The Sun in Splendour

Chapter V RICHARD’S WOOING

So Warwick was dead. Killed in battle and against the one whom he had taught to command armies. Edward was sad.

He should be rejoicing, of course. Warwick was his enemy ... No, he could never accept him as such. They were fighting against each other but it never should have been. He should have talked to me. We should have reasoned together, thought Edward. It was either him or Elizabeth for it was my marriage that turned him from me. He was never the same after that. The sore had been opened and it had continued to fester although Warwick had pretended that it had healed. Warwick wanted to be supreme. He was supreme in his way. He had learned so much in a life dedicated to the getting of power. It was power Warwick had wanted. Not a crown as so many men did. But power. He wanted to be the one who set up kings and brought them down. He had been, for that was exactly what he had done.

But no more, my one-time friend and erstwhile enemy. No more.

It was foolish of him to feel thus. He should be rejoicing. He must tell no one of his true feelings ... not even Elizabeth. Certainly not Elizabeth. She would think him soft and foolish. He was not soft. None could be more ruthless when the occasion demanded, but Warwick ... Warwick had been his friend, his ideal, his god. He could not stop thinking of the early days when he had been a young boy. He listened to Warwick; he tried to be like Warwick. He was Warwick’s. That was why Warwick had made him King.

But boys grow up. They have wills of their own. They change, Warwick. You hated the Woodvilles but the Woodvilles are Elizabeth’s family, Warwick; it is natural that she should wish to advance them. You saw them becoming more powerful than the Nevilles ... so you turned against me who had made them so.

And now it has come to this. Dead ... No more to harass me as once you helped me. Dead, dear friend and enemy.

He went to see the dead body. It was harrowing. Once so proud, once invincible ... but we are all vulnerable. There comes a time in our lives when death beckons and kings and even kingmakers must obey.

His body would have to be on show for a while so that there should be no rumours that he still lived. He would have his enemies but legends and in particular living legends were always the hardest to overcome.

He looked so vulnerable stripped of his fine armour. Soldiers had robbed him of it. His own guards had found them engaged in that when they rode up to save his life, for Edward had been eager to save him. He would have forgiven him, as he had forgiven Clarence, and he believed that they could have been friends again.

But they had come too late. He was already dead, and there was nothing that could be done but take the corpse to St Paul’s Cathedral and there let it lie for those two days that all who wished might assure themselves that Warwick was dead.

‘Let him be buried with all honour and respect with his parents and brother Thomas in Bisham Abbey,’ said Edward.

So all knew that the great Kingmaker had died in deadly combat with the man whom he had made King.

It was the passing of an era.

So he was back in London with Elizabeth and his family – the triumphant victor. He had brought Henry with him and had now installed him in the Wakefield Tower. Poor trusting Henry who seemed happy to be back within those constricting walls. Edward had felt a little shamefaced when poor Henry had expressed his trust in him. Henry was an encumbrance but to have him removed would make him an even greater threat. Moreover there was still the young Prince Edward. If Henry were gone people would only transfer their loyalty to him. While those two lived Edward would always have to be watchful.

But in the meantime victory. Warwick was dead and although he could not rejoice wholeheartedly none could doubt this was in his favour.

He savoured those few days in Baynard’s Castle with Elizabeth. He was glad of her coolness and the irresistible urge to break it down was possibly what had kept his passion so alive. He might go with others but he would always return to her. She was unique. Moreover she was the mother of the royal children. Sometimes he had uneasy thoughts of Eleanor Butler and that ceremony through which he had gone. But Eleanor was dead now and that was all in the past. But he had discovered that she had been alive at the time of that secret ceremony at Grafton. And if that ceremony were binding then what of Elizabeth and the children?

Oh it was long since forgotten and if anyone started to probe into that woe betide them.

So he put it out of his mind and savoured these few days of respite for it was pleasant to be shut in with this happy family atmosphere even if it were only temporary. Elizabeth had quickly filled the nursery with people whom she considered necessary to the Prince’s rank. There was a widow named Avice Wells who was nurse to the Prince; and there was Elizabeth Darcy who was mistress of the little Prince’s nursery. That was not enough and Elizabeth persuaded Edward that their little son should have a chamberlain.

That had amused Edward.

‘At his age, my dear. Why should a baby not a year old need a chamberlain?’

‘To carry him in ceremonies ... for the people must get to know their Prince. And they must be aware at once, Edward, of the importance of the Prince.’

So to please her he had appointed one of his own best servants, Thomas Vaughan, to attend the Prince at all times.

Young Edward lay contentedly in his cradle unaware of all the fuss that was going on around him.

Into this happy domestic scene the news burst. Edward had been waiting for it and now that it had come immediate action was imperative.

Margaret of Anjou and her son Edward, calling himself Prince of Wales, had landed at Weymouth.

Anne was waiting in the small religious house outside Tewkesbury, well aware that the battle was raging between the troops of Edward of York and those who had rallied to the banner of King Henry. She knew that her father had been slain at Barnet and in her heart she felt there was little hope of victory without him.

She wanted nothing more than an end to this war. They had betrothed her to the Prince and she believed that they might live in some sort of harmony together. She was not forceful like Margaret and would not attempt to impose her will on anyone. She often thought of Richard of Gloucester and this odd turn of fate which had set them on different sides. Richard would be beside his brother whatever happened; and she of course had to be on her father’s.

Yet I care nothing for their wars, she thought.

How different was Margaret. A pleasant relationship had grown up between them which was strange because they were so different – she so docile, Margaret so fierce. Poor Margaret! It had been a fearful blow to her when she had heard that Warwick was dead. She was rather frightening in her rages, when she cursed everything and everyone in sight.

And now she had gone off with the troops to fight against Edward, and that other Edward, Anne’s betrothed, was with her. Anne herself was bewildered. To wish them success would be to wish Richard defeat and in her heart she could not do that. She did not know what to pray for, what to hope for; she felt lost and bewildered.

At this moment the battle was raging and at any time she might know the result.

She went to the top of the house and looked out on the road. She sat there for a long time ... waiting.

Then at last she saw them coming ... a bedraggled party ... and riding with them was Margaret and she knew that tragedy had struck.

Margaret was overwhelmed by her grief. This was the end. It was painful to see a proud woman so bereft of everything but her sorrow.

Her son was dead ... killed in battle, and she would never be the same again. Much of the fire had gone from her and she had become an old woman.

Anne tried to comfort her, but there was no comfort for Margaret.

‘All that youth ... all that beauty ... gone ... gone,’ she mourned. ‘They murdered him. They could have left me my son. We are lost. There can be nothing more. They have my husband in the Tower ... they have killed my son. All my hope was in him ... I have lost my beautiful boy and you my child have lost your husband.’

Anne did not know what to do. She tried to soothe Margaret; she took her to a quiet room and somehow induced her to lie upon a bed. Poor Margaret lay still for a while staring up blankly into misery.

But she could not remain passive for long. She rose. She began to call curses on everyone, but most of all on the man she called the Usurper. ‘Edward who calls himself King ... he has murdered my beautiful son and may his soul rot in hell.’

It was foolish to give way to her anger for there were those to carry an account of her curses to Edward. He was usually lenient to his enemies but she made him uneasy with her curses; and the death of the Prince had brought about new complications which were occupying his thoughts. Henry had been safe while Edward lived for to have removed Henry would have been of no avail while his son was there to step into his shoes. But now there was no Lancastrian heir. There was only a half-imbecile recluse between Edward and safety.

All the same Margaret must be silenced. Fortunately the people had always hated her and without her son and her husband she would be no danger at all.

While he was considering these matters news came to him of an insurrection which had broken out in the North. He started to march north but had only got as far as Coventry when he heard that the Bastard Falconbridge had landed in England and was marching on London. This man was an illegitimate son of William Neville Baron of Falconbridge whom Warwick had made Captain of his navy, the duty of which was to cruise about the Channel and intercept any ships which Edward might be sending to France. This was far more serious than any rising in the North and Edward immediately turned and began to march south.

Hearing that Falconbridge had come through Kent recruiting men to follow him and fight for King Henry, and that he had reached Aldgate and when refused admission by the Londoners had set fire to the eastern outskirts of the city, Elizabeth was terrified. Her brother Earl Rivers advised her not to go into Sanctuary this time but to stay in the Tower which was well fortified for he was sure that Edward would soon arrive to quell this petty revolt.

He was right and when the Bastard realised that Edward’s mighty and victorious army was marching against him and that the battle of Tewkesbury had decided that the cause of the Red Rose was lost, he knew that his only chance lay in flight.

He scattered his followers and they escaped as well as they could, the Bastard himself reaching Southampton where he was captured, taken to Middleham and there beheaded.

It was the end of resistance, and Edward could now count himself victorious. There was only Margaret, whom he intended to hold captive, and poor mad Henry in the Tower.

Margaret and Anne were brought to London where the King was planning to make his triumphant entry into the city. He could not forget the curses Margaret had uttered against him and he wanted her – and everyone – to realise that she was finally defeated. He gave orders that she and Anne Neville should ride in the procession; they should share the same chariot and it should be made clear that they were prisoners. Instead of riding in triumph as no doubt Margaret had imagined herself doing, she should come in humiliation. She should listen to the jeers of the people for her, the humiliated captive.

Edward was cheered wildly by the people of London. This procession, this triumphant entry meant that the war was over. This big handsome man was their King and he was the King they wanted because he could bring prosperity and peace back to the country.

And there were the captives – arrogant Margaret who brought trouble from the moment she stepped ashore as Henry’s bride and with her poor pale little Anne Neville, heiress daughter of the great Earl who had hoped she would be Queen of England.

There were jeers for Margaret and no great sympathy for Anne. They had a handsome Queen. It was true she had sought favours for her family; but she had lived through the difficult days in Sanctuary and while there had produced the all-important male heir. Moreover she was beautiful and never could a more handsome King and Queen have graced a throne.

So all was well. Peace had come. Edward had vanquished his enemy. Was this the end then of the Wars of the Roses?

They believed so and as they were heartily sick of wars they cheered the man who had brought them peace.

Back to the Palace of the Tower. There to rest after the procession. Margaret and Anne were taken into separate apartments while the King and his company went to the dining-hall to the feast which had been prepared for them.

Richard was on one side of the King, Elizabeth on the other. Edward felt a deep affection for this brother who had never shown anything but loyalty to him; it was wonderful to have someone whom he could trust.

But Richard was sad. The sight of Anne seated beside Margaret in the chariot had touched him deeply. Poor little Anne, who had done nothing but what she had been made to. He could not forget her and memories of childhood days were flooding back to him.

Edward was saying: ‘Young Edward is dead. There is only Henry now.’

‘And he is a near imbecile,’ murmured Hastings.

‘A figurehead still!’ mused Edward. ‘They were rising in the North in his name. There will never be complete peace while that name can be used to give traitors a reason for rising.’

There was a deep silence about the table which lasted for some moments. Edward was staring thoughtfully ahead.

That night Henry the Sixth was murdered in the Wakefield Tower.

So Henry was dead. There were rumours of course for he had died at a most convenient time. His body had lain at St Paul’s with the face exposed so that all might see him, and the talk continued that his body had bled as he lay in his shroud. Afterwards he was kept for a while at Black Friars and then taken by barge to Chertsey Abbey to be buried in the lady chapel there.

It may have been, said the people, that his death had been arranged on the King’s orders, but even so, it was an end to strife and if it did mean that a few ruthless actions must be performed to bring about peace, then so must it be.

Within a few weeks people ceased to talk about Henry. The war was over. Edward had come to stay.

But Richard could not stop thinking about Anne seated in the chariot with the fierce Margaret of Anjou – not fierce any more. The death of her son had subdued even her revengeful spirit and left her with no energy for anything but to mourn.

He did not know whether Anne considered herself as a wife to Prince Edward, but whether she did or not he was dead and she was free now. Free for what, to remain Edward’s prisoner in the Tower? Free to marry perhaps if a husband could be found for her?

Richard went to Edward for he had been making up his mind to speak to his brother from the moment he had seen Anne in the procession.

Edward was always pleased to see his brother, and as Richard entered his private chamber he studied him thoughtfully. How different he was from the flamboyantly handsome figure Edward knew he cut. Richard was of middle stature – perhaps a little lower, his face very serious, with the open looks of an honest man. So far he had not been called upon to dissemble. It would come, Edward guessed. But perhaps it did not to all men. In any case he smiled warmly and asked what troubled his brother that he looked so serious.

‘I have been wanting to speak to you for some time, Edward. There is a matter which is much on my mind.’

‘Well?’

‘It’s Anne ... Anne Neville.’

‘Ah,’ said Edward. ‘You have a weakness for the girl. I always knew it.’

‘I cannot bear that she should be here ... a prisoner in the Tower.’

‘Poor girl! She could not help being Warwick’s daughter.’

‘I want to marry her, Edward.’

‘Yes, I thought so. Well, what are you waiting for?’

A great smile crossed Richard’s face making him look so different.

‘My dear Dickon,’ said Edward, ‘why do you not go ahead? You wanted my blessing eh, good brother that you are! In these matters you should follow my golden example and marry where you will.’

‘I intended to,’ said Richard.

‘Good for you. I like a man to know his own mind. But being you, you asked me first. I say go ahead. Our brother had one girl and you are to have her sister. And the greatest heiresses in the kingdom. Warwick was a very rich man! He had a genius for collecting wealth. I know he regretted not having a son largely because of those vast estates he managed to accumulate. Well, your Anne is a wealthy woman, co-heiress to the Warwick estates with her sister Isabel.’

Edward stopped and looked intently at his brother.

Then he said slowly: ‘There may be trouble from George.’

‘George ... why should there be?’

‘My dear Dickon, you know George. He married Isabel for her fortune. He believes that now that Anne is in the Tower and was betrothed – some say married – to Henry’s son she is our enemy and should forfeit her estates. In which case Isabel will become doubly wealthy with a whole share instead of a half.’

‘Oh, no.’

‘Perhaps not. However, dear brother, go ahead and good luck attend your wooing.’

It was late afternoon of the next day when Richard went to Anne’s apartment in the Tower. He had thought what he would say to her. He was remembering that she had undergone an ordeal and he was certain that she would be shocked. What her feelings had been for Prince Edward he did not know; he had heard that she had become friendly with Margaret of Anjou; she would have witnessed that lady’s overwhelming grief ... perhaps she had shared it. He did not want to hurry her. It may have been that her feelings had changed since they were children. She was not much more than fifteen now. He wanted to proceed with gentleness and tenderness. He would feel his way cautiously, reminding her of long ago days at Middleham, try to awaken those feelings they had obviously felt for each other. He was longing to see her and yet he wanted to be prepared. He felt their first meeting would be very important to them both.

He knew where her apartment was. Both she and Margaret had been given fairly comfortable lodgings; Edward was never vengeful ... and although Margaret had caused him a great deal of trouble he shrugged his shoulders and thought that just in the nature of things.

When he reached Anne’s lodging he was surprised to find it empty.

He called one of the guards.

‘Where is the Lady Anne?’ he asked.

‘My lord,’ was the answer, ‘she was taken away this morning.’

‘Taken away! But who had the right to do that?’

‘It was the Duke of Clarence, my lord. He said he was taking her to her sister, and that he would have charge of her in the future.’

Richard was astounded. Why should George suddenly have decided to take Anne away?

However, he would go to his brother’s London residence and see Anne there.

As he made his way to the Clarences’ house a thought occurred to him. Had his brother guessed what he was planning? How could he have known? Because he was aware that Richard was fond of Anne? Because Anne was now free? Had one of his spies overheard Richard talking to Edward about his intentions? That was possible. George had spies everywhere. George lived dramatically and made drama where it need not exist. George was up to something. Why should he suddenly express an interest in Anne to whom he had been quite indifferent before?

Richard would find out.

He arrived at his brother’s house where he was received with great deference by his servants, and he said that he understood the Lady Anne was there and he wished to be conducted to her.

If he would kindly wait for a moment the servants would go and do what was necessary.

It was not Anne who presented herself to him, however, but George.

George came hurrying in, an affable smile on his handsome face, a little bloated nowadays through too much good living especially excessive drinking, charming in a way, a pale shadow of Edward.

‘Richard, dear brother, how good of you to call on me.’

Richard was always direct. ‘You look well, George,’ he said. ‘I have in fact come to see Anne.’

‘Ah,’ said George, looking serious.

‘What is wrong? She is here is she not?’

‘Y ... yes, she is here. She is in her sister’s care.’

‘Why?’

‘Why, brother. Who else should look after her but her sister? You know what good friends Isabel and Anne always were.’

‘Does she need ... looking after. Is she ill?’

‘I fear so. You see, she has suffered a terrible ordeal. She lost her father, and then the Prince ... It is too much for the poor girl.’

‘I wish to speak to her.’

‘I’m afraid you cannot do that. She is not well enough to receive visitors.’

