Anne of Warwick The Last Plantagenet Queen

by Paula Simonds Zabka

  “Dead.” She could barely say the word. “Where are their bodies?”

  “Buckingham didn’t know. He said they’d meant to hide them in the staircase to the White Tower, but they’d been taken away.

  “Who was the fake priest?”

  “James Tyrell. He was well disguised. Buckingham was hysterical anyway. Tyrell already knew what to expect.” Richard’s voice broke. “I knew just the same. When the Duke rebelled, I felt then that the boys were dead. They’d been dead for weeks.”

  “But no one else knows?”

  “No. And I dare not reveal it, though many speculate. What can I say? I can produce no evidence. I don’t even know where they’re buried. It will be whispered that I did this foul murder.”

  “Yes, there will be rumors. England is always windy with rumors.”

  Finally Richard looked at her. “But you know, Anne, in a way I did kill them. The King without a crown has no place to rest but a grave. I took the crown from Edward’s sons.”

  “Richard, they were proven to be bastards. You mustn’t think that.” She put her arms around him. “Put such thoughts behind you. You can’t rule filled with self-hate.”

  She could feel the tenseness of his muscles through the rich velvet. “Anne, I will keep faith with my subjects and rule justly with all my powers. But this knowledge will always be part of my waking hours.”

  “Perhaps the anguish will be a little less since you shared it. I would take all this agony from you, if I could.”

  Richard’s voice was subdued. “Just having you near gives me courage and continued hope for the Kingdom.”

  Anne kissed him gently on the cheek. “We must always have hope, Richard.”

  IV. CHAPTER 7

  Through the elaborate ceremonials of Christmas time, Anne stayed by her husband’s side while Londoners rejoiced that the King and Queen had found the regal touch. Merchants of the city readily advanced money and received some of the Royal treasure, which had been recovered from sanctuary, as pledges. Sir Edmund Shea, the mayor, purchased outright two hundred and seventy-five pounds of silver plate, and Stephen Gardiner lent sixty-six pounds for a salt cellar of gold. Richard concentrated on securing the loyalty of the citizens, especially in Kent where the rebellion had been widespread. He rewarded those who helped put down the insurrections and capture rebels. It was important to him that allegiance to the crown be acknowledged.

  The halls of Westminster were filled with familiar faces. The Howards came for the season and Aunt Cicely, holding her own Court at Baynard’s, managed every festivity at Westminster. Nan and Francis Lovell had their own rooms when they wished to stay overnight, as did friends from Yorkshire.

  It was in this mood that Anne rejoiced in the holiday season. The wild rumors that buzzed through Westminster didn’t bother her. Phillippa, who had accompanied her south, conveyed an observation. “Tis said Henry Tudor, in a special ceremony, pledged to marry the late King Edward’s daughter, Elizabeth, when he invades England.”

  Anne remembered the little girl who’d danced sleepily with her tall father at Windsor. She must be a beautiful young woman now. “Henry Tudor wouldn’t dare to invade England, Phillippa.”

  Phillippa was still concerned. “I hear there is much piracy on the Channel, m’Lady. Even now Brittany attacks our ships. The wool trade is off. And you think this Tudor jack-a-nape won’t dare England?”

  “Most unlikely, Phillippa. The King has alerted all the shipping ports and assigned the Duke of Norfolk to pursue the Breton fleet in the Channel. He has also provided convoys for the merchant ships.”

  Phillippa looked away. “M’Lady, I have also heard whispers about the boy bastards.”

  Anne looked hard at Phillippa. “You must not discuss such things with others, Phillippa. Don’t even imagine that the King could be involved.”

  She went pale. “Oh, m’Lady ....”

  Anne held a finger over her lips. “The rumors are all false. Someone spreads them intentionally. Phillippa, you’ve known the King since he was a boy. Believe in what you know.”

  “You’re right, m’Lady. Thank you. And God protect King Richard from his foes and all false rumors.”

  “Do not worry yourself, Phillippa. When Parliament convenes in January, the King has many plans for the realm. He, Richard Ratcliffe and Will Catesby have worked long hours to present ideas to bring more fairness and justice to all subjects of the Kingdom. They are preparing many recommendations for both Lords and Commons. A better England will emerge.”

  Phillippa smiled at her mistress and began to comb her hair. “M’Lady, a Queen so lovely shouldn’t bother about men’s business. England has waited long years for a gracious Queen.”

  “Phillippa, you’ll yet make me feel vain.”

  On January 23, 1484, while still conducting naval warfare against Brittany and sending envoys to Duke Francis to sue for peace, Richard called together a High Court of Parliament, the Kingdom’s representative legislature. Anne watched Richard’s demeanor every passing day of the session. Even when tired, she perceived more satisfaction and serenity in his being. He didn’t have time to think of the Princes or Henry Tudor, only the future blueprint for a new and just England. With growing hopefulness, he described a session to Anne.

  “I sit on a dais in the Painted Chamber at Westminster Hall, holding the Scepter of Authority. The Lords lounge in chairs in front. Behind them stand the Commons, restless, often rude. The bishops sit on cushioned benches in front. Like the Lords, they find the Commons, who mutter and stir behind them, an annoying lot. They’re elected and speak for their towns or boroughs. They dress like tradesmen and smell of sweat.”

  “Should I send some perfume?” Anne knew Richard was trying to reach out to these men of England.

  Richard laughed too. “Does perfume kill fleas?”

  Then Richard’s face grew serious. “I did not ask for money, the usual reasoning for summoning a Parliament, I pressed for the reforms Catesby and I worked on.”

  “Can you get reform without angering the Lords and men of power?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Possibly.” Richard shrugged. “But Anne I must reward the people’s allegiance with justice and meaningful changes that benefit all.”

  Anne was silent, thinking of the betrayals and political storms Richard had survived. Strong, yet vulnerably human.

  And it was done. On the following Monday, the Commons elected Will Catesby as Speaker, and then enacted the Titulus Regis, which settled the crown upon Richard, and proclaimed Ned as heir to the throne.

  Over the roaring protests of Henry Percy of Northumberland, as well as lesser nobles, many reforms were pushed through.

  Afterwards, Richard joined Anne, and she knew he had once again found some inner peace. “It was well done, Sweeting. So many new laws. All long needed. The Commons left rejoicing. The Lords will come to accept the changes.”

  “Will Northumberland accept the changes?”

  “Ah, Percy was in a fine boil.” Richard laughed. “He likes none of it. No longer can he confiscate property. But he was pleased that Parliament removed all attainders from the House of Percy and returned to him all lands confiscated since the time of Henry IV.”

  “He could still be a powerful enemy, Richard.”

  “So could others. But the people of England are now safe under the law. Juries will be set up properly, made up of respectable citizens, and not scoundrels bent on private vengeance. Those not yet judged are to be treated with decency, until found innocent or guilty. Economic injustices will be righted and abusive laws corrected. All these changes and other reforms will take months, perhaps years, but I’ve started.”

  She poured two goblets of warmed, spiced wine and handed him one. “To you and the beginning.”

  He lifted his own goblet. “And to my beautiful Queen, who has been my inspiration.”

  The wine spread warmth through her. “And now we can go
to Middleham, and Ned?”

  “Soon, Anne. There’s still one matter, one canker at the very heart of the realm.”

  “Elizabeth Woodville?”

  “Yes, she and her daughters are still in sanctuary. I’m told the younger girls feel the cold. I would have them come out. It would stop the rumors if Elizabeth Woodville trusted herself and her daughters to my protection.”

  “But she refuses to even negotiate?”

  “Yes. Anne, go to her. Talk to her as a woman. She must detest sanctuary, for her an utterly boring place.” He smiled grimly. “I don’t know what will persuade her, but I think somehow you can do what no man can. There’s no reason, now, for her to be in virtual imprisonment. Tell her that her daughters will be treated with every kindness.”

  “Richard, it’s said Henry Tudor has made a vow to marry the oldest girl.”

  “I know.” He shrugged. “I’ve lost track of how many have sworn to marry that child. Once it was the Dauphin of France.”

  Anne felt relaxed by his nonchalance. “Well, the young Elizabeth is undoubtedly pretty. She’ll marry quickly enough if I persuade her mother to return to Court. And her sisters will wed too. I will try, Richard.”

  “I will be most grateful, Anne. Much as I’ve loathed the mother, I don’t want them cowering in Westminster. Sir John Nesfield will arrange for you to see them. He, wretched fellow, guards the sanctuary. He swears there was never a more thankless job.”

  Anne finished her wine and stood up. “Wish me good fortune then.”

  “Sweeting, take care. Don’t let the Woodville woman insult you. She has a spiteful tongue. It’s why I’ve waited so long before asking this of you. Everyone else has failed.”

  A memory of the confrontation with Margaret of Anjou in France, raced through Anne’s mind. “Richard, I’m not afraid of words.”

  IV. CHAPTER 8

  John Nesfield led the Queen into the presence of Elizabeth Woodville, bowing profusely all the way. Elizabeth and her daughters awaited her in the Abbot’s Chamber. The wall of oak paneling needed repairs. A circular hearth in the middle of the room gave inadequate heat, and rushes only partially covered the stone floor. In the distance, monks chanted prayers, and behind Anne, her ladies murmured nervously.

  She saw at a quick glance that the five girls were indeed beautiful. Elizabeth Woodville, however, had aged beyond her years. Chilblain scarred her hands. In that silent moment, Elizabeth picked up the youngest, little Bridget, and spoke with venom.

  “Well, Warwick’s daughter?”

  “Madam, I’m here to ask you and your daughters to come forth.”

  “And why should I, pray tell?”

  “This isn’t a fit nor healthy place for you. And your daughters will be welcomed to Court.”

  “As bastards?”

  “Madam, I can’t undo the law.”

  Elizabeth put down the child, and motioned with her head for Anne to follow her to the abbot’s private writing chamber.

  “I’ve nothing to say to you.” The Dowager Queen bit her lips, and her cheeks reddened further under the paste. “I see you have it fine now. I can remember when you and your father were under attainder.”

  In the small room, the servants, under the direction of John Nesfield, quickly built a fire, brought wine and sweets.

  Anne waited by the window looking out at the frosted garden, where the bare branches of the shrubbery protruded brown and gaunt against the snow. When the servants left, she turned to Elizabeth. “Madam, I’ll be brief. You don’t cherish my company, nor I yours.” Anne walked over to the fire. “You know the conditions offered, and to which the King will swear in public, that if your daughters come forth from sanctuary they’ll be treated well for the term of their lives and have proper marriages arranged.”

  Anne paused and picked up a wine glass, twisting it in her hands. “You, Madam, will retire from Court, but you’ll be supported to the extent of seven hundred marks a year.”

  “Is the King so afraid of me? A hapless woman?” Elizabeth crumbled a small cake in her fingers and the crumbs dropped to the rushes. “Why doesn’t Gloucester come?”

  Anne wished she could take this woman and shake her as one might a stubborn child. “The King is striving to see that all receive justice, including your daughters. They are guilty of no crime.”

  “Yet they are kept in this place not fit for a scullion. Shabby and dank.” Her face was close to Anne’s. “But at least they are alive. Gloucester had my brother Anthony beheaded.”

  “He was guilty of treason, as were Hastings and Buckingham.” Anne swallowed. She knew the next question.

  “And my sons? Mother of Christ, tell me the truth.”

  Anne observed fine lines that crossed Elizabeth’s once perfect skin. A dim pity stirred in the Queen. “Madam, we don’t know.” Anne swallowed her wine at a gulp. “They were guarded by Brackenbury, a man of honor.”

  “Where are they? Let me see them.”

  Anne steadied herself against a faintness born from the cold. She moved closer to the smoky fire and grimaced at the terrible question.

  “I would if Buckingham were still alive. He could have answered you.”

  “Buckingham! The viper. What did he have to do with this?”

  “We think he took the boys from the Tower.”

  “Then they might be alive?” Joy leapt into her face. For a moment the blue eyes were wide and beautiful.

  “Madame, they’re missing; no one knows their whereabouts. I don’t want to bring you false hope. They came to no harm through my Lord husband.” Anne knew then she could never say the word dead, even to Elizabeth Woodville.

  The woman whirled about and violently pulled the crucifix from the wall where it hung above the prie-dieu. “Swear you, swear by this that the King didn’t have them murdered.”

  Weariness gripped Anne, and cold perspiration covered her body. Elizabeth Woodville pushed the crucifix close to her face. It blurred in her vision. She closed her eyes and kissed the miniature feet of the dying Jesus. “I swear it.”

  Elizabeth sank on the prie-dieu. “They told me Gloucester killed my boys. I always wondered about Buckingham. He despised all Lancastrians. He treated my sister Katherine shabbily, I’m glad he’s dead.”

  The Queen watched her in silence. She must guess her sons too were dead, yet she spoke of old grudges. “Then you’ll come forth, Madam?”

  “Perhaps. Since the usurper asks it.” From the prie-dieu the words bounced back full of mockery.

  Anne could see how easily she’d destroyed Edward. Such self-centered callousness would be a power unto itself.

  “Madame, save your sarcasm for someone who cares. Think of your daughters.”

  The chilblained hands moved slightly and grasped the velvet railing of the prie-dieu. It wasn’t a trembling, but paroxysm of anger when she shouted, “Why care you, Warwick’s daughter? I know you loathe me.”

  “No.” Anne was surprised at her tone. “Hate is a destroyer. I don’t have time for it.”

  Elizabeth rose regally, head high. “You’re very thin, Anne of Warwick. Perhaps your husband is looking for a new wife, like my oldest girl. A fertile wife.”

  “You’re a fool, Elizabeth Woodville. A proud fool.”

  She gasped. “How dare you.”

  “Madam, I’m now the Queen. Your day is over. Do as you wish.” Anne turned to leave.

  “Wait.” Her hand pulled at the edge of Anne’s cloak. “Just tell me, why should I come forth?”

  “For the good of the realm, which means nothing to you, and for the sake of your daughters, which may.” Fatigue pressed down on Anne’s body and mind. “Choose now. I’ve no more time.”

  Alarm crossed Elizabeth’s face. “I’ll come forth. This place is fit only for moles. Send Parliamentary representatives. It will be done as you wish.”

  Anne nodded. The former Queen would go into retirement. She never again would see this woman who had chastised her on the quay as a young girl.
Anne smiled a little. “Don’t console yourself by believing I care about you, Madam.” The weariness was upon her, and Anne turned toward her waiting attendants. She didn’t look back. If Elizabeth Woodville said farewell, she didn’t hear it. To Richard, she reported simply that the Dowager Queen and the girls were now prepared to leave sanctuary.

  “And how did you persuade her when all the most distinguished lawyers and clerics couldn’t?” Richard sat down beside his wife on the padded window seat overlooking the gray Thames. Anne watched the rushing river. “I told her no harm had come to the boys through you. She never trusted Buckingham. She was bored with sanctuary and weary of the conditions under which she lived.”

  “You make it sound so simple. I thank you, Sweeting, for a thankless mission. It was a reproof to my rule to have my own nieces cowering in Westminster. They’ll be well cared for.”

  “Yet I fear it won’t stop the rumors, Richard. They seem to drift down from the Fen Country. Isn’t that Bishop Morton’s home?”

  “Yes. But who can say I am to blame for the boys’ death, when their sisters place themselves in my custody?”

  “Only those, my Love, who’d do the deed were they in your place.”

  Anne turned from the window and looked about the chamber.

  It was warm, like summertime, though there was a faint scent of evergreen in the air, evoking memories of Christmas. She walked over to her dressing table and began to take off the heavy jewelry rank demanded. “Richard, all here in London has gone well for you. Someday perhaps I’ll think of myself as a Londoner.”

  “Anne, you and I are London, and York, and England.”

  “And with this Parliament, a New England has begun. Your mark is on the realm.”

  She dropped the jeweled collar on the dressing table and sat on Richard’s lap, curling in his arms. “When are we going north? Ned waits at Middleham. I know he’ll look for us everyday when the thaws begin.”

  Richard’s lips were against her cheek. “The first week in March. We’ll go, though the roads be a morass of mud and slush. I have promised to stop at Cambridge on my next journey north, and so we will, if it pleases you.”