Grace, you must allow me to take your case to the Council and the people. I believe, as do others now, of Stillington’s revelation about King Edward’s marriage contract with Lady Butler, and that as bastards, his sons have no claim to the throne. Hastings’ men have come over to my camp, and with your loyal support from the North you have the power to assume your rightful place on the throne, if you have the will.”

  Though self-seeking and ambitious, Buckingham was actually reinforcing Richard’s increasing belief that he could justify his reach for the crown. “I have the will, Henry, and confidence in my ability to lead the Kingdom to greatness in peace, but I will be more at ease if I am sure the Council and the people of London are behind me. You have my leave to speak to the Council on my behalf and, if it will help, I will ask Friar Ralph Shea to preach of Edward’s earlier betrothal, binding in the eyes of the church. I will also increase my presence among the people.”

  The following weeks, Richard made himself
known across London. He became more splendid each day. Henry Buckingham was ever at his side, often addressing the people, extolling Richard’s virtues and declaring his right to the throne. Buckingham, too, was descended from Edward III and considered the premier noble after Richard. His clothes were a blaze of finery and he wore a ring on every finger.

  On June 22, for a special occasion, Richard and Buckingham, along with leaders of the city, rode to St. Paul’s Cross to attend a speech by the mayor’s brother, Friar Shea. As part of his presentation, he cited a passage from the Bible stating that “Bastards should not take root”, which meant that Richard was the rightful heir to the throne. All eyes settled on Richard who was wearing purple and his Ducal coronet. The throng was quiet and respectful. Some remembered how bravely Richard had fought at Barnet and Twekesbury.

  Buckingham continued to encourage Richard. “You see that the people do not protest, Sire. They cannot cheer openly, for that would demean the late King, whom we all loved.”

  Richard nodded. “I think you are right, Henry. And your own eloquent speeches to the people, the Guild, and the Lords on my behalf are most appreciated. I am more confident that I have wide support should I be given the crown.”

  “And it will be so, my Lord. The Parliament, too, is aware of your growing acceptance by the people. They are convening a joint session of the Lords and Commons to propose a petition to offer you the crown. Of course, I will be present to affirm your right as heir to the throne and Defender of the Realm.” Buckingham was relishing his role as Kingmaker.

  Four days later, on June 26, the Parliament did indeed vote to petition the Lord Protector to take the crown for the sake of peace and security of the Kingdom. Buckingham brought the news to Richard and Anne in their home at Crosby Hall.

  Buckingham bowed. “M’Lady, m’Lord. It has happened. The Council is offering you the crown. The wondering is finally over. All week London seethed with speculation. Now they will know you have been offered the crown and there will be a firm government.”

  Anne’s heart skipped a beat as the impact of the moment whirled in her mind. Richard clasped her hand firmly, though he would have embraced her had Buckingham not been present.

  Buckingham continued, “We must consider how the petition will be accepted. The proper setting, the staging, the ceremony.”

  Anne stared at Buckingham as one word repeated in her head: Kingmaker. He was going on with a charming persuasiveness. “I must publicly urge you to the throne, Your Grace, in front of the nobles; indeed before as many as we can assemble. Perhaps at Baynard’s Castle. King Edward was at Baynard’s when he received word that he had been chosen King.”

  Anne tried hard to picture this flamboyant man, with his blue and yellow velvets, standing by Richard during that dangerous, tricky hour at Stony Stafford when he’d taken custody of the Queen’s older boy. Buckingham’s loyalty was beyond question. Perhaps, she thought, his way would help Richard appear less ambitious and be more dignified.

  Richard smiled, knowingly. “Well then, Henry, I will leave the staging, as you call it, to you. You have the knack for splendor and persuasion.”

  After Buckingham departed, Anne did embrace Richard and shed a tiny, happy tear. “There is no turning back now, my Love.”

  Richard kissed her gently and caressed her hair. “Our destiny is set, my Queen-to-be, and when I accept, I do so for you and Ned as well. And I pray the good Lord is with us as we take the mantle of responsibility for the Kingdom.”

  III. CHAPTER 21

  At Baynard’s Castle on June 26, while Anne and Aunt Cicely watched from the upper landing, Richard stood by the marble lion of the stairway and listened to Buckingham. The immense entranceway was full of nobles, prelates and even gentry and various citizens. Buckingham orated fervently and convincingly. Richard was dressed simply. Even as Buckingham spoke, Anne knew Richard wasn’t really listening. All the many mellifluous arguments of the Duke were for others. Once, Richard gazed up to where he must have been able to see Anne and Cicely. He fingered his collar of York roses and York suns. Otherwise, he was still.

  Cicely jerked Anne’s arm. “God’s bones, niece, he’s about to accept the crown.”

  “Yes. He believes the throne, the power of it, will protect us.”

  “Look at his face. Buckingham persuades all but him.”

  “Aunt, it’s hard for him.” She looked down at Richard. Only she, who knew him when his face was light with joy, could see the difference. “It’s agony for him.”

  “Let the Woodvilles have control and we will all know agony.” Cicely began to pace. Her skirts swished. Buckingham talked on. His words were lost in the vastness of the entranceway.

  Finally, Richard spoke and though his voice was low, it carried. His acceptance was brief and humble. He spoke of acceding to the wishes of the Lords and Commons. His face was pale and his knuckles protruded as he grasped the stairway rail.

  The massive retinue cheered. There was confusion, and then a swirl of movement and Richard was gone. At Westminster Hall, Richard formally declared himself King by taking the Royal Oath while seated on the King’s Bench. John Howard stood at his right. From this day, June 26, in 1483, he would date his reign.

  With his new authority, Richard made John Howard the Duke of Norfolk, and Howard’s eldest son, the Earl of Surrey. Francis Lovell became a Viscount, and Lord Chamberlain.

  The morning of the formal coronation, Anne awoke to find cheeks wet with tears and Richard bending over her. “Don’t weep, Anne. Today is a day of joy.”

  “I dreamed of Ned, Richard. He called out to us. I wish he were here.”

  “We’ll make a Royal Progress by the month’s end, Sweeting, and I will arrange for him to join us in York. After today we will find life more settled.

  “I hope this to be so. You will be greatly tasked trying to shape a whole new England.”

  “Anne, that will be my justification for assuming the throne. I must prove myself to the people, and those who have put their faith in me.”

  He said it quietly, but she knew his intense need for vindication. “Everyone already accepts you, Richard. Every noble of consequence is here for the coronation. The country is quiet. London’s festive with no disturbances. The Woodvilles remain in sanctuary. The boys are safe in the Tower. You don’t need justification.”

  “Perhaps it is myself I must satisfy.” He lightly kissed her shoulder. “When we were children, did you ever dream of such a day?”

  “You wove me a crown of purple clover.” The memory floated slowly before her. “Perhaps today was fated. It was ordained that you would wear the crown.”

  “Anne, fate or no, my reign will confirm the need for me to take the crown.”

  On July 6, the day of the coronation, all the bells of London began a peeling clamor. It was a warm, bright day. Walking barefoot in the procession, as was the custom, Anne felt with delight the soft tufts of grass between the sun-heated flagstones, as they moved from White Hall to Westminster Hall. With some regret, she viewed the great ribbon of red carpeting at the entrance to Westminster. She ruefully straightened her shoulders, and remembered the solemnness of the occasion. Resisting an impulse to curl her toes in the grass, she stepped onto the carpet.

  At Westminster Hall, Buckingham, ablaze in blue velvet adorned with a repeated design of his insignia, the Wheel, regrouped the procession. His concern was obsequious. He admired Anne’s dress, remarked it must be heavy, and hoped she wouldn’t feel faint. Having attended to this bit of courtesy, he saw to the spacing of the procession, adjusted the folds of Richard’s robes of purple velvet, and instructed the Warden of the Cinque Ports, men obviously awed by glitter, as to how to more gracefully carry the cloth of estate which was held on poles over Richard’s head. He made suggestions to the Royal musicians and coaxed a reluctant smile from the weathered face of Henry Percy of Northumberland, who had arrived in London in time to walk in the procession bearing the blunted Sword of Mercy.

  Anne su
ppressed a desire to say, “Enough Henry. We all know what to do.” The dress actually was heavy. It had, of course, been made under the supervision of Peter Curteys, Keeper of the Wardrobe, and was of gold cloth over purple damask, four and one-half weighty yards. On her head, was a circlet of gold set with precious stones, which Phillippa had rubbed and polished to a high luster that very morning. Phillippa had a seat in the Abbey itself. Anne thought of her mother and her son Ned. Ned, who was heir to the throne.

  She shifted on her bare feet and turned to Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond. The Countess looked serene, her gray eyes contemplative. “Pray, help me as much as you think seemly with the train of this gown, m’Lady.” Anne smiled. “It’s very heavy.”

  Margaret Beaufort’s distant gaze became aware. “Of course, Your Grace, I am pleased to serve you.”

  As does your husband, Lord Stanley, Anne thought. He had been pardoned for his part in the conspiracy against Richard, and today carried the Lord High Constable’s mace, though he didn’t hold that office. A second thought followed. This calm woman, by her first marriage, was the mother of Henry Tudor, a potential threat to Richard. Margaret’s eyes again regarded the far distance. Did she seek her husband ahead in the procession, or does she see as far as Brittany where her son, Henry Tudor, sulked?

  Anne turned to Elizabeth, Duchess of Suffolk, and Richard’s older sister, who followed her in the procession. ‘“You look very lovely,” she said untruthfully.

  Elizabeth of Suffolk grimaced; she seldom smiled, for her teeth had blackened. “I look ancient,” she replied phlegmatically. “My headdress hides the gray at least. Did you see my son? He will gather family honors today.

  “Yes, truly he will.” John de la Pole, Earl of Lincoln, was the handsome offspring of this faded woman. In the procession, he bore the Orb with a cross.