‘Visitors! I am no ordinary visitor! Anne may want to see me. Please tell her that I am here and that I have come for the very purpose of talking to her.’

George’s face hardened. ‘No, brother. You cannot see her.’

‘I demand to see her.’

‘It is no use demanding here, my lord of Gloucester. This is my house. Anne is my ward. I am the one who shall say whom she will receive.’

‘What is the matter with you?’

‘I am her brother-in-law ... her nearest relation through Isabel. Isabel and I will look after her. She is in my hands. You have come here to ask her to marry you, have you not?’ George was always unable to control his anger and he was angry now. He had meant to be subtle, to ward off Richard but when his brother stood before him and he realised how strong Richard could be in his quiet way, his anger flared up. He had been informed that Richard intended to marry Anne and he thought his motive was the same as his own had been in marrying Isabel: the Warwick fortune.

‘Yes,’ said Richard steadily, ‘I intend to marry Anne if she is agreeable.’

‘You intend to marry a fortune, eh? That is what you are after. You think you’ll have your share of Warwick’s estate.’

‘I was thinking of Anne ...’

‘Oh brother, how noble you are! I know you well. Quiet, serious, loyal always to brother Edward. Well it paid to be so, eh? And now you think you will come along to that poor desolate girl and tell her she must marry you ... not for her fortune ... oh no, no, but because you were always such good friends at Middleham. But you will not say no to the Warwick estates, will you? My dear brother, Anne has been on the side of the enemies of our brother the King. For that she may well forfeit her estates.’

‘You fought with the enemies of the King, George. Will you forfeit your estates? And Anne has never fought. She did what she was obliged to. You know it and Edward knows it. Now I will see her.’

George was facing him. ‘You cannot see her. She is too sick to be seen. Only Isabel is with her.’

‘You’re lying, George.’

‘You are my brother and I do not want to quarrel with you but if you attempt to invade my house against my wishes my guards will stop you on my orders.’

‘I have not come here for a brawl.’

‘Then go, brother, before you provoke one.’

George’s face was scarlet, his slightly bloodshot eyes bulging with rage. Richard knew George. When he was angry he lost control. He would be capable of anything.

The last thing Richard wanted was a quarrel with his brother which in George’s present mood could result in the death of one of them. He turned on his heel and walked away.

He would put the matter to Edward and demand to see Anne. He was sure Edward would be on his side. Edward was devoted to him and was always suspicious of George. He knew what Edward’s verdict would be and even George would have to consider very carefully before going against the wishes of the King.

Edward listened thoughtfully to what had occurred.

‘It is clear what this means,’ he said. ‘George wants the entire Warwick fortune. He thinks by keeping Anne in his control he will get it through Isabel. Where George is, there is always trouble. Sometimes I wonder where it will lead us in the end. How dare he talk about Anne’s fighting against me! He is completely brazen. Consider how he went to Warwick and actually took up arms against me. I don’t know why I am so lenient with him. It is because he is my brother, I suppose. He was such a bright little fellow when he was young, and then his little wickednesses seemed amusing. But no longer so. I will let George know that he shall do nothing to impede you.’

‘I fear he may be keeping Anne there against her will. If I could see her ...’

‘You shall. I will let George know that Anne is to receive you at his house and you can talk to her and make your plans.’

Richard thanked his brother and Edward immediately sent off a messenger to George to tell him that when Richard called he was to see the Lady Anne and if he, George, prevented this he would have to answer to the King.

Giving George time to receive the King’s order Richard rode out to Clarence’s house where his brother was waiting for him. George looked complacent and for a moment Richard thought he had decided to accept Edward’s decision.

‘I have come to see the Lady Anne,’ he said. ‘I pray you have me conducted to her apartments at once.’

‘Alas,’ said George, holding his hands together and looking piously up at the roof, ‘you are too late, Richard. The Lady Anne is no longer here.’

‘No longer here? Why ... she was here ...’

‘She was but now she is not.’

‘Then where is she?’

‘I have heard from my brother that I do not hold the wardship of the lady and therefore her whereabouts can be no concern of mine.’

‘You lie.’

‘Indeed not. I assure you she is no longer in this house.’

‘I do not believe you.’

‘Dear brother, you may search the place. You may question my servants. You must discover for yourself. In fact I wish you to. I cannot have you spreading stories that I have the lady in secret hiding here.’

Richard said: ‘I will search your house.’

‘Go ahead. Feel welcome to ask anyone in the house to help you.’

Richard went to the staircase. He found Isabel in one of the corridors and he wondered if she had been listening to the altercation between himself and George.

‘Isabel,’ he said and took her hand and kissed it. She looked frightened. He had always liked Isabel although naturally his feelings did not go as deep for her as they did for Anne. ‘Where is your sister?’

‘I do not know, Richard,’ she said. ‘She has disappeared. I went to her room to talk to her and she had gone.’

‘Gone! But where to?’

‘I have no idea. It is as though she left in a hurry. I believe she has run away.’

‘But where could she run to?’

‘I thought perhaps to our mother.’

‘Your mother is at Beaulieu is she not?’

‘Yes, in Sanctuary there on the King’s orders.’

Richard nodded. It was a sad state of affairs but the Countess was of course the wife of Warwick who had brought an army against the King. All the Countess’s lands had been confiscated. That was probably due to George who naturally wanted the whole of the Warwick inheritance to go to Isabel.

‘Isabel, can you assure me that she is not hidden away somewhere in this house?’

‘I have searched for her and cannot find her. Oh Richard, what do you think has become of her?’

‘Do you think she is running away from George?’

‘He has not been unkind to her.’

‘He tried to keep her a prisoner here and when I called he would not allow me to see her. Did she know that?’

Isabel shook her head. ‘Unless George told her. I did not know you had been here.’

‘Edward has commanded that nothing be put in the way of my seeing her.’

‘But she is gone, Richard.’

‘I believe George has sent her away,’ said Richard tightlipped.

‘I do not know. He tells me nothing. Oh Richard, Anne would be so pleased if she knew you wanted to see her. She talked of you often. I think she thought you had deserted her after all that happened.’

‘My God, Isabel, it was no fault of Anne’s! Did she not think I knew that! But I’ll find her. I swear I will. Now I am going to search this house ... every room ... every nook ... everywhere. You understand, Isabel, I must satisfy myself that she is not here.’

‘I understand, Richard. Go and search. I do not think you will find her. I myself have looked everywhere. I am so worried as to what has become of her.’

Isabel was right. He searched but there was no trace of Anne.

Richard visited the Countess at Beaulieu. He found a very sad woman. She was very anxious for her daughters and the greatest hardship she had to bear was separation from them.

Richard decided he would speak to Edward about her being kept in Sanctuary there. It was of course because of the Warwick estates and George’s obsession with them. While the Countess was here she could claim nothing. Edward knew that George wanted those estates. Sometimes Richard thought Edward was afraid of George. Not exactly afraid. There was very little Edward feared. But Edward had always been one for peace and what he loathed above all else was strife in the family. While he was deeply suspicious of George he did not want to upset him so he turned his back on what was a form of captivity for the Countess.

Poor woman, what had she done except be heiress to a large estate! Warwick had married her for it and so became the great Earl and the owner of vast possessions and because of these Isabel had been married to George and now Anne was persecuted.

The Countess was frantic when she heard that Anne was missing.

‘She did not come here,’ she declared. ‘How I wish she had!’

‘I will find her,’ declared Richard.

The Countess seized his hand. ‘And when you do, please let me know.’

‘You shall be the first to hear, I promise you.’

He was going to search everywhere. He would follow every clue however ridiculous it might seem.

He made enquiries in every noble house, starting with those she would have turned to most naturally.

Was Anne there? Had she sought refuge with them?

But he searched in vain.

Anne herself was bewildered. She could not understand why her brother-in-law had done this to her. She had always been afraid of him, and never understood how Isabel could love him. Oddly enough he loved Isabel. He was gentle with her and always seemed different in her company. Of course they had known each other in their childhood and had been friends, but not as friendly as she and Richard for Richard had been so much at Middleham.

She had hoped that she would see Richard. It would have been wonderful to talk to him, to explain how hurt she had been to have been forced onto the side of his enemies. But there would be no need to explain. Richard would understand.

And now she was afraid she would never see him again because this terrible thing had happened to her.

George had come to her room and with him were two people whom she had never seen before, a man and a woman.

George had said: ‘Anne, you are in danger. These friends of mine will look after you. You must go with them at once. You will take nothing with you ... there is no time for that. They will give you everything you need.’

She had cried out: ‘But I want to know where I am going ... and why.’

‘It is because you are in acute danger and there is no time to waste now. You have to leave with all haste.’

‘Where is Isabel?’

‘She knows you are going and have to hurry. You can speak to her later.’

The woman came forward and put a cloak round Anne. She was very strong Anne noticed as she took her arm.

‘It is all clear,’ said George. ‘Come this way.’

He led the way through a part of the house which was rarely used, down a short spiral staircase to the courtyard where a carriage was waiting. She was firmly placed in it. The man started up the horses and they were away. It had all happened so quickly that it was only when they were driving through darkened streets that Anne began to feel really afraid.

‘I want to know where I am being taken,’ she said.

The woman put her finger to her lips. ‘Now we must be calm, mustn’t we,’ she said, speaking, thought Anne, in the tones one would use towards an imbecile.

She looked out of the window. Suppose she ran away? Where would she go? To the King perhaps, to throw herself on his mercy? But he would send her back to George. Isabel would help her but Isabel was George’s wife ... Then to her mother. Could she find her way to Beaulieu?

The woman had her by the arm and was hustling her into a house. They went up a dark staircase and she was in a room alone with the woman.

‘Now take off those fine clothes,’ she said. ‘You will not need them here.’

‘Where am I? I don’t understand.’

‘Never mind.’ The same soothing voice. ‘You won’t need to. You’ll be safe here.’

‘Safe ... from what?’

‘From those who seek to harm you.’

‘Who?’

‘Now then. Take off this beautiful gown. You see you are not going to be the grand lady here.’

‘Please leave me alone. Let me go to my mother.’

‘No, you are staying here. We are going to care for you.’

Her dress had been removed. She was in her petticoats. ‘Such fine linen,’ said the woman. ‘Most unsuitable now.’

Everything was removed and the woman slipped a ragged gown over her head.

Anne stared down at it in revulsion. ‘What is this? What are you doing?’

‘My dear, you are mistaken. You think you’re the Lady Anne, do you not? I found you wandering in the streets. I took pity on you. I am going to take you down to my kitchens and there you will be fed for the work you do.’

‘Kitchens! You are mad.’

‘No, my dear, it is you who are so afflicted. You see you have these ideas. You have heard of the Lady Anne Neville and you have been dreaming of her. You dream that you are that lady. Now what would she be doing in such a gown!’

‘But you have just taken my clothes and forced me into this.’

‘It is all a dream. Part of the delusion. Never mind. We’ll look after you here. You should be very grateful to us. We have taken you from the streets out of pity.’

‘Stop,’ Anne cried. ‘What nonsense are you talking? Give me back my clothes and let me go from here.’

‘Your clothes ... my dear sad child ... those were the clothes I found you in, wandering the streets pretending to be a great lady ... and I’ll say this, you did it very well.’

Anne turned to the door but she was pinioned by the strong arms.

‘Careful, child. I do not want to hurt you. Don’t provoke me.’

‘I want to get out of here. This is all such nonsense. Let me go. Let me go.’

Anne received a stinging blow on the side of her face. She reeled back and stared at the woman in horror.

‘There now,’ said the woman, ‘no harm done. You’ve just got to behave yourself, that’s all. No nonsense, see. I mean to be kind to you. You must let me be. Look at you, all skin and bone and weak as a kitten, I’d say. Never done a hand’s turn of real work. Never mind. You just be quiet and you’ll get along all right. But any defiance ... and you’ll be sorry. I’m taking you in ... doing you a good turn ... Now come with me.’

It was a nightmare. She must be dreaming. Who was this woman who had taken her clothes and given her these rags in substitute, and who was saying such mad things to her?

She was led to another room. They went in and shortly afterwards a large woman appeared in a gown which was splashed with grease.

‘This is the poor girl I’ve been telling you to expect,’ said the woman who had brought her to this place. ‘She is suffering from what they call delusions. Thinks she is some great lady. Lady Anne something. Gives herself airs. She does it rather well, speaks and acts it. Must have been in some grand house sometime. Well, it’s turned the poor thing’s head. She could get into real trouble wandering the streets saying she’s all sorts of people.’

Anne went to the fat woman and took her sleeve. ‘I am Lady Anne Neville,’ she said. ‘Take me back to my family ... to my sister ... to my brother. You will be well rewarded.’

‘See,’ said the woman, ‘she does it very well. That’s why it is a little dangerous. Take her to the kitchen. Don’t make her do too much ... just at first. Have a little pity on her. She’ll want showing how to do things. Keep her in the kitchens. She might try to get away. Don’t let her do that. I can trust you to look after her.’

The fat woman nodded. ‘I’ll see to her. I’ve seen these loonies before. Think they’re all sorts of people they do. I’ll look after her.’

‘Thank you, Cook,’ said the woman.

The nightmare continued. She was taken to the kitchens. There were pots and pans everywhere and a great fire was burning.

‘Sit down and watch the pots,’ said the woman who had been called Cook. ‘Come on. Stop dreaming. Have to work to eat you know ... even if you are a grand lady in your dreams.’

Anne sat on the stool into which she was pushed.

She could not understand why she had been forced into this nightmare.

Richard gave himself up to the search. He could not imagine where she could have been taken. He went to Isabel and talked to her when George was absent but she could offer no clue. She had thought that Anne had run away in which case she would go to their mother. Where else? And if she were not there, she had no idea where she could be.

‘I believe George to be concerned in this,’ said Richard.

‘He has always said that he would look after her and that she and I should be together.

‘We know George. He loves you, but he does want the whole of your father’s estates for himself.’

Isabel was silent.

‘Therefore I believe my brother has hidden her somewhere. Where, Isabel?’

‘I do not know.’

‘Isabel,’ he caught her hands and held them tightly. ‘If you knew you would tell me, would you not?’

She was silent again.

‘I beg you, Isabel, for Anne’s sake ... for my sake. I love Anne. I always have. When we were children I used to think when we grew up we would be married. We talked of it once. You know how I care for her. You will tell, Isabel.’

‘Yes, I would of course if I could, but I simply do not know where she is. George tells very little and I swear on my soul that I do not know where she is.’

Poor Isabel. Torn between her husband and her sister. But he was convinced that she did not know.

Somehow the conviction came to him that Anne was in London for the big city would be the best place in which to hide her. She could not have gone to any of Clarence’s friends because the news would assuredly leak out as to where she was.

In addition to his noble friends Clarence had an army of hangers-on. People who spied for him and worked for him in many devious ways. Richard knew his brother well. He was one of those men who surrounded himself with drama. He was a born intriguant. Where intrigue did not exist he created it. He was always working on some twisted project. Edward was right not to trust him. For one thing George always had his eye on the throne. He was resentful against a fate which had not made him the elder brother. Richard knew he had to be watchful of George not only for his own sake but for that of Edward. Edward was well aware of George’s perfidious nature of course, but being Edward he pretended to ignore it, to preserve the peace and a show of amity between them.

Then if Anne were not hidden in one of the noble houses she must be in one of the lesser ones.

He would search every one of them. He would set his own spies to discover who was on the payroll of his brother in however small a way, and if necessary he would take an armed guard to search their houses. He knew that Edward would approve of what he was doing for he understood his feelings for Anne. His had been as strong for Elizabeth. Moreover he might take whatever action he cared to as long as he did not involve the King. In quarrels between his brothers Edward would wish to stand outside. But Richard knew that Edward’s support would be for him against George.

He decided to call in the help of a woman he had once known very well indeed for whom he still had a great regard. Katherine had borne him two children during their relationship – a boy John and a girl Katherine. Richard visited her now and then and had always made sure that the children had every advantage. It had never been a grand passion between them, and Katherine had become a true and grateful friend.

Katherine lived modestly in the city of London and would perhaps have knowledge and access to places which were denied him. There could never have been any question of marriage between Katherine and the Duke of Gloucester and he had often talked to her about Anne and explained to her that he would probably marry Anne in due course.

So to Katherine he took his problem and he knew that she would do everything she could to discover if Anne were indeed in London.

It was a forlorn hope for indeed she might have been removed from the city; but Richard was determined to make quite sure that she was not in London before he abandoned the search there.

It was Katherine who discovered that there was talk among the servants.

There was working in one of the houses a strange crazy girl who imagined that she was really a great lady.

She was, so the story went, a poor waif who had been found wandering in the streets and given a home by a magnanimous lady. The girl worked in the kitchens and was practically useless and it was a wonder she was not driven out into the streets, but in spite of everything the mistress kept her there. She was quite crazy. She had even said that she was the daughter of the great Earl of Warwick.

Richard could hardly contain himself.

‘Find out where the house is,’ he said. ‘Let me know at once and I shall be there.’

One day seemed to merge into another. Anne was bewildered still. Sometimes she wondered whether she had imagined another life, whether she was indeed the crazy waif who believed herself to have been a great lady. But that was rarely. She remembered so much ... Middleham, Richard, Isabel, her mother and Isabel’s husband George who was gracious to her and yet whom she feared.

No, she must cling to sanity. She must try to turn attention from herself. She must try to do these kitchen tasks for which she had no aptitude and which she never knew had to be done until she came here. She must try to be patient and quiet and wait until some way of escape was offered to her.

It was an ordinary morning. She was roused from the pile of rags on the floor which was her bed and in the room which she shared with six others she awoke to a new day.

She endured the usual teasing from the kitchen girls. She never agreed with them that she was mad and although she did not insist that she was the Lady Anne, she never denied it. They laughed at her fancy ways, at her manners of speaking and eating. Some of them even inclined to think that there might be something in her story, but any suggestion that there was would be reported to the mistress and that meant a threat that they might be driven out into the streets for talking such nonsense. ‘We can’t do with two loonies in one kitchen,’ the cook had once said threateningly.

How long she had endured this wretched life, Anne did not know. She lost count of the days. She seemed to sit for hours watching the spit – the task usually given to her. ‘It’s all she’s fit for,’ said the cook.

And so the morning began to pass and was like any other until suddenly there was commotion without. She heard a voice which seemed to her familier but it could not be. She was dreaming. She had fancied she had heard that voice before.

‘I demand to see your kitchens. Stand aside.’ Then the door was flung open. She stood up, pushed her lank and dirty hair from her face to stare. Then she cried out shrilly: ‘Richard!’

He strode across the kitchen. He could not believe this dirty creature was Anne; but it was her voice.

‘Anne! Anne! Have I found you at last?’

She ran to him and threw herself against him. He held her tightly, her greasy dress soiling the richness of his jacket.

‘Anne ... Anne ... let me look at you. I have searched and searched. Who would have thought to find you thus. But let us get out of this place as quickly as we can.’

The woman who had brought her here and taken her clothes had come into the kitchen.

‘What is happening here?’ she demanded while the cook and the maids looked on in astonishment. They had never seen anything like this in their lives – and never would again. The rich and noble-looking man had come for their loony kitchen girl and it was dawning on them that she had been speaking the truth all the time.

‘This is the woman who brought me here. She has my clothes,’ said Anne.

‘You will bring the Lady Anne’s clothes.’

‘My lord ... I have commands ...’

‘I know. From my brother the Duke of Clarence. So I can hardly blame you, though you deserve to be hanged for what you have done. No matter. Let us have the clothes and bring us water in which the Lady can clean herself.’

‘My lord ... I dare not ...’

‘You will obey me with all speed or you will be arrested without delay. Obey me. At once.’

The woman muttering that she had acted on orders hurried away.

Richard held Anne’s hands tightly in his own.

‘Anne,’ he said, ‘stop trembling. You are safe now. No one is going to hurt you again.’

‘It has been like a nightmare, Richard. I could not understand. They thought I was mad. I began to think so too.’

The woman had returned with the clothes and hot water was brought. Anne was taken away from the kitchens to another part of the house and the clothes and hot water were put in a small room. Anne went in and Richard said: ‘I shall wait here for you and I shall not move until you come out.’

When she emerged with her beautiful hair still hanging limply about her face, but washed and in her own clothes, she looked more like herself although Richard was shocked by her fragile looks.

‘Let us get away from this evil house,’ he said.

They went out together. He lifted her onto his horse and mounted behind her.

‘Anne,’ he said. ‘I am taking you into Sanctuary. There you will stay until we can be married. There’ll have to be a dispensation first. But never fear. I have found you at last. There is nothing to be afraid of now. That is, of course ... if you will marry me.’

She laid her head against him. ‘I am so afraid,’ she said, ‘that I am going to wake up and find myself in that house. Oh Richard, so often I have dreamed of your coming like this ... I am not dreaming now, am I? I could not bear it if I were. It would be even worse after this.’

‘Nay,’ he said. ‘You are wide awake. Anne, you will take me then?’

‘With all my heart,’ she said.

‘Then the future is ours.’

Anne remained in St Martin’s Sanctuary, relieved to have come out of her nightmare, to awake every morning and sometimes be afraid to open her eyes lest she should see that dark room with the servants lying on their pallets on the floor beside her. Sometimes the nauseating smell of fatty foods would seem to be there and she wondered whether it had become part of her until she realised it was only imagination.

She was free now. Richard had freed her. He had visited her in Sanctuary and said that as soon as he could get the King’s consent to their marriage and the necessary dispensation from the Pope – for they were cousins – they would marry.

She was waiting for that day. If in the meantime she could free her mind of memory and of evil dreams she could be content, but she knew it would take some time to wash the grease out of her hair and to cleanse herself of the odours of that fearful kitchen where the rats frolicked and the cockroaches scuttled across the floor and where she had been taunted as the crazy girl who thought herself a fine lady.

Edward was sympathetic, as Richard had known he would be but at the same time he did nothing to alienate Clarence. Clarence had proved himself a rogue and a criminal. He had submitted Anne to the utmost degradation. He had in any case fought against his own brother – yet Edward deceived himself into believing that he could be placated. Strife in the family was something Edward could not bear to contemplate – even though it was there. But even though he was eager not to upset Clarence, his sympathy was with Richard.

He showed this by granting Warwick’s northern estates to his younger brother as well as lands which had been confiscated from rebels like the Earl of Oxford. Clarence retaliated by insisting that he was Anne’s guardian and as such must give his consent before she married.

Edward’s answer to this was that the two brothers should take the case before the Council. He thought that Richard’s calm statements were certain to win over Clarence’s angry harangues.

This, however, was inconclusive for although Richard put forward his case with a calm precision, George waxed eloquent and declared that Anne’s sister Isabel was the one who should be nearest the girl in this dilemma. The Council not wishing to offend either Clarence or Gloucester suspended judgement and the quarrel was no nearer conclusion than it had been before the Council sat.

Christmas came and Richard was at Court while Anne remained in Sanctuary.

It was a dreary festival for Richard. Nor did Edward enjoy it. He hated to see the enmity between his brothers, and as always he felt an inner perturbation when he thought of Clarence’s defection and wondered what he would do next.

He had loved his brothers – both of them. Richard had been such a serious little chap and how could he help favouring one who bestowed that abject adoration on his big and handsome brother? Richard had made him feel like a god and Edward had liked that. But George had been such a bright and amusing little fellow. Always pushing himself forward, strutting, boasting, lively and handsome.

Families should never quarrel but what could he do to solve this difference between his brothers? Richard was determined to marry Anne; Clarence was determined that he should not. He was certain that Richard loved Anne but George of course had as intense a passion for Anne’s estates.

Edward discussed the matter with Richard.

‘George should be punished,’ said Richard. ‘Consider what he did to Anne. You have no notion how she suffered. To put a girl who has been so tenderly nurtured into such conditions ... it’s criminal. Why should he not be brought to judgement for that?’

‘Listen Richard, he is our brother. He has power as such. I cannot afford strife in this country. He joined Warwick once. I watch him closely for I never know what he will be at, but I do not want to anger him. Help me to settle this matter. If you agree to share the estates and give him the lion’s share, we might be able to settle it. I have a mind to put you in the North. I know your heart is there. You would leave Court and settle up there. You are the only man I would trust to keep the North faithful to me. You would have Middleham which you could make your chief residence and Warwick’s northern estates. You and Anne could marry as soon as the dispensation comes through from the Pope. I feel sure that I could get George’s agreement to this. What say you?’

Richard did not hesitate. To go north, to Middleham, the home of their youth, to have the North at his command, to marry Anne. To hold the North for Edward ... Oh yes, he would agree to that.

‘Then,’ said Edward, ‘it only remains for me to show George what a good settlement this is.’

George considered the proposition with no great show of eagerness.

Secretly he saw that he would come out of the arrangement better than Richard. Richard was to have Middleham Castle – let him. He had no desire for that place right up in the North. He wanted to be at Court where everything happened. Richard was to have Warwick’s Yorkshire estates. Very well. But he would give up the manor of Warwick to George and George would have the earldoms of Warwick and Salisbury.

George had indeed the greater share of the Warwick estates but Richard did not mind that. He was longing to take Anne out of Sanctuary, marry her and settle in Middleham.

‘Now,’ said Edward, ‘all you have to do is wait for the Pope’s dispensation.’

There was a twinkle in Edward’s eyes. He knew that Richard was contemplating acting without that. Why not? It would come in due course. There was no reason why it should not.

He was right. Richard went to the Sanctuary where Anne was waiting for him. He took her hands in his.

‘Our troubles are over,’ he said. ‘We have made an agreement – my brothers and I. George will put nothing in the way of our marriage. He has taken most of yours and your sister’s inheritance, but I think we have enough in each other.’

‘I care nothing for the lands,’ said Anne.

‘I thought not. I wish Clarence joy of them. And now we are only waiting for the Pope. But I will tell you this, Anne, I do not intend to wait longer for His Holiness. Do we need ceremonies? Do we need a grand wedding? I believe you are in agreement with me when I say we do not.’

‘I am in complete agreement.’

‘Well then, tomorrow we shall be married. And Anne almost at once we are going to leave for Middleham. Does that make you happy?’

‘Very happy,’ she said.

‘Yet you are a little downcast?’

‘I was thinking about Isabel ... who has grown so weak ... and my mother. I think of her often. She must be very lonely.’

Richard nodded.

He said he would return for her the next day when they would be quietly married.

And so they were; and they made immediate preparations to leave for the North.

Edward was amused. ‘So you decided to flout His Holiness then?’

‘There is only one man whose command I have ever obeyed.’

Edward looked at him affectionately.

‘I know it and I am grateful. Richard, let us take a brotherly oath and swear that it shall always be so.’

‘There is no need for swearing,’ said Richard. ‘You know my motto. I will serve my King while there is life in my body.’

Edward embraced him.

‘We shall see little of each other from now on. You will be in the North but know that my thoughts are with you and that I shall sleep more soundly in my bed at nights for knowing you control the North. It has always been a source of anxiety to me, Richard. But it will be so no more. The one I trust beyond all others will guard it for me.’

‘With my life,’ said Richard. ‘And my lord, there is one request I would ask of you before I go.’

‘I promise you before you ask it that if it be in my power to give it, it is yours.’

‘It is the Countess of Warwick. She is alone at Beaulieu. Anne grieves for her. I ask your permission to take her out of Sanctuary at Beaulieu that she may live with us at Middleham.’

‘How like you, Richard, to make such a request. I grant it with pleasure. God bless you, brother. I wish you all the happiness you deserve. And there is one thing I would ask. From time to time you must tear yourself away from Middleham and come to see me. I shall send for you and I know you will not dare to disobey your King’s commands.’

Once more they embraced and the next day Anne and Richard set out for Middleham. They were happy for they were in love. They were young – Richard but twenty, Anne sixteen – and they had their whole lives before them.

So they came to Middleham. It was springtime and the country at its most beautiful. Anne was overcome with emotion when she saw the castle on its high eminence with the moat surrounding it filled with water which came from the spring on high ground which she and Isabel used to ride to, when they were children.

Here she could forget the dirty kitchens, the greasy smell, the terrible fear that after all she might be as mad as they had made her out to be.

And she had Richard too. This was how they both imagined it in those early days. They were together now as they had been then. Her mighty father was dead; her sad mother was coming to them for the King had promised it, though the Duke of Clarence was trying to put obstacles in the way.

But she would be with them soon.

During that first year Richard had to go south to attend Parliament but he did not stay long and was back by Christmas which they celebrated with the old traditions in the great castle hall.

By that time Anne had discovered that she was pregnant so there was very special rejoicing and how delighted she was when during the following year her child was born.

Richard wanted to call him Edward after her brother whom he so admired and Anne was eager to agree.

In due course the Countess of Warwick arrived at Middleham and Anne felt that she needed nothing more to complete her happiness.

All that had happened before was worthwhile since it had brought her to this.

Chapter VI HASTINGS IN DANGER

The Queen had watched the controversy over Anne Neville with a certain cynical amusement. She could well appreciate Clarence’s point of view. Naturally he would want the whole of the Warwick estates if he could get them and the manner in which he had concealed Anne was to say the least ingenious. She and her mother laughed over it.

Jacquetta had been with her a great deal since her last confinement which had been slightly less successful than usual, for the child, a little girl, was less robust than her brothers and sisters. Because of her concern for the child she had sent for Jacquetta who had come with all speed and together they concerned themselves with the welfare of the little girl who had been christened Margaret.

The child seemed to be getting stronger but Elizabeth noticed with apprehension that Jacquetta was looking tired and seemed to have lost a little of that bounding energy which had been one of her main characteristics. When she asked tentative questions about her mother’s health Jacquetta waved them aside and said that her recent confinement had made her fanciful but Elizabeth continued to be faintly uneasy. She had relied so much on Jacquetta. It was her mother who had first suggested that she plead to the King for the restoration of her estates and that had started her amazing prosperity. Sometimes she wondered if the rumours about Jacquetta’s special powers were true. Was her mother a witch? No, that was absurd. Did she have communication with supernatural powers? No. She was just a wise woman and being devoted to her family she planned all the time for their advancement.

There was one subject which Elizabeth wished to discuss with her mother and that was the Captaincy of Calais. Warwick had held that post with such flair and it was in fact his daring exploits there which had begun his startling career; but now he was dead and this most important and lucrative of posts had to be filled.

Jacquetta listened intently while Elizabeth put her plan before her. She wanted the post for her brother Anthony who had become Earl Rivers on their father’s death.

‘Anthony will do well there. I shall hint to the King ...’

Jacquetta nodded. ‘Be careful,’ she said.

‘Be careful? What do you mean?’

Jacquetta hesitated for a moment. Then she said: ‘Well, my dear, I believe the King is very much taken with the wife of a merchant.’

‘Dear Mother, he is constantly being very much taken with the wives of merchants.’

‘But this one I believe a little more so than usual.’

‘I have always found that the best way of dealing with Edward’s adventures is to ignore them.’

‘Heaven alone knows how many mistresses he has,’ said Jacquetta.

‘Then Heaven may keep the information to itself. I do not want to know. Dear Mother, I have kept my hold on the King by never reproaching him, never refusing him when he comes back to me, being an understanding wife and mother of his children. That is why he stays enamoured of his wife however many mistresses he has.’

‘I have heard that she is a woman of exceptional charms and that Hastings has aspirations with this woman but Edward claimed her first.’

‘Well, he cannot marry her.’

‘No, not even if she says, “Your mistress I cannot be and I am unfit to be your Queen.”’

‘Of which you already have one.’

‘Elizabeth, you treat this matter lightly. Perhaps you are right.’

‘Who is the woman?’

‘Her name is Jane Shore. She is said to have great physical beauty and a merry wit and to be quite unlike most merchants’ wives. She has left her goldsmith husband and settled into apartments the King has found for her.’

‘May he have good sport with her. It will put him in the right mood when I ask for Calais for Anthony.’

‘I hear that Hastings found her, boasted of her and so the King saw her.’

‘I wish Edward would not be so friendly with Hastings.’

‘Hastings is a rake of rakes, second only to the King.’

‘I know. I should like to remove Hastings. I will, one day. But the least little whisper against him and the King shuts his ears. You know I never impose my feelings on Edward ... at least not so that he will know ... so it is hard to tell him what I think of Hastings.’

‘Hastings has been a good friend to him. I daresay Edward is more friendly with him than with anyone. He is closer to his brother Richard perhaps, but in a different way. Richard is his loyal henchman. Hastings is his companion in profligacy.’

‘Undoubtedly so. I believe there would not be so many of these adventures with merchants’ wives but for Hastings. Hastings shows what a fine fellow he is with the women and Edward regards it as a challenge. How I wish I could break that friendship!’

‘There is no need to tell you to go carefully,’ said Jacquetta, ‘for you always do.’

‘Always,’ replied Elizabeth. ‘But when I make up my mind I usually get what I want in the end. Desmond thought he was very clever... but look what happened to him. I sealed his death warrant while Edward slept. He must have known it was done ... yet he said nothing and he was quite fond of Desmond. Mother, what has happened to you?’

Jacquetta was lying back in her chair, her face deathly white, her lips blue.

Elizabeth rose in horror and summoned her women to come at once.

They took Jacquetta to her bed and Elizabeth immediately sent for the doctors.

Her mother was very ill and had been so for some time, they told Elizabeth, and the manner in which they spoke alarmed the Queen. Jacquetta looked so wan now that she was lying in bed and was no longer pretending that this was just a slight indisposition. She took Elizabeth’s hand and looked at her appealingly, almost apologetically. She was thinking: Perhaps I should have told her. It would have been better to have warned her rather than give her this sudden shock.

But Jacquetta had known how unhappy that would have made her daughter and she could not bear to disturb her with impending tragedy. She had worked for Elizabeth, lived for Elizabeth as she did for all her children and her great fear now was that Elizabeth would miss her.

There was little time left, she feared. At least she had seen her daughter safely on the throne; she had seen the rest of her children make brilliant marriages and take up important posts. The most influential family in England had ceased to be the Nevilles and had become the Woodvilles. She need not have worried about Elizabeth and this Jane Shore. Elizabeth knew how to handle the King.

So Jacquetta could say: Lord now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.

My house is in order, she thought. She died peacefully in her bed a few days later.

Elizabeth was stricken with grief. Devoted to her family as she was, she loved her mother intensely. She saw in her the wise woman, the founder of their fortunes.

And now ... she was dead.

Elizabeth remained deeply affected. Cold she might be to the world but she was devoted to her family and she had always been particularly close to her mother but only now did she realise how much she had meant to her. Edward was sympathetic. He too had been fond of Jacquetta but it was characteristic of him that he avoided unpleasantness. He preferred to forget rather than to brood.

As the weeks passed she saw less of him. Perhaps he was completely entranced by this new mistress. That might be a bad or good sign. She was not sure which. It was sometimes better for a king to have one mistress than many; yet on the other hand if he became too devoted to the woman, might not his love for his wife wane a little?

Elizabeth was determined that it should not. But she realised that with such a menace as the goldsmith’s wife she must tread more warily than before.

He was as loving as ever when he came to tell her that Louis of Bruges, Lord of Gruthuyse, who had sheltered him when he had been obliged to fly to the continent and had therefore proved himself to be such a good friend, was to visit England. Edward wanted him to be entertained with all the splendour of which the Court was capable.

Elizabeth threw herself into making the arrangements. It helped her forget the loss of her mother and the health of baby Margaret which was growing less and less satisfactory; moreover it kept the King at her side.

When Gruthuyse arrived at Calais he was welcomed by Lord Howard who was the deputy Captain and there he remained for nearly fourteen days while he was entertained with every show of honour and respect. In due course he arrived at Windsor where the King was waiting to greet him. Edward conducted him to the Queen’s apartments assuring him of Elizabeth’s impatience to greet him and to thank him in person for his goodness to Edward during his enforced absence from England. It was at such times, Edward commented, that a man discovered his true friends.

Elizabeth, prepared for the coming of this honoured guest, was waiting, looking very beautiful, her golden hair loose about her shoulders and a circlet of jewels about her forehead. She was gratified to see Edward’s eyes gleam as he looked at her and she asked herself what she had to fear from any merchant’s wife. She had been playing at morteaulx, a bowls game, with her ladies while waiting, and her eldest daughter was present. Like all the royal children six-year-old Elizabeth was very good-looking and there was no doubt of Edward’s pride in his wife and daughter when he presented them to the Lord of Gruthuyse.

There followed dancing and games in which the King joined and during the dancing he took the young Elizabeth as his partner at which everyone applauded.

The next morning de Gruthuyse must meet the Prince of Wales and the little Edward was carried in by Thomas Vaughan his chamberlain, and when de Gruthuyse had complimented the King on his charming family, Edward presented him with a gold cup which was decorated with pearls, and on its cover was an enormous sapphire. Nothing was spared in the entertainment which went on for several days. There was hunting in Windsor Park when the King insisted on his honoured guest riding his favourite horse; and when de Gruthuyse was seated on it he was informed that the horse was his. Not content with giving his friend these valuable gifts Edward also presented him with a crossbow and silk strings and a cover of velvet for it which was embroidered with the King’s arms and devices.

De Gruthuyse particularly admired the rose-en-soleil which combined the White Rose of York with the blazing Sun and, as Hastings had done, likened the King to that very sun. ‘You are the sun of your people,’ he said. ‘You have brought them peace and prosperity. They bask in your radiance.’

Edward graciously accepted the compliment for indeed it seemed to him that it was so.

There at Windsor de Gruthuyse was given his own apartments which were called chambers of pleasance; the walls were hung with silk and there were carpets on the floors. There were three chambers and in one was the bed which had been prepared for him. The down was of the best; the sheets of rennes and finest fustian and the quilt of cloth of gold, edged with ermine. The tester was of the same cloth of gold as the quilt and the curtains of white sarsenet. In the second chamber was another fine bed and in the third chamber two baths which were covered with white cloth in the shape of tents.

The whole company escorted the visitor to these apartments and there they left him with Lord Hastings who would stay with him for the night, to care for his comfort in the name of the King. Hastings was, of course, well known to de Gruthuyse and had reason to be grateful to him as had the King, for Hastings had enjoyed hospitality at Bruges when he had shared the King’s exile.

They bathed together and while they did so they were served with refreshments which consisted of green ginger, sweetmeats and spiced wine.

A week or so later the company were in London where the investiture of de Gruthuyse with the earldom of Winchester took place. The King was a magnificent figure in his crown and state robes and it was a brilliant assembly that assisted at the ceremony. The Duke of Clarence had been assigned to carry the guest’s train and after the ceremony the King led the new Earl back to Westminster where the Queen was waiting to greet him. She was beautiful in her splendid robes wearing the crown on her golden hair and she had rarely felt so confident. Her great regret was that Jacquetta was not there to see her.

Yet another tragedy was awaiting Elizabeth. December had come and little Margaret was growing steadily worse, and on the eleventh of the month, when the child was only eight months old, she died.

They buried her in the Chapel of the Confessor in the Abbey. So there were two deaths in one year. Elizabeth deeply mourned her loss, but she was cheered to know that she was once again pregnant.

Edward grieved with her but he was, like herself, delighted to know they could expect another. Although he was very satisfied with what he had, he longed for another boy. Young Edward was a delight but kings always liked to know that there was at least one other son should anything happen to the first.

Occasionally Elizabeth thought of Jane Shore. She did not know why she should bother about one of his women, except that her mother had mentioned her with a touch of uneasiness during their last real talk together.

She certainly would not mention the woman to Edward but she did find what she thought an opportune moment to mention the Captaincy of Calais which she had heard discussed recently with the comment that the King could not wait much longer before appointing Warwick’s successor.

She knew why he delayed. It was because thinking of the post reminded him of Warwick and strangely enough in spite of all that scheming Earl had done, he was still fond of him. Edward’s moods might seem strange to some but she understood them. She knew of his devotion to his family; this had been proved by his weakness – she could only call it that – in forgiving Clarence who was only waiting for a chance to betray him again. She understood the force of family ties – none better – but the Woodvilles worked for each other whereas Edward’s brother and some of his kinsmen had their eyes on what brought them the greatest reward.

‘You will have to appoint a Captain soon,’ she reminded him.

He was silent. His thoughts seemed elsewhere. Were they with the goldsmith’s wife?

‘Anthony has served you well. He loves you dearly. I was wondering if you would ...’

Edward was smiling at her benignly. He is going to agree, she thought.

His words were shattering: ‘I have already bestowed the Captaincy,’ he said.

She stared at him in amazement. If it had been given to Anthony she would have known at once. She had seen him only that day.

‘I wanted to reward Hastings,’ went on the King. ‘He has been a good friend ... and he was eager for it.’

Hastings! Her enemy! She had the greatest difficulty in curbing her anger.

She was not looking at the King at that moment, because she was afraid to; she could have slapped his handsome, smiling face. Calais ... for Hastings, her enemy! That man who accompanied Edward in his adventures with women and urged him on to greater lechery.

Hastings! The man she hated. She would be his bitter enemy from now on.

When she turned back to the King she was smiling and all the bitterness had been wiped from her face.

She was remembering Jacquetta’s warning. Perhaps she must be doubly careful now.

Elizabeth discussed the matter of Hastings’, appointment to the Captaincy of Calais with her brother Anthony. He was about a year younger than she was and perhaps the most able of her family. He had married well and through his wife had gained the title of Baron Scales. Being the eldest son he had become Lord Rivers on the death of their father and had advanced rapidly since his sister became Queen of England and was always watchful for improving his state. The King had become quite fond of him; he had his share of the Woodville good looks and had distinguished himself at the jousts where he was considered to be a champion.

Elizabeth knew how he had set his heart on Calais and she guessed what a great disappointment the selection of Hastings must be to him.

‘Of course Hastings is as debauched as the King himself,’ said Anthony, knowing it was safe to speak so to his sister. Elizabeth had never attempted to deny Edward’s flagrant infidelities within her family circle and Jacquetta had always complimented her on her treatment of them.

‘There could not be such a complacent queen in history,’ Jacquetta used to say. ‘Oh how wise you are, my daughter. Your attitude to his philandering makes you irresistible to him.’

She was right. Edward would never have endured a carping wife.

He had always seemed ready to reward her for her attitude to his way of life by granting her requests as long as they did not interfere with his intentions. This matter of Hastings and Calais had been settled before she could as much as hint where she wanted the Captaincy to go.

‘Is there no way of turning his favour from Hastings?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘They have always been friends. They have roamed the streets of London at night together; they have urged each other on to more and more outrageous adventures ... long before you came on the scene, sister.’

‘I know it well. I blame Hastings for much of the King’s night adventures. Hastings is a profligate, a rake and a philanderer.’

‘Well, Edward knows that as well as any and he continues to give him his friendship.’

‘They are two of a kind,’ said Elizabeth vehemently.

Anthony was alarmed to see his sister so intense, fearing she might betray her feelings to the King. They owed their prosperity to Elizabeth’s relationship with the King; it must not change. No, there was no need to remind Elizabeth of that. She was as much aware of it as any of them.

‘So,’ said Anthony, ‘we should not turn the King away from him by a complaint against his immoral way of life.’

‘You mean ... there could be some other way?’

Her eyes were alight with purpose and again Anthony felt that tremor of disquiet. He laid a hand on her arm. ‘There might be a way.’

‘How?’

‘He has a large household of retainers. There are many who serve ...’

‘Well?’

‘There may be some member of that retinue who is a little dissatisfied ... a little envious of another ... one who feels he has not been justly treated.’

‘And if he were found?’

‘He might discover something against Hastings ... some little plot involving the King.’

‘Edward would never believe a thing against Hastings.’

‘It might be possible to remind him that once he was loth to believe Warwick was a traitor to him.’

‘First you must find something against Hastings.’

‘I will,’ Anthony promised.

Elizabeth nodded. And once Hastings was proved to be a traitor it would be a simple matter to suggest that the Captaincy should be given to one whom he could trust and whom could the King trust more than his own brother-in-law?

Hastings could not believe it. There was whispering about him. What had he done? He could find no answer to that. Who should be his enemy? Perhaps a husband of one of the women he had seduced? But which one? There were too many of them for him to guess.

It was a strange feeling.

Clarence looked at him slyly, almost invitingly. What did he mean? Hastings had always suspected that Clarence was looking about him, seeking some way of destroying his brother. Hastings wanted none of such matters. He was Edward’s friend; he had always been Edward’s friend and he wanted to remain so.

Sometimes he laughed at this shadow which was beginning to grow bigger. It was ridiculous. Who had started such rumours?

He suspected the Queen. She did not like him because he often shared the King’s nocturnal adventures. He supposed it was natural for a wife not to care for her husband’s companion in debauchery. They often went out together in some sort of disguise, usually dressed as merchants. Edward had a childish pleasure in keeping his identity secret and then suddenly revealing it. It was hard for him to remain incognito. He was so tall for one thing; he was outstandingly handsome and if he were growing somewhat too fat and there were pouches beginning to form under his magnificent eyes, he was still very good-looking. He would be known in merchant’s clothes as surely as if he wore one of his favourite devices – the rose-en-soleil emblazoned on his cloak. Hastings had once remarked how appropriate that one particularly was. ‘You are like the sun in splendour, Edward,’ he had said. ‘You arose on the dark world of poor mad Henry’s country and you took the crown and dazzled us all. And here you are high in the sky ... in all your splendour.’

Edward had laughed and called Hastings a romantic poet. But he had liked what he had said; and Hastings noticed he used the badge – a combination of the blazing sun and the rose of York – more than any other.

And how could Edward ever believe that he, William Lord Hastings, was not the truest friend he had ever had?

Sometimes he wondered what the Queen whispered to him in the connubial bed at night. What poison did she drop into Edward’s ear about his faithful friend? It was said that the Queen never meddled, never advised the King, never mentioned state matters or questioned his decisions. But there were ways, of course.

Once he caught Edward regarding him very coolly indeed as though he were assessing him, suspecting him, and he felt himself go cold with apprehension. Edward had changed from the golden youth who used to slip out into the streets of London with his good friend, looking for adventure. Edward still sought adventures; his appetites were as voracious as ever; but he was different. Warwick had deceived him. Warwick had pretended to be his friend so that he had no notion that he was planning to rise against him. And then Edward was forced to flee into exile.

He never recovered from that. Who would? It had changed the light-hearted trusting young man into a hard one ... a suspicious one. Clarence had deceived him too. But perhaps he had never thought very much of Clarence. But that Warwick should have turned against him had done something to Edward which would leave its mark forever.

He was ready to suspect his best friend.

Warwick, he would say to himself. And now ... Hastings!

So when Edward looked at him with that cold assessment in his eyes Hastings trembled. He had noticed for some time that Edward had chosen other companions and Hastings was now never alone in the King’s company. There always seemed to be some member of the Woodville family with him – either his Queen’s brother or young Thomas Grey, her eldest son by her first marriage. What had Edward been told? Who were Hastings’s enemies?

He did not have to look far. He knew it was the Woodvilles. The Queen herself. They disliked anyone to be in favour with the King; and it suddenly dawned on him that they might have been angered by his appointment to Calais. The post was one of the most important that could be bestowed on a man; that trading post, the centre through which passed so many goods: leather, wool, tin and lead to be exported to Burgundy, graded and taxed, meant prosperity to the country and who should reap the reward of all this more than any, but the Captain. Yes, it must be the Captaincy of Calais. When he came to think of it this suspicion had grown up since his appointment.

He brooded; he fretted; he walked the streets of London asking himself what he should do. He roamed along by the river and looked at the gloomy fortress of the Tower and thought how many men had entered those dark walls never to emerge again except to the scaffold. Was that the fate they were preparing for him?

Each day he awoke with a heavy cloud upon him. He could not enjoy food, wine, nor even women. He was realising how alone he might be in a hostile world.

He thought a great deal about Edward. Their friendship dated back for years. Edward had always been so genial, so good-tempered, so easy-going; a perfect companion for one built in the same mould, though, Hastings would be the first to admit, lacking that aura of splendour. ‘I am like the moon,’ he had once said, ‘reflecting the glory of the sun.’

Edward had laughed at him telling him that such verbal adulation would profit him nothing. ‘It’s deeds, William,’ he had said. ‘Deeds that impress me.’

He had joked but he meant it. Now of what deeds had he been accused?

Hastings realised that he could not continue in this way. He was going to the King, and presuming on their long-standing friendship, ask him what was wrong, why he was regarded so coldly, what had been said against him.

Edward had always been affable and amenable. Why should he change now? But he had changed, Warwick’s disaffection had changed him. He would never be the same easy-going trusting golden boy again. The sun could be fiercely dangerous as well as benevolent.

But he could not go on in this way. He decided he would speak to Edward. He went to his private apartments and because of their old friendship he found his way to the King.

He was gratified to discover that Edward was alone. Edward looked up in surprise and said: ‘What do you want, Hastings?’

‘A word with you ... alone.’

The King hesitated and for a moment a terrible desolation swept over Hastings, for he thought he saw himself doomed. On false evidence of course, but how many men had been condemned on that? He most certainly would not be the first.

He went forward and on impulse kneeling he raised agonised eyes to Edward’s face. ‘I must speak with you alone. I can endure this state no longer.’

Edward’s expression changed. He burst into laughter. ‘Get up, William,’ he said. ‘You look ridiculous in that position.’

Hastings rose and found himself laughing with the King, albeit the laughter was somewhat hysterical.

‘Well,’ said Edward, ‘what is it you have to say?’

‘I want to know what has come between us. If I am accused of something ... I beg you let me know what.’

Edward hesitated. This was William, his old friend, and he could not believe that he would plot against him. At least he should have an opportunity to clear himself.

‘My lord ... my friend ... Edward,’ cried Hastings, ‘then I have not been mistaken. There is something ...’

Edward said: ‘You have been working against me, Hastings.’

‘Never,’ said Hastings.

‘I found it hard to believe that you had,’ began Edward.

Hastings burst into impassioned speech. ‘My lord, my King, have I not always served you well? Have I not stood with you ... always ... in failure as well as success? We have been in exile together ... we have adventured together in beds and in battlefields. Edward, you cannot seriously believe that I would ever plan to do you ill.’

‘I must tell you that I would not believe ... for long ... I refused.’

‘Tell me of what I am accused.’

Edward said: ‘You know that I have my enemies. My own brother ... You are friendly with Clarence, I believe.’

‘My lord, I am on good terms with your brother as you are ... because he is your brother. For no other reason. I beg you tell me who has brought these accusations against me.’

‘It is some who served you once and are no longer in your employ.’

‘Disgruntled servants, my lord?’

‘Just so. But ...’ Edward looked at Hastings through narrowed eyes. He saw it all clearly. He knew who had trumped up charges against Hastings. It was Lord Rivers and the Queen. And it was because of Calais. He laughed inwardly, trying to remember what Elizabeth had said about Hastings ... nothing definite of course. She was far too clever. But she, with the help of Rivers, had managed to sow seeds of distrust in his mind about his best friend.

He was remembering now all the exploits they had shared together, the merry evenings, the days of adventure. And he suddenly knew that the suspicions against his old friend were false and he understood what anguish he had been submitted to over the last weeks.

Elizabeth had not said a word against Hastings but subtly when his name had been mentioned she had referred to the treachery of Warwick and Clarence, knowing that when those two were mentioned he would remember how they had both betrayed him and how astonished he had been that they could do so.

She was clever, his Elizabeth. And how well she suited him. So calm, so secret, so fascinating always ... But she knew that she must never attempt to persuade him or influence his decisions ... outwardly. But she could act in her own secret way. Sometimes he thought of Desmond, whose comments about a divorce she had received so quietly. But they had rankled and how had Desmond come to be so swiftly executed?

He did not want to think too much of that incident. It was unpleasant. It was unpleasant also to think of Hastings betraying him. Hastings betray him! Never. He had allowed himself to be persuaded. But never again. Everyone, Elizabeth, Rivers, every Woodville among them would have to learn that it was the King who made the decisions, the King who said: ‘This shall or shall not be.’

Let them try if they would; but they should not succeed.

‘William,’ he said, ‘I know you well. You have always been a good friend to me. Are you still? Just tell me that.’

‘My lord King, I swear on everything I hold most sacred that I have never swerved from my loyalty to you. The gossip which has suggested otherwise is slanderous, evil ... and has no place in reality.’

The King looked at his friend and said: ‘I believe you, William. Let us forget this slander. Let us be together as we always were and I pray God always will be.’

Hastings fell on his knees and kissed the King’s hand.

Edward was laughing. ‘Get up, you fool,’ he said. ‘Have I not told you already you look ridiculous down there.’

And so the affair was at an end. Hastings was back with the King. They laughed together at table; they rode out together. And Elizabeth realised that her attempt to separate the King from his friend had failed.

Chapter VII THE FRENCH ADVENTURE

Elizabeth was enraged to realise that her plot to destroy Hastings had failed; in fact the King was more affable than ever to his friend and seemed eager to make up for suspecting him.

Hastings had quickly recovered and was his old merry witty self and he and Edward were hardly ever out of each other’s company. She had discovered too that his passion for Jane Shore had not abated; rather it had increased; it seemed as though it were likely to become a permanent relationship. She wondered what view her mother would have taken of that. Perhaps she should ask the woman to Court to keep an eye on her and let her believe that she was ready to be a friend. How would Edward react to that? She would have to tread warily. In any case she was now faintly disturbed by the long-standing nature of the liaison and she deeply wished that Jacquetta was with her so that they could discuss it together.

But now she was preparing for her confinement and decided that the birth of the child should take place at Shrewsbury. Edward was eagerly awaiting the day and she knew that he longed for another boy. They had their three beautiful girls, Elizabeth, Mary and Cecily, and little Edward. Now if they could have another boy Edward would be so delighted with his Queen that surely he would forget this Jane Shore ... for a little while at least.

The death of little Margaret had upset him. He hated anyone to mention the child, which was characteristic of him. Edward wanted only to think of what was pleasant. She was grateful again to Jacquetta who had taught her the wisdom of understanding what would please and what would depress him and making sure that no unpleasantness marred the hours they spent together.

She bore her child without a great deal of discomfort and to her great delight it was a boy. Moreover a healthy child; she had been a little nervous after what had happened to Margaret.

Edward came to her bedside, knelt and kissed her hands. He was gracious, grateful, loving and tender. She wondered how long it was since he had been with Mistress Shore.

‘What do you wish the boy to be called?’ she asked.

‘Richard,’ he replied promptly, ‘after my brother who has always been a good friend to me. He will appreciate the honour.’

‘He named his son after you, Edward,’ she said, ‘so it is only right and fitting that yours should be named after him.’

So the child became Richard and Elizabeth promised herself that she would keep him close to her for a year or so.

Elizabeth loved her children dearly and she did not forget the two she had before her marriage to Edward and although she could not do as much for them as she would have liked, she was determined that they should share in her good fortune. A landed endowment had already been provided for them and Thomas was doing well; he was a favourite with the King and often joined him and Hastings in their adventures, for Thomas was only some ten years or so younger than the King and as the time passed he was becoming more and more of a companion to him. Thomas showed the same tendencies she feared. She had no doubt that her son, like Hastings – or so she had heard – had cast lascivious eyes on the desirable goldsmith’s wife.

It had been a wrench for her to allow her little son Edward to be taken to Ludlow Castle and put into the charge of his chamberlain, Thomas Vaughan. The boy was so young – only three years old – but she had arranged that members of her family be appointed to the important posts of his household. Her brothers Edward and Richard were his councillors; and she had found a place there for her younger son by her first marriage. Richard Grey was Comptroller of the Prince’s household. His governor, however, was her brother Anthony, for close as the bond was which bound the whole family together it was at its strongest between her and Anthony.

Her little son Edward would be brought up to be a good Woodville. There was no doubt of that; and if Edward knew this he raised no objection.

It was at this time that the King began to think of settling affairs in France. England had enjoyed a few years of prosperity but with a little prompting from the Duke of Burgundy, Edward was of the opinion that an invasion of France providing it were successful would inspire the people to greater enthusiasm for him. The people liked their kings to be warlike; Edward Longshanks, Edward the Third and Henry the Fifth had all waged war satisfactorily. He could see no reason why the same should not apply to Edward the Fourth.

To raise an army he needed money and that must come from the people – every man and woman in the land. Taxation was never popular and it had laid the seeds of downfall for several of his predecessors. But Edward believed it would be different with him.

For one thing he was built in the mould of the great conquerors. He was meant to ride through the streets – acclaimed as the hero returning from his conquests. The situation in France had been such a humiliation when people remembered the glorious days of Henry the Fifth, and they looked to him to bring back glory to England.

But money! Where to find the money? Perhaps he should collect it himself for he was sure people would give more willingly to him than to some tax levied on them by the Parliament. Suppose he make a progress through the country explaining to the people what he needed the money for. Would they not then give willingly?

He sent for Richard to come down from the North. The reunion was affectionate in the extreme. Richard had the same admiration as ever for his splendid brother; and Edward made it clear that he was grateful to Richard who had kept good order in the North so that for the first time Edward had had no need to worry about what was happening up there.

Richard talked of his pleasant life at Middleham, of his wonderful son Edward. The only thing that marred his happiness was his concern about Anne’s health. Like her sister Isabel she suffered from a weakness of the lungs which on certain days made it difficult for her to get her breath. He had had the best doctors and they were sure the keen fresh northern air was good for her, so he was more hopeful now.

Edward took him to see the new baby Richard.

‘Your namesake, brother,’ he said. Richard admired the baby and as he had visited the young Prince of Wales at Ludlow on his way down was able to assure the Queen that her son was in the best possible health.

When Edward talked to him of the proposed war he was less happy.

‘Think of the taxes you will have to raise to get an army which can do any good in France.’

‘I have already thought of it and how I will raise the money. Burgundy will be with us. We will give Louis a fight and it may well be that we shall regain all the territory we have lost in the last years.’

‘Are you sure that Burgundy does not want you to fight his battles for him?’

‘If he does,’ said Edward, ‘he will be disappointed. Come, Richard, prepare. Very soon I shall have Louis suing for peace.’

‘First you must raise the army.’

‘I intend to,’ replied Edward, ‘and such an army that Louis will tremble at the sight of it and mayhap we shall come to some terms – most advantageous to us – without much fighting. Battles do not always go to the best fighters, Richard. Strategy is more important than strength sometimes. Warwick taught me that ...’

Edward was silent suddenly thinking of Warwick ... Not a great warrior really, but a strategist of genius ... a man who could turn a defeat on the battlefield into a victory in diplomacy.

He was constantly remembering what Warwick had taught him, and there was always an element of sadness when he did. He had to stop thinking of Warwick the traitor and remember Warwick the teacher and all the golden rules he had taught his pupil.

Richard said nothing. He knew the trend of Edward’s thoughts.

Edward had meant what he said when he had declared he would collect the money himself and very soon was setting out on a tour of the country. In all the towns and villages, people flocked to hear him speak and they marvelled at his handsome looks.

A king to be proud of, they said. They decorated the market-squares with flags and prominent among these was the badge of the white rose in the heart of the blazing sun. The white rose at the very heart of the sun of York. But the King himself was more splendid than any device.

They rejoiced in him; in his excessive good looks, his affable manners, his smiles, his willingness to share a joke, his laughter which rang out wherever he was, his splendid garments all in exquisite taste, made of him a king to be proud of.

And if he wanted money in order to bring the French King to his knees, he should have it. If they had to give there was no one on whom they would rather bestow it.

He visited the houses; blatantly, but so charmingly, he asked for money – and he got it.

There was one case which people were to talk of for years to come because it was so typical of what happened on that progress through the country.

A widow of certain means was asked for twenty pounds which she graciously gave. She was not uncomely and to express his gratitude for her ready compliance with his request, the King kissed her, whereupon she was so overcome that she immediately said she would double her contribution: the first twenty pounds were for the war, the second for the handsomest man in England.

There were few who could have toured the country asking for money and made a triumphant progress of it but Edward did, and emerged from it ever more popular than when he had set out. The people deemed it well worthwhile to have paid their money to receive a smile and a friendly word from such a king – and in the case of the comely widow – a kiss.

In due course Edward was ready to cross the Channel at the head of a considerable army. He had fifteen hundred men at arms, fifteen thousand archers on horseback, and innumerable foot soldiers. In addition to this army he had equipped another smaller one to go to Brittany in order to aid the Duke whom the French were threatening to attack. He had a reason for wishing to make the Duke of Brittany his ally, for sheltering there was Jasper Tudor with his nephew Henry. Jasper had been one of the leading Lancastrians and although if he were to return to England now there would be little support for him, Edward liked to know where these Tudors were and he could at any time if he remained friendly with the Duke of Brittany ask for their extradition.

Edward was well aware that so many men had rallied to his banner because they hoped to bring back to their homes some of the spoils of war. They wanted French booty. Edward, however, had other ideas. To fight the French would be to embark on another war such as that which had taken one hundred years to settle, which had swayed back and forth over those years, costing blood and money and eventually had ended by driving the English almost completely out of France.

No, Edward wanted something, but it was not war. He wanted some alliance, some monetary reward for holding off a war ... bribe some might call it. But that was all part of the fortunes of war.

So if these men whom he had gathered together were spoiling for a fight, Edward was not. It was almost as though Warwick were at his shoulder. He would have liked to discuss this matter with Richard but it was something of which Richard would not approve. Rivers ... ? Well, Rivers agreed with him whatever he did, which was comforting almost always, although there were times when a man wanted an honest opinion.

As soon as he had landed in France he wrote a letter to Louis couched in formal terms. He must give up the crown of France to Edward or face a bitter war.

Having written the letter he called one of his most trusted men to him.

‘What I have to say to you,’ he said, ‘is too important to be trusted to writing. You must swear secrecy on this. Do so now.’

The man swore that nothing should prise the secret, or whatever it was, from him.

‘You will take this letter to the King of France and when he has read it you will ask to speak to him in private. He will see you and you will tell him that you know I have no wish to invade France, but that I have threatened to do so to satisfy my people and the Duke of Burgundy. If the King of France would come to some agreement which would be to the advantage of the King of England, your master would graciously consider it. Now is that clear?’

‘Absolutely so, my lord.’

‘You should also say that I shall not be prepared to listen to any proposition until my entire army is landed on French soil and as it is so large that will take at least three weeks.’

‘I understand, my lord.’

‘Tell the King that he will have that time to decide what he will be able to offer me to avert this long and destructive war on French land.’

The King’s messenger bowed his head and went off to do his mission.

Edward’s suspicion that the Duke of Burgundy had wished the English to fight his battles with the French was confirmed when the Duke came to meet him, not at the head of an army but with nothing more than a personal bodyguard and in the first meeting explaining, with some embarrassment, that he had to leave at once for the defence of Luxembourg.

Louis in the meantime had followed Edward’s lead in sending a herald to the English camp who was more than he appeared to be. This man told Edward in a private interview that Louis was prepared to consider the suggestions which had been put to him and suggested a meeting at Picquigny.

Edward called together a council of his commanders. This included his brothers Clarence and Gloucester, the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, his stepson Thomas, Rivers, Hastings and a few others. Edward laid the proposition before them. The Duke of Burgundy had gone to Luxembourg and had therefore deserted them; the King of France was ready to treat for peace. It seemed to Edward that they might come very well out of the excursion without having been engaged in the smallest battle.

Richard spoke up. ‘The people paid their benevolences to win victory in France. The soldiers have joined your banner in the hope of capturing booty to take home. The people want to hear of victories. You have taken their money under false pretences if you do not fight.’

Edward looked at his brother quizzically. ‘My dear brother,’ he said, ‘you are over-concerned with this scrupulous reckoning of yours. Wars have done no good to our country. We have lost all we won. Now we stand a chance of getting something very substantial from the King of France without bloodshed or the loss of our equipment.’

‘I see your point,’ said Richard. ‘But what will the people say? They will not get what they paid their taxes for ... call them benevolences if you will, they are still taxes.’

‘I tell you great good will come from this. You will be surprised what the King of France is ready to pay for peace.’

‘To pay to whom?’ asked Richard. ‘To the soldiers who have come for booty? To the people at home who have paid for a war?’

Edward laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘Richard,’ he said, ‘the others among us see my point. They will follow me in this.’

‘And you would do it if they did not,’ said Richard with a shrug of his shoulders.

‘You will see,’ said Edward.

He then discussed the terms he would put before Louis. First there should be a truce of seven years duration; there should be free trading between the two countries. Louis would pay Edward seventy-five thousand gold crowns immediately and fifty thousand a year; the Dauphin should marry Edward’s eldest daughter Elizabeth.

These terms seemed very harsh but to the amazement of the English Louis accepted them. It had all been so much easier than Edward had thought and he could not see that the arrangement was anything but a triumph of strategy. He had amassed an enormous army which seemed invincible; he had come to France and so frightened Louis that he had been eager to make terms at once.

When Charles of Burgundy came riding with all speed to Edward’s camp he demanded to know why Edward had made such terms with the enemy.

‘The King of France is no longer my enemy,’ said Edward. ‘My daughter is to marry his son.’

Burgundy sneered. ‘And you think Louis will ever allow that to come to pass?’

‘We are coming to an amicable agreement about the matter ... and others.’

Burgundy was furious. ‘So you come with your armies like a conqueror and slink away like a paid lackey of the King of France.’

Edward retained his imperturbable good humour. ‘Not so. Not so. I shall leave as triumphantly as I came – a richer man and my armies intact to make sure the peace stays with us.’

Burgundy left in a rage and Edward could not repress his gratification to see the mighty Duke so nonplussed.

There followed the meeting with Louis. The two Kings made a startling contrast. Edward was splendid, wearing a gown of cloth of gold lined with red satin. Out of compliment to the French he wore a black velvet cap aglitter with jewels in the shape of the fleur-de-lis. Louis was very soberly clad and so drab did he look beside the brilliant King of England that Hastings murmured that he looked like a mountebank.

The terms were agreed and the King of France was extremely affable not only to Edward but to all those who, he thought, would be important to keeping the peace.

There was one notable absence and this disturbed him. Richard Duke of Gloucester had declared that he would have none of the treaty and therefore he would not be present on the occasion. Louis made up his mind that he must talk to Gloucester and see if it were not possible to offer him something which would be irresistible to him.

He was alert watching for those who were against the peace, even though they dared not come out in the open – as Gloucester had – and say so. There was Louis de Bretaylle, one of the English King’s foremost captains who it had been reported to Louis had been heard to comment that the treaty was a disgrace to England. It was important to have the support of such men so Louis entertained him personally and offered him a high post in France which de Bretaylle immediately refused. However, when Louis came up with a gift of one thousand crowns, this was irresistible and de Bretaylle did accept them. Money was always so hard to refuse; and all Louis asked in return was that the captain should work for continued peace between the two countries.

But Louis’s chief anxiety was of the Duke of Gloucester. Richard could be a power in the land and he had showed his disapproval more openly than anyone. Louis invited him to dine – not a great banquet but a personal meal when they could talk together as good friends and come to some understanding of each other’s actions.

Richard could scarcely refuse such an invitation but he went along determined not to be bribed as his brother had been.

Louis surveyed the young man shrewdly. A strong young man, thought Louis, and obviously one of principles, loyal to his brother always, even when he did not approve of what Edward was doing. Edward was fortunate to have inspired such devotion.

Louis asked Richard questions about his life at Middleham, enquired after his wife and young son and in due course came to the point of the meeting. Louis was delighted to be on such good terms with the King of England and he was happy that they had settled their differences without loss of life. War brought miseries to thousands and if it could be avoided that was a matter for rejoicing. He believed that it was the duty of all to do everything to maintain peace between the two countries.

Richard agreed that peace was desirable ... honourable peace, he stressed.

‘Indeed you are right,’ said Louis. ‘Your brother is astute, my lord. He knows how to strike a good bargain. But I want to show you some very fine horses which have come into my stables. I venture to think they are the best in the world. And what think you of this plate? It is some of the best to be found in France. My lord, I am going to ask you to accept a gift from me ... Plate such as this and some of those new fine horses which have come into my stables.’

Richard did not employ the finesse of his brother. He came straight to the point.

‘If these are meant for bribes to bring me to your way of thinking, if in accepting them I am to announce that I think my brother was right ...’

‘My lord, my lord, what can you be thinking of me? These are gifts to an honoured guest. I ask nothing in return for gifts.’

Etiquette demanded that Richard accept the plate and horses for when they were offered in such a way there was no alternative, but he made it clear that he did not approve of the treaty and would never say he did.

One to be watched, thought Louis. Men with high principles were dangerous.

Richard went away a little sorrowfully. He would never ride the horses nor use the plate for to do so would make him think sadly not of Louis, but of his brother.

Always he remembered with clarity the days of their childhood, those brief visits of Edward and how he had descended on them with his dazzling good looks, his laughter and his obvious affection for them. They had been the outstanding days in Richard’s life; and when there was trouble and he with George and Margaret had been sent to lodge at the Pastons’ house in London, Edward had come every day to see them and to remind them that the fortunes of the House of York though temporarily in decline would soon rise and then they would see their parents again.

He had been so entirely under Edward’s spell that he had never escaped from it and he knew he never would. But of late there had appeared a few clouds in the sky to obscure the splendour of the sun. The hero was flawed. He was as strong as ever – perhaps stronger because of the flaws. But Richard was faintly disillusioned. Not that his affection had changed. His loyalty would be there until his death. He would stand by Edward no matter what he did; but this latest affair was an indication to him. He had actually refused to sign the treaty, and Edward had not attempted to force him. It was typical of Edward that he respected his brother’s views.

When Richard was ready to depart for the North, Edward made it clear that their difference of opinion over this matter would make no change in their relationship. Edward explained to Richard that they had come out of the expedition richer and without shedding a drop of blood. They had had the honour of frightening the King of France into parting with a great deal. Edward was considerably richer because of it. So were many of his friends.

‘Did you know that Hastings has a pension from France of two thousand crowns a year?’

‘Because he is your close friend. Because he is expected to work for France.’

‘As I am, dear brother. Well, there is no harm in that. This will be good for the country. French money coming into it and not a drop of English blood to buy it.’

‘You and your friends have profited indeed,’ said Richard. ‘But the men will be disgruntled. They came back empty-handed.’

‘With their limbs intact. Oh come, Richard, when you are as old as I you will know that diplomacy and sound good reason bring more good than battle cries.’

Richard could not be convinced that the treaty was an honourable one and he was not going to say so.

Edward looked at him steadily and said: ‘A difference of opinion does not change the feelings between two good friends, I hope.’

‘Nothing could challenge my loyalty to you.’

‘So thought I,’ said Edward. ‘I trust you, Richard. You have always been my good friend. I need your friendship particularly as I cannot rely on it from George. He troubles me, Richard.’

‘What is he plotting now?’

‘I do not know what. But I know he plots. I would I could rely on him as I do on you.’

‘You will never be able to.’

‘Nay. But you and I shall stand together, Richard, eh? Never shall we forget that we are brothers ... whatever may befall.’

Richard was comforted to know that the bond between them was as strong as ever, even though they had disappointed each other, even though they could not always act in unison, they could rely on the loyalty – one to the other.

Edward showed that Richard’s attitude had made no difference by bestowing new lands on him and Richard returned to Middleham pleased to be away from the vanities and insincerities of Court. Back with his wife and his son the apprehensions would be blown away by the fresh northern air.

Richard had been right when he had said the men would be disgruntled because they must return without booty. There was grumbling among the soldiers who had thought to come home rich; they would not have minded a scar or two, they said. They had joined the army to fight and what had happened? They had been to France and come back again ... just as they went.

The people who had paid good money for victories were disappointed too. The King had come riding through the country charming the money out of their pockets, asking most graciously for benevolences and what had happened? He had just gone to France and come back again!

Disappointed soldiers roamed the countryside. If they could not loot French villages they would loot English ones. The roads had become unsafe.

Edward’s reaction was immediate. He set up judges all over the country and he himself made a pilgrimage from north to south. Anyone caught robbing, raping or murdering would be hanged at once. There should be no mercy for offenders. He would have law and order throughout the land.

His action was immediately effective and the outbreak of violence died down as suddenly as it had risen.

In the market-squares Edward explained to the people what had happened. He had taken an army to France, yes, and they in their generosity had enabled him to do this with their benevolences. ‘My friends and loyal subjects,’ he said, ‘we have humbled France. What think you would have happened if we had fought great battles ... and even won them. What good would that be to you? You cannot live on glory. Conquest is great and good when there is no other way of achieving the best for a nation. But I have taken my armies to France and the King of France has paid me highly to desist from making war. I did desist. I return your men to you ... your husbands ... your brothers ... they are with you again. I have come back with a full purse and that means that with this money I can strengthen my country. All this good I can bring you with no cost to you, my friends. The King of France is paying your taxes. Was that not worth raising money for? You have won these concessions which I have brought to you through your benevolence, good people. From here we go on ... to greatness.’

They listened. They loved him. How could they help it? He was so handsome. Many said they had never seen a more handsome man. He was clever; he was shrewd; he was the King they wanted. The sun was high over England in all its splendour. The people loved their King.

Chapter VIII A BUTT OF MALMSEY

Isabel, Duchess of Clarence, was feeling very ill. She dreaded her confinement which was now imminent. She would never forget the first of all which had taken place when she was at sea with her father, mother and sister Anne. Her father had been forced to leave England with his family and although she had been eight months pregnant at the time and in no condition to travel, she had been obliged to go.

The misery of that time, the agony she had suffered only to produce a dead child had remained with her ever since and although she had had two healthy children, Margaret and two years later Edward, she still was fearful.

She wished that Anne or her mother could be with her. But they were at Middleham. The Countess was ageing and Anne she believed did not enjoy robust health.

No, she would try not to worry, try to fight the terrible weakness which overcame her, try to forget the discomforts of her condition and remind herself that they were normal.

She had a very good attendant who had been sent to her by the Queen. The woman was not young and seemed to have a great deal of experience. The Queen had been most affable and Isabel supposed that Edward had suggested she should be for the King was anxious to show that he bore George no malice for those days when he had joined with Isabel’s father and fought against him.

The woman Elizabeth had sent was Ankarette Twynhoe and she had been in the Queen’s service for some time. Isabel welcomed not only the woman but the goodness of the Queen in sending her.

Isabel sighed for peace. Often she remembered the days at Middleham when she and Anne with Richard and George used to ride together and play games and gave no thought to the future. Or perhaps George did. He was always wanting to win in everything, to ride faster, to shoot his arrows further ... it had always been the same with George. He had enjoyed showing his superiority over them all which he could do quite easily, being older and definitely taller and more handsome than Richard. George was boastful, exaggerating his successes, ignoring his failures. He was very different from Richard. People liked George better though. George was always the most handsome person present except in the company of his brother Edward, who outshone everyone. Isabel, who had come to know George very well after being married to him, realised that he hated his brother. Not Richard ... he had nothing to hate in Richard considering himself superior in every way, but Edward. She had seen his eyes change colour when his elder brother’s name was mentioned; she had seen that clenching of his hands, that tensing of his muscles and she had known how the hatred rose within him, because sometimes in the privacy of their apartments he had let it loose in all its fury.

George could never forgive fate for making Edward the elder. But for that George would have been King; and what George wanted more than anything on earth was to be King. It was for that reason that he had sided with Isabel’s father against his brother. Warwick must have promised him that he would be King, but she guessed her wily father would never have allowed that to happen. She herself had been very disconsolate when the feud had arisen between the King and her father. She knew that Warwick was called the Kingmaker and it was no empty title; but it had been his great mistake she was sure to part from Edward.

Poor George! Oddly enough she loved him, and what was perhaps stranger still, he loved her. Her weakness appealed to his strength perhaps, but he had always been tender with her, and she would listen to his grandiose schemes. She encouraged him. She wanted to know what was in his mind. He would talk to her sometimes about the wildest schemes and they were all tinged with his hatred of his brother and the goal in the plans led to that one thing – the crowning of George, no longer Duke of Clarence, but King of England – in the Abbey.

She often wondered what the outcome would be and in the last few days she had doubted whether she would be here to see it.

That was wrong. Women sometimes felt like this when they dreaded a pregnancy. Her cough was worse and she had a pain in her chest. She and Anne had both caught cold easily. In Middleham Castle their mother had coddled them and at the least sign of a cough they were put to bed with hot fomentations on their chests. But her mother was with Anne now and they were in the North and she was here in Gloucestershire which was one of their favourite counties. George liked it, so she did.

She called to Ankarette who came at once.

‘You are feeling unwell, my lady?’

‘It is my chest. I have a pain there. Oh it is nothing. I have had it before ... often.’

‘My lady, I think perhaps you should go to bed. Will you allow me to call your women?’

Isabel nodded. ‘I think perhaps, my lady, you should go into the new infirmary at Tewkesbury Abbey. You would be well attended there.’

‘Yes, I believe these monastic infirmaries are very good.’

‘My gracious lady the Queen has great faith in them, as you know.’

‘Indeed, yes,’ said Isabel. ‘Perhaps I should go.’

‘Shall I make the arrangements, my lady?’ said Ankarette.

It was pleasant enough in the infirmary at Tewkesbury Abbey. Ankarette was with her for she had expressed her desire that the Queen’s woman should attend her until the child was born and Elizabeth had said that Ankarette was to stay as long as Isabel needed her.

George came to visit her at Tewkesbury. He was alarmed at the sight of her. She looked so pale. She was shortly to give birth to a child and she had never been strong but she certainly looked very ill. He was fond of Isabel, not only because she had brought him vast estates but she soothed him; she listened to his ramblings about his dreams and the glittering prizes he would have; she always seemed to believe him and he needed such an audience. He could not say to anyone else what he said to Isabel. It would be rank treason; but with his wife he felt safe. She would never betray him; she was always on his side. He needed Isabel.

Because he was worried he looked about to blame someone for her state.

‘What woman is that who is always in attendance?’ he demanded.

‘You mean Ankarette? The Queen sent her to me. She is very good and has been in the Queen’s service for some time.’

George grunted. ‘I cannot see why the Woodvilles want to send us a woman.’

‘It was only the Queen ... from one woman to another. She knows I have not been well and she says that Ankarette is an excellent nurse. She insisted on my having her.’

George nodded and went on to ask about her heatlh. He was not satisfied with the place. It was cold and a monastery was no place for a confinement especially one of such importance.

George could not contemplate his children without seeing them as heirs to the throne.

‘I am going to take you back to Warwick Castle,’ he said. ‘There we shall look after you as you should be looked after.’

Isabel smiled. She did not greatly care where she was.

It was November when they reached Warwick Castle. Her baby was due in the next few weeks and all was in readiness. But as the weeks passed Isabel’s cough grew worse and Ankarette and the other women became gravely anxious.

Three days before Christmas the child was born and it became clear that not only had the baby little chance of survival but Isabel was also in grave danger.

She did not recover from the birth. That was a gloomy Christmas at Warwick Castle. In his cradle the baby lay small and shrivelled, refusing nourishment, just lying quiet and still.

On the first of January he joined his mother.

George came to Warwick and was overcome with grief.

Isabel dead! He was desolate. He had wanted to tell her of his plans; he had been looking forward to greeting the new child. Dead, both of them!

Life was cruel to him. It had denied him a crown and now it had taken his wife and child.

He wept genuine tears. He would miss Isabel. There would never be anyone for whom he could care as he had cared for her.

He looked with narrowed eyes at the women of her bedchamber. He felt resentful towards them because they were alive and she was dead.

He went back to Court. The place was buzzing with the news of the Duke of Burgundy’s death. George’s sister Margaret was a widow now and the Duke’s son had died before he did but he had a daughter, Mary, and she would be heiress to the vast estates of Burgundy, surely the richest heiress in France, or the whole of Europe for that matter.

It was an interesting situation.

No one would replace Isabel in his heart, of course, but a man in his position was expected to marry and when he did he should marry in a way which would be advantageous not only to him but to his country.

It was perhaps too soon to be thinking of marrying again with Isabel scarcely cold in her grave, but matters such as this would not wait. The heiress of Burgundy would be snapped up with all speed. That was one thing they could be certain of.

He mentioned the possibility to Edward. ‘It would be to England’s advantage to get the Burgundian estates in English hands,’ he said.

Edward was pensive. The last thing he would give his consent to would be a match between his brother and Mary of Burgundy. He knew that the Duke of Burgundy believed that he himself had a claim to the English throne ... a flimsy one admittedly. His mother Isabel of Portugal was a granddaughter of John of Gaunt. This claim, slight though it might be, would strengthen Clarence’s. Certainly there should be no match between Clarence and Burgundy.

He discussed it with Hastings. ‘My sister Margaret, the Duchess of Burgundy, has always favoured George. Heaven knows why. But he was an attractive child when she knew him and you know how people in families have these favourites. She might try to influence Mary into taking him.’

‘You will never allow it,’ said Hastings.

‘My God no. I should like to get him out of the country ... but not to Burgundy. With this extra claim you can imagine what he would be planning.’

‘I can indeed,’ said Hastings.

While the King was considering this and preparing the refusal he would give to Clarence, Elizabeth mentioned the matter to him.

‘A union between England and Burgundy would be an advantage,’ she said quietly.

‘It would depend, my dear, very much on the bridegroom.’

‘So thought I. Have you ... ?’

‘Selected him? It is hardly for me to do that. Mary I believe is a strong-minded young lady and will want some say in the matter.’

‘She will marry where it is best for her to do so, I doubt not, and your sister Margaret will have some say in the matter perhaps. I believe they are very good friends.’ Elizabeth hesitated and looked sharply at the King. He was smiling slightly. He knew what was coming. Dear Elizabeth, she was full of schemes for bettering her family. Who had she in mind now? He could guess. Anthony. For recently, like George, he had lost his wife and was in the market. Trust Elizabeth to try to pull down this very important prize.

He had to admire her. What hope had Earl Rivers of marrying the heiress of Burgundy, but since Elizabeth herself had married the King of England she believed anything was possible.

‘It would seem,’ he said, taking one of the tendrils of golden hair which hung over her shoulder and twirling it round thoughtfully in his fingers, ‘that my Queen has a husband in mind for this fortunate child.’

‘I would not presume to suggest ...’

‘Then whisper to me, my love.’

‘Well, Edward, I think that if Anthony were to have the girl it would bring great good to this country.’

‘Anthony! Did you know, Elizabeth, that my brother George is after her?’

‘You will never allow that.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Never.’

‘Then Anthony?’

He was still smiling at her. He did not answer. To what lengths did her ambition for her family go? Did she really think the greatest heiress of the day would be allowed to marry a mere Earl and one who had inherited his titles because of his sister’s relationship with the King?

Yet she looked so appealing. Why not grant his permission? Nothing would come of it in any case. The suggestion would be laughed to scorn in Burgundy and perhaps it would teach Elizabeth not to aim quite so high for her family in future. It was different with herself. She had won her place through her outstanding beauty and her determination never to irritate her husband with criticism of his actions.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘let Anthony try. Nothing will come of it, I assure you. But there is no harm in trying.’

That was it. He would not refuse her. He would please her as always. Let someone else do the unpleasant part, which was of course inevitable.

It was different with Clarence. When he came and asked permission to put forward his suit to the heiress of Burgundy he was met with a blank refusal.

As Edward had expected scorn was poured on Anthony’s hopes; but when George realised that Rivers had been allowed to try while he himself had been refused even that, his fury knew no bounds.

He had had enough. The King and the Queen were now his bitter enemies and he would act accordingly.

Sulking he went back to Warwick Castle. He was in deep mourning, he said, for the wife he had loved so well.

He was lonely. He might have been contemplating another marriage if all had gone smoothly with the Burgundy project. Not that that would compensate for the loss of Isabel, but it would take his mind off this miserable lonely state.

Edward had refused him that consolation. And what was more had given it to Anthony Woodville. My lord Rivers! That upstart! Where would he have been if his sister had not attracted the King and had the cunning to refuse him till he married her.

A curse on the Woodvilles. And that sly woman the Queen had tried to pretend she was Isabel’s friend by sending her the woman ... Ankarette somebody. Curse curse curse the Woodvilles and in particular the Queen who was responsible for their rise. Edward was a fool to have married a woman of no standing. They were always the worst when it came to grabbing titles and lands.

He ground his teeth in rage and wished with all his might that he could raise an army and destroy Edward.

How dared the Queen send a woman to serve Isabel! And why had she done it? Why?

Pictures were darting in and out of his fevered mind. That woman ... sent by the Queen! For what purpose? Why should the Queen send Isabel a woman to serve her?

There was something behind this. The more he thought of it the more excited he became. He revelled in his excitement. It took his mind off the disappointment in the loss of Mary of Burgundy.

The woman had come ... sent by the Queen ... and Isabel had died. He did not trust the Queen, so he did not trust any of her women.

He sent for one of his menservants. He said to the man: ‘Send the woman Ankarette to me. I would speak to her.’

‘My lord,’ was the answer, ‘she has left us. She went after the Duchess’s death. She said she had come to serve her and now she and the child were dead there was no reason why she should stay.’

‘Oh she did, did she? I understand. Yes, I think I understand very well. Where has she gone? Has she returned to her mistress the Queen?’

‘I think not, my lord. She has a home in Cayford.’

‘And where is Cayford?’

‘It is in Somerset I believe, my lord.’

‘Ah, that will do. I will find her.’

The manservant looked astonished but George waved him away. The plan was already there in his mind; and he never paused to consider consequences. He summoned eighty of his guards and told them that they were to go with all speed to a place called Cayford which was in Somerset. There they would find the home of Ankarette Twynhoe, and they were to arrest her and bring her immediately to Warwick Castle where he would be awaiting them.

The Captain of the guard looked somewhat dismayed. It was a well-known fact that none had the powers of immediate arrest except the King; and although Clarence was the King’s brother that was not the same thing.

‘Why do you hesitate?’ asked Clarence.

‘We are to arrest this woman ... in the name of ...’

‘You are to arrest this woman. Have I not told you? I command it. I command it ...’

When Clarence was in such a mood it was wisest to obey him and the Captain remarked that he would leave at once for Somerset.

When the soldiers arrived Ankarette was at home with her daughter and son-in-law, who were visiting her for she had been long from home nursing the Duchess of Clarence. They were sitting peacefully at dinner when Clarence’s guard appeared.

As the Captain came into the dining hall Ankarette rose from the table in astonishment.

‘You are under arrest,’ she was told.

Her son-in-law had risen with her. ‘What means this?’ he demanded. ‘What right have you to burst in on us thus ... ?’

‘We are ordered to take her to Warwick Castle.’

‘For what reason?’ cried Ankarette. ‘I have just left Warwick.’

‘On the charge of poisoning the Duchess of Clarence and her child.’

‘This is madness,’ said Ankarette.

‘You must nevertheless come with me to answer the charge.’

Ankarette’s son-in-law laid a hand on her arm. ‘You should not go. They have no right. Only the King can arrest a person in this way ... and these men do not come on the King’s orders.’

‘We come on the orders of the Duke of Clarence,’ answered the Captain.

Ankarette said: ‘It is such nonsense. I shall be able to prove my innocence without the least trouble. I will go.’

‘My dear Mother,’ said Ankarette’s daughter, ‘I think you should refuse to go until you know more of this ridiculous matter.’

The Captain of the guard had called in his men. ‘It would be better not to resist,’ he said.

They all saw the wisdom of this. What chance had three of them against eighty?

Ankarette said: ‘I will come peacefully and I shall want a very good explanation of this violation of my home, I warn you.’

‘So be it,’ said the Captain of the guard.

‘We are coming with you, Mother,’ said Ankarette’s daughter.

So the three of them were taken to Warwick Castle where Clarence was waiting for them in a fever of impatience. He had worked himself to even greater fury convincing himself that Isabel and his child had been murdered at the instigation of the Queen. This was not so much a case against Ankarette Twynhoe as against Elizabeth Woodville. He had been thinking a great deal. This was going to be the first step on his journey to the throne. He was going to expose these Woodvilles as jealous murderers and people would see how foolish the King was to have given them the power they had. He had been drinking heavily of his favourite malmsey wine while he awaited the arrival of the party from Somerset, and he was intoxicated not only with the wine but with dreams of the great triumphs which lay ahead.

First he must deal with this woman – the Queen’s woman as he thought of her, the Woodvilles’ assassin.

He was down at the gates of the castle when the party arrived.

They had the woman, he gleefully noticed. She looked truculent, very sure of herself. And who was this with her? he demanded to know.

Her daughter. Her son-in-law. But he had not wished to see them. They came uninvited. The man was subservient as became him in the presence of the great Duke of Clarence.

‘My mother-in-law is no longer young, my lord. We do not care for her to travel alone.’

Clarence laughed. ‘She is not too old to do the bidding of her masters and mistresses, it seems. Take the woman into the castle and send the others away.’

‘My lord ...’ It was the daughter.

‘Take this woman,’ cried Clarence, ‘and remove her from my castle. It is only Ankarette Twynhoe that I am going to bring to justice. Of course if these people want to make trouble they will be arrested without delay.’

Ankarette was now beginning to feel alarmed. She knew Clarence’s temperament: it was impossible to have lived for a while in his household and not discovered something of him. What did he mean? Of what was he accusing her?

She turned to her daughter. ‘Go at once,’ she said. ‘I see his mood is ugly. I shall be all right. There is nothing of which he can accuse me.’

‘Stop this whispering,’ cried Clarence. ‘Take the woman into the castle.’

Ankarette turned to smile reassuringly at her daughter and the younger woman, after hesitating for a moment, went off with her husband. They would have to find their way to the nearest town to see if they could find a night’s shelter.

Ankarette meantime was conducted into the hall of the castle.

Clarence had seated himself at a table and he signed to the guards to bring her to him. He looked at her angrily and said: ‘You will stand trial tomorrow.’

‘Trial, my lord ... for what?’

‘Your pose of innocence is useless, murderess. I know what you have done and at whose instigation.’

‘My lord, I beg you, tell me what it is you think I have done?’

‘You know. You murdered my wife, as your mistress instructed you to.’

‘Murdered! The Duchess! My lord, how could you possibly have thought such a thing!’

‘I know it,’ said Clarence. ‘The Queen gave you instructions. You are her woman, are you not?’

‘I served the Queen.’

‘Most effectively I see.’

‘You are very mistaken, my lord. The Queen wished nothing but good to the Duchess and she sent me to help her. I loved my lady.’

‘I see through lies, madam. Do not imagine that you can outwit me.’

‘My lord ... This is monstrous ... this is ...’

‘Take the woman away.’

Ankarette lay on a pallet in one of the small rooms of the castle. This was like a nightmare. What could it mean? The poor Duchess had been weak before her confinement. She had never been a strong woman. The doctors had shaken their heads over her condition and Ankarette knew that they feared that she might not come safely through. And now she was accused of murdering her! It was such nonsense.

And yet ... there was a wildness in the Duke of Clarence, a determination to prove her guilty. Why? Why select her? What harm had she ever done him?

She tossed on her pallet. Sleep was impossible. A glimmer of understanding was coming to her. This was not an attack by Clarence on her ... but on the Queen.

It must be solved. It was nonsensical. The Duke was intoxicated. He often was. In the light of morning he would have recovered and realised the ridiculousness of this accusation.

It was a relief when dawn came. The guards came to her. They were losing no time and were taking her to the court without delay.

The proceedings were quickly over. The Duke of Clarence accused Ankarette Twynhoe of murder. She had come ostensibly to serve the Duchess but in fact to bring about her death. The Duchess had sickened from the moment Ankarette entered the household and all knew that she had died. Her death had been brought about by poison which had been administered by Ankarette Twynhoe.

That was Clarence’s case against her. He ordered the jury to find her guilty and they did.

‘This woman deserves a fearful death,’ said Clarence, ‘but we will be merciful and let her die by hanging.’

Ankarette protested her innocence. She was still bewildered by the suddenness of this accusation. Two days ago she had been in her own home entertaining her daughter and son-in-law, and now here she was face to face with death.

There was no point in delay, Clarence said. Let the hanging take place at once. Everything was in readiness. They would leave the hall and the deed should be done.

They took her out. She stood for a few moments looking up at the blue April sky. Suddenly she heard the song of a chaffinch and the realisation came to her that she would never hear that again.

One of the jury who had condemned her was standing close by looking at her.

‘Forgive me,’ he said.

She bowed her head; she was amazed that the anguished look in his eyes could touch her at such a moment.

He went on: ‘You are innocent. It is wicked. I dared not say so. I despise myself. But I was afraid of the might of the Duke of Clarence. He wanted this verdict and we had to give it.’

‘I understand,’ she said.

A man was at her side. ‘They are waiting,’ he said. And he led her to the hangman.

It was impossible for Edward not to hear of what had happened to Elizabeth’s one-time serving woman Ankarette Twynhoe.

He did not discuss the matter with Elizabeth although he knew that this was meant to be a blow at her because she had actually recommended Ankarette to the Duchess of Clarence. He did, however, speak to Hastings about it for it was very much on his mind.

‘What do you think of my brother’s latest exploit?’ he asked his friend.

‘He has usurped your powers in arresting that woman and in hanging her immediately after the trial.’

‘And we know the trial was no real one. The jury are saying that they believed the woman innocent and were forced to bring in a verdict of guilty because my brother demanded it.’

‘There will be trouble with Clarence, Edward.’

‘There has always been trouble with Clarence. But this is a flagrant abuse of rights. To kill the woman for no reason but ... but what, William? What motive had he for this foolish and wicked act?’

‘To discredit the Queen and perhaps yourself.’

Edward nodded. ‘How long can it go on?’

‘As long as you allow it.’

‘He is my brother. I have forgiven him again and again, but William, the time has come when I can endure no more. I have begun to think that he would plot against my life.’

‘Only just begun to, my lord? Don’t forget he sided with Warwick and fought against you when he believed there was a chance of displacing you and taking the crown for himself. He would do so again ... given the chance.’

‘And this is the brother I have favoured! I have forgiven him time and time again; and all the time he seeks to stab me in the back.’

‘At least you now realise it.’

‘Always knew it but wouldn’t face it. You know my nature. I want to think well of everyone.’

‘Even when they prove themselves to be your enemy? I know you well, Edward. You doubted me once ... I who have ever been your faithful friend. It would be well now to direct a little more watchfulness towards the Duke of Clarence, for I have a notion, my lord, that we must be careful indeed.’

Edward nodded. Hastings was right.

Clarence rarely came to Court. He wanted to give the impression that since his wife and child had been poisoned on the instigation of the Woodvilles they might well turn their attention to him.

He made a rule of never eating while at Court. He would make such elaborate excuses which said as clearly as though he had uttered the words: ‘I fear that I may be poisoned.’

Edward was losing patience with him; moreover people were talking about the end of Ankarette; the fact that she was so hastily despatched and several members of the jury had declared that they deeply repented having pronounced her guilty, for guilty she was most certainly not and they had given their verdict out of fear of the Duke of Clarence.

Rivers was very watchful of Clarence. Edward could understand that. Who could know what wild plots were even at this time forming in Clarence’s mind? The case of Ankarette Twynhoe was an indication of what great lengths he would go to – however absurd – to point a finger at his enemies. Clarence was a fool, thought Edward, but fools could make a great deal of trouble, and he could never be sure what Clarence was plotting and what turn such plots would take. Of one thing he was sure: Clarence had always wanted the throne and had resented Edward’s being the elder, and whichever way he looked he must see Clarence as a menace.

He should have taken some action over the case of Ankarette, for it was so clear that the woman had been completely innocent and the case against her had been trumped up by Clarence. If he could behave as he had, wreaking vengeance on an innocent woman just to prove that the Queen was really the guilty party, he would be guilty of any folly. Elizabeth said little as was her wont but she had been greatly disturbed over Ankarette’s death and understandably so.

Hastings learned from one of the women with whom he consorted that certain soothsayers and necromancers were drawing up horoscopes of the King and the Prince of Wales, to try to discover how long they had to live. Hastings thought it wise to report this to Edward, because when soothsayers and such like acted so it was usually at the request of someone who was interested in the death of a certain person.

Hastings had traced the horoscopes to a Dr John Stacey of Merton College, Oxford, and he suggested that the King look into the matter and discover why this man was casting these horoscopes and at whose instigation.

A law had been made forbidding that anyone set up horoscopes of any members of the royal family without first asking the King’s permission, and Dr John Stacey was arrested for having done this and he was conducted to the Tower.

The King gave orders that he was to be questioned and if he refused to betray his clients he should be requested to do so with a lack of gentleness. Edward awaited the outcome with a great longing in his heart that nothing should be proved against his brother.

However the rigorous questioning brought forth an interesting piece of information. Stacey had been asked for the horoscopes by a certain Thomas Burdett, and Thomas Burdett happened to be a member of Clarence’s household.

So the King had discovered what he had suspected and hoped not to find. Clarence was eagerly awaiting his death and he knew his brother too well not to guess that if it did not come quickly he would grow so impatient that he would attempt to assist nature.

Edward was in a dilemma. He must show Clarence where this foolish careless plotting was leading him. He had overlooked the Ankarette Twynhoe affair although he knew that he should not have done so. He longed for Clarence to act in a brotherly way towards him, to be like Richard, to help him, not to threaten him as he was constantly doing.

Elizabeth was very uneasy. Edward had come back from France with Louis’s pension and what pleased Elizabeth more than anything, the promise of the Dauphin for her eldest daughter. Making grand marriages for her family had always been her delight, now with the daughter of a King there was no end to her ambitions. She had announced that in future young Elizabeth should be known as Madame le Dauphine. But the death of Ankarette Twynhoe had upset her a great deal. Not only because she had known and liked the woman but because of what it meant. Clarence was her enemy and, because of his rank, a deadly one. He was a fool, she knew, but he was powerful; and men such as he was would always find those to follow him.

Stories came to her ears of rumours that were circulating, and she knew they were set about through Clarence and those who served him. One which disturbed her deeply was the story that Edward was a bastard. He was, according to this particular account, the son of an archer of great height and exceptional good looks who had charmed the Duchess of York during one of the Duke’s many absences. The story was ridiculous, of course. Anyone who had ever known Proud Cis would see how ridiculous it was to accuse her of taking an archer lover; moreover if any member of the family had the Plantagenet looks it was Edward; he was very like Edward Longshanks only considerably more handsome. No, it was a ridiculous story and would be discounted by most people as the jealous fabrication of an ambitious brother who was so eager to get his hands on the crown that he was ready to think up the wildest tales. All the same, it was dangerous, and an indication of the way Clarence was moving.

It was against Elizabeth’s principles to talk of state matters with her husband and her persuasions had always been of the most subtle kind, but she was really frightened now. It occurred to her that if anything happened to Edward, her little son would be in a very dangerous position indeed. Clarence must be removed.

The King noticed her depression and asked what ailed her. She burst out that she was tortured by anxieties. She feared for their children and in particular for the Prince of Wales.

‘It’s Clarence,’ she said. ‘Oh Edward, he is your enemy. You know he is saying you are not your father’s son. That means that you have no right to the throne.’

‘Nobody takes any notice of Clarence’s drivellings.’

‘A jury did and that cost an innocent woman her life.’

Edward was silent, and Elizabeth caught his hand and lifted her fearful eyes to his face.

‘I am frightened for our little Edward. He is so young.’

‘No harm shall come to him. I shall see to that. Nor to any of the children. The country is with me, Elizabeth, as firmly as it ever has been beside any king. Clarence has his followers it is true, but they are nothing compared with those who would support me.’

‘I know ... I know. But he is dangerous, Edward. And I think of the children ... and of you too. I fear for us all.’

Edward was thoughtful. He said: ‘Something must be done. Something shall be done.’

Edward began by sending Dr John Stacey and Thomas Burdett with Thomas Blake, a chaplain at Stacey’s college, for trial. They were found guilty of practising magic arts for sinister purposes, and condemned to be hanged at Tyburn. As was usual in these cases the sentence was to be carried out immediately. However, the Bishop of Norwich interceded for Blake, who he said was involved simply because of his association with Stacey’s college and it had not been proved that he was actually aware of what was taking place.

Blake was pardoned. The other two, protesting their innocence to the last, were hanged. It was clear from what had happened and the fact that Burdett was a member of Clarence’s household that the King meant to teach his brother a lesson. Edward suspected the source of the rumours which were circulating about him. If Clarence thought that after having been forgiven once he would be so again he would be mistaken. Edward’s feelings towards him were hardening every day.

Edward went to Windsor after the trial. Clarence stayed in London and he took advantage of Edward’s absence to seek out a preacher, one Dr John Goddard, to force his way into a council meeting at Westminster to read the declarations of innocence made by Stacey and Burdett before their deaths.

This was a wild and reckless act, for John Goddard was the Franciscan who had declared Henry the Sixth to be the true King in 1470 when Warwick with Clarence had come to oust Edward from the throne.

After the protestations had been read before an astonished council Clarence then began gathering men about him; he declared that not only was the King a bastard but that he practised black arts and was planning to poison him, his brother Clarence, because he knew too much. He went to Cambridgeshire and declaimed in the market-square that the King had no right to the throne and if men would rally to him they would soon have the true King on the throne and the imposter replaced.

The people listened open-mouthed. Why should they rise against a king who had brought the country to a state of prosperity which it had not enjoyed for a very long time. It was exciting to listen to Clarence; a few hotheads joined him; but even they did not stay.

Meanwhile Edward in Windsor received news of what was happening. He returned to London and summoned Parliament for the purpose of bringing charges of high treason against his brother.

The King spoke with eloquence and sadness. They would all remember that he had been notoriously generous to his enemies even those who were guilty of heinous treason. His clemency had not been well rewarded. Now a much more malicious and unnatural treason was conspiring against him.

‘My own brother’s hand is against me. He, above all others, owes me love and loyalty. I have rewarded him most generously, with grants, goods and possessions, yet he plots to destroy me and my family. He has urged his servants round the country to tell the people that Burdett had been unjustly executed; he declared that I am a bastard; he holds in his possession an agreement made in the year 1470 which stated that if Henry the Sixth died without heirs he should be the next in the line of succession. My lords,’ went on the King, ‘you see the dilemma in which I am placed. Many times have I forgiven the Duke, my brother; and again and again he has flouted my friendship. I am considering now the safety of the realm and I think that my brother is a danger to us. I therefore ask you to pass upon him a sentence of high treason and to deprive him of all his estates and properties which have been granted to him by the Crown.’

None stood against the King’s accusations and consequently Clarence was arrested. Clarence blusteringly offered to settle the matter by single combat which offer was ignored by the King. There was no one who came forward to defend him or to show that there was not complete agreement with the King’s request.

The Duke of Buckingham, as steward of England, pronounced the death sentence and Clarence was lodged in the Tower.

Now that Clarence was under lock and key Edward found it difficult to bring the matter to conclusion. Clarence had been sentenced to death; he was undoubtedly guilty; and yet he was Edward’s brother. There were so many memories of the bright little boy. He had been so handsome in his youth before dissipation and in particular heavy drinking had marred his good looks. He had had a certain charm too. He was wild and reckless; he said whatever came into his mind without considering the consequence. Edward had loved the boy. He had always been aware of the sterling qualities of Richard but it was George who had had the charm, the power to draw people to him which Edward himself had to an even greater extent. Of course he had been more fond of Richard because of Richard’s admiration for himself and he had quickly realised that his younger brother was loyal and to be trusted. But that did not mean he did not love George. They had been a devoted family. How then could he give the order for his brother’s execution? Yet to fail to do so might bring disaster to the country. While he himself lived in all his strength, Edward could not believe that anything could go wrong. But what if he were to die? And who knew from one day to the next when the call would come? He had a young son, a minor ... what would happen to him if Clarence were to claim the throne declaring that Edward had been a bastard. No, Clarence had to die. He must steel himself. Forget he was his brother, remember only that he was a traitor.

But he put off giving the order.

Elizabeth was clearly pleased because Clarence had been judged guilty. It was a great weight off her mind, she said; and she could now concentrate her thoughts on the betrothal of her second son by Edward Richard Duke of York. Richard was five years old – young to be a bridegroom; but then the bride was only a year older. She was Anne Mowbray, one of the richest girls in the kingdom, and it was for this reason that she was marrying the Duke of York.

Elizabeth excelled at such times. She was delighted with the marriage; her eldest daughter, Madame le Dauphine as Elizabeth insisted she be called, was most happily destined for the throne of France. Her eldest son by Edward would be King, and dear little Richard was going to collect a handful of titles and estates through his rich marriage. Clarence was disposed of. She wondered how she could prevail on Edward to give the final word. It was folly to wait. What if Clarence escaped from the Tower? It was difficult though to work on Edward, and to appear to suggest to him what he should do. She only resorted to that in cases of dire necessity and she had already helped to make Edward aware of how dangerous Clarence was.

But first the wedding, and after that Clarence must die.

The little girl was now at Westminster Palace in the apartments of the Queen’s chamber, and she would be led to St Stephen’s Chapel by Lord Rivers. Elizabeth was always anxious that her family should play big parts in these affairs.

The beautiful chapel was decorated with blue hangings spattered with golden fleur-de-lys. The King and the Queen were with their children about them – all beautiful and golden-haired like their mother, and it would have been surprising if they had not been good-looking with such handsome parents.

Elizabeth took her little son by the hand and led him to the altar. The little girl was taken there by Lord Rivers and the King himself gave her in marriage to his son. Richard of Gloucester was present and when they came out of the chapel it was his task to scatter gold coins among the crowd.

The children looked a little alarmed because all this fuss and ceremony was for them. They held hands as commanded to and surveyed each other with a hint of hostility. Richard did not want a bride and mildly resented having one forced upon him; Anne who was a year or so older thought him something of a baby and if she had to have a bridegroom would have preferred his elder brother who not only was a more mature age but was the Prince of Wales.

However, the last thing that was considered was the feelings of the bride and groom, and the ceremony over, the rejoicing began. There were to be days of tournaments and knights were coming into London from all over the country, and some from abroad, to share in this.

Elizabeth was very contented to see members of her family compete with distinction. Anthony was already a champion, but Dorset, her eldest son by her first marriage, was fast becoming known as a man to be reckoned with at Court.

He was profligate it was true, but then so was the King and his greatest friend Hastings; in fact the three of them went roystering together which in Elizabeth’s eyes was somehow unpleasant. It seemed wrong that a man and his stepson should indulge together and she had been faintly alarmed to hear that Dorset had cast his lascivious eyes on Edward’s goldsmith’s wife. Now that could cause trouble. Perhaps she should speak to Dorset about it.

But worries could be shelved at this time for the glorious ceremonies were about to begin and a nice gesture would be when the little Anne Mowbray, the new Duchess of York, presented the prizes. Elizabeth had told Madame le Dauphine to sit beside her and help her for the bride was very young.

It was a great and glittering occasion but all through it the King was thinking of his brother.

Clarence was in the Bowyer Tower! He had been sentenced to death. Edward could not remember being so disturbed and undecided in the whole of his life.

Clarence free was a menace and yet how could he give the order that his brother be put to death? He knew if he did he would be haunted by what he had done for the rest of his days.

He, who had always liked life to flow pleasantly, now must face this terrible problem. He could not kill his own brother; and yet to let him live was danger. Was he afraid of danger? Not for himself, no! He had fought his way to the throne; he was strong; he had even stood against Warwick and won. No, he could deal with Clarence. But there was that haunting fear that he might not be here for ever. What if he died while his son was young? Who would look after him and what match would he be for Clarence?

Clarence must die for the Prince’s sake. Elizabeth wanted that. But then Elizabeth was sly and cunning. She had her own reasons for wanting Clarence out of the way. He was the self-confessed enemy of the Woodvilles, and the Woodvilles were sacred in Elizabeth’s estimation.

If Clarence would only repent. He had talked of the matter with Richard who was in the South for the Mowbray wedding. Richard said that he could not kill Clarence.

‘He is our brother. You would never forgive yourself.’

‘And the alternative, Richard?’

‘You can keep him in check.’

‘Can I? If he raised an army against me I could defeat him, yes. It is these sly rumours. He now says I am a bastard. What think you of that? What an insult to our mother! He should lose his head for that alone.’

‘He should,’ agreed Richard. ‘But you cannot kill him, Edward. It would haunt you for life.’

‘Not if I could convince myself that it is the only way.’

Richard said: ‘Go to the Tower, Edward. Talk to him. Try to make him see reason.’

‘Would you go?’

‘He would not listen to me. He has never forgiven me for marrying Anne. No. But you mayhap could strike fear into him for I believe that is the only way to get him to act reasonably.’

‘I will go to him,’ said Edward. ‘I will try to make him see reason. I will make him see what the consequences will be if he does not.’

‘It is the best way,’ said Richard.

Edward made his way to the Bowyer Tower. They were just taking in a vast butt of malmsey.

He stopped the men and asked where they were taking it.

‘To the Duke of Clarence, my lord,’ he was told.

‘Someone is going to have a drinking party, I should think. There is enough there to last one man a year.’

‘My lord, not the Duke of Clarence. He is very partial to the stuff.’

‘So, for my brother,’ said the King, and he went his way.

Clarence looked sullenly at Edward.

‘So my lord King has taken to visiting the poor prisoner,’ he said.

‘George, I have come to talk to you.’

‘I am overcome by the honour.’

‘Listen, you know you are in danger of losing your life.’

‘I know that you have condemned me to death.’

‘Not I. The parliament.’

‘At your command. You are afraid of me, Edward. That is why you want to get me out of the way.’

‘If I had been afraid of you I could, as you put it, have got you out of the way long ago. I will not hesitate to tell you that many people to whom I should have been wise to listen would have done just that.’

‘I know. You have your cronies. You have the Woodville clan whom you have created, brother. You have made them the great family of England and all because you wanted the widow.’

‘I ask you not to speak of the Queen.’

‘Indeed not. Holy Elizabeth! Clever Elizabeth! A witch if ever there was one.’

‘I have not come here to talk nonsense, George. I have come to give you one last chance. Stop this foolishness. Be my good brother as you were once when we were young. That’s all I ask. Do this and you shall be free. But I warn you, George, that if, after you are forgiven, I find you out in one treasonable act the death sentence shall be carried out without further trial.’

‘Oh magnanimous brother, beloved of his people! The handsomest man in the kingdom ... in the world some say. A little worse for wear just now, eh. Too many nights of love, too much romping with the ladies of the town. Have you had any attacks of the fever lately, Edward? That is what we call it is it not? You should be more careful of some of those town women, brother. You see after every fresh bout you are just a little less splendid.’

‘Be silent,’ said Edward. ‘I can see that you are completely unrepentant.’

‘What have I to repent of? Being the legitimate son of my father?’

‘That is unforgivable ... a slander on our mother.’

‘You know our mother, Edward. She is a woman of strong character. Do you think she was always faithful to our wandering father? He was scarcely at home. It would have been surprising if she had not given birth to a son who was not sired on her by the Duke of York.’

‘You know you lie. George, you deserve everything that has come to you.’

‘And you, brother, do not? The crown should have been mine ... mine ... But you, bastard that you are, took it from me.’

‘You are quite mad,’ said Edward. ‘I see I waste my time in talking to you. Stay here then ... suffer your full deserts. I will try no more to help you.’

George closed his eyes. He was feeling somewhat muddled. He had finished the last of the malmsey before he had sent for the new butt. There had been more to finish than he had realised and he was slightly intoxicated. Heavy drinker that he was he was capable of taking a good deal of wine without its having any effect on him but he seemed to have taken more than usual and the effect was to dull his senses.

Edward was offering him freedom if he would swear to be a good brother in future. Had he been stark sober doubtless he would have accepted the offer. Not that he would have kept his side of the bargain. George was not burdened with a sense of honour. But he would have been free and able to work out his plan.

There was one thing he had discovered ... only a few hours before his arrest, and he had been pondering on it during the whole period of his incarceration. It was the most important bit of luck which had ever come his way.

He had kept it to himself wondering when would be the best time and place to use it.

Now in his muddled state, to see Edward standing there, so big and strong and with all the advantages which he had always had, he could not contain that valuable piece of information to himself any longer. He wanted to see how Edward would receive it.

He stood up unsteadily.

‘You ...’ he pointed to Edward, ‘Edward ... have no right to the throne ... Bastard.’

‘Be silent! If you say that again I will kill you with my own hands.’

‘I’ll say this,’ cried Clarence. ‘Your son whom you call the Prince of Wales has no right to the throne. And why not? ‘I’ll tell you. It’s because Elizabeth Woodville is your mistress ... not your wife ... not the Queen ... She’s another such as Jane Shore and the rest of your merry band of women. The Queen’s just one of them ... Your children are bastards ... The Prince of Wales is a little bastard. The Duke of York ...’

Edward had strode to his brother and had him by the shoulders.

Clarence laughed. ‘Shake me. Kill me if you will. You’re strong enough, are you not? The great King ... the mighty King ... and what when the people know that your marriage to the Woodville witch was no true marriage, eh?’

‘It was a true marriage. You utter treason. By God, George ...’

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Do you remember the name of Eleanor Butler ... Shrewsbury’s girl ... ? Do you remember that betrothal? She was alive when you went through a form of marriage with the Woodville ... so that makes proud Queen Elizabeth just another of your women and the little Princes ... oh and proud Madame le Dauphine ... bastards ... bastards all of them.’

Edward had turned pale. If he had been less drunk Clarence would have seen his pallor beneath the ruddy weather tan.

‘Edward,’ went on Clarence, ‘I have seen Bishop Stillington ... Just before I was arrested. Too late to act then. But I’m clever ... I keep the information locked in here ...’ He patted his chest. ‘I know all about it. Bastards ... because you had a previous contract with Eleanor Butler and she was alive in her convent when you went through a form of marriage with the Woodville.’

Edward pushed his brother back onto his pallet. He was glad he was drunk for he himself was more shaken than he wished him to see.

He turned away and went through the door. He did not notice the guards outside. He walked straight out of the Bowyer Tower and mounting his horse rode along by the river.

His mind went back years. He could see Eleanor now. She had seemed very beautiful ... rather like Elizabeth and of the same proud nature. The daughter of the old Earl of Shrewsbury. They had met and he had desired her as desperately as later he had desired Elizabeth. There were many women, there always had been, but here and there would appear one who was completely irresistible and he must pay the price for her whatever it was. So with Eleanor; so with Elizabeth.

Eleanor had gone into a convent afterwards. He thought he would never hear more of her ... and he had married Elizabeth.

There was no longer any uncertainty. His mind was made up now. George Duke of Clarence had signed his own death warrant.

He was to be executed but the King did not want a public execution. Let him be killed in his prison and let it seem as if it had come about by accident. The Duke had been drinking heavily ... more so than he usually did since his entry into the Tower. It would not be difficult for some accident to befall him.

The next morning Clarence was found dead. He was hanging over the butt of malmsey which had been brought to the cell the day before.

The news spread. The Duke of Clarence had been drowned in a butt of malmsey.

That very day another arrest was made and Bishop Stillington was lodged in the Tower.

No sooner was Clarence dead than Edward was filled with remorse. He could not shut out of his mind memories of their early days when he had strutted through the nurseries and his brothers had looked at him as though he were the perfect specimen of manhood. He had been devoted to them; he had visited them when they were in London, always making time to sit with them and to answer their questions; he had loved his family, and it was he who had given the order for George’s death.

Elizabeth knew that he suffered; so did Jane Shore. Elizabeth watched him covertly; she had her own reasons for wishing Clarence out of the way and although she said little she could not hide her relief that he could no longer plague her.

Jane was different. He softened thinking of Jane. She was his comfort nowadays. Who would have believed that he would have found such a woman among the merchants of the city? Jane was different from all others. That incomparable beauty for one thing and with it her tender nature. People marvelled that he had been faithful to Jane for so long – well not exactly faithful for there had been scores of others; what he meant was that Jane had continued over years to hold a fascination for him. The fact was he loved Jane. He loved Elizabeth in a way. She was a Queen to be proud of in spite of what those of the first nobility insisted on calling low birth. She was as beautiful in her way as Jane was in hers. Elizabeth was the cold cold north; Jane the warm and glowing south. Elizabeth was aloof, secretive; Jane was intimate and impulsive. Jane never thought of holding back what she thought; she had no ulterior motives, no high honours to seek. That was scarcely the case with Elizabeth.

He was a man who needed many women and none could say he had not had his share. He needed Elizabeth – cool calm mother of his children; and he needed warm and loving Jane; and it was to Jane he would go at times like this.

Jane knew at once what ailed him. She was no fool and she interested herself in state affairs because they were his concern. She knew of the trial George had been to him and how he had to wrestle with himself before he could give the order to kill.

She stroked his hair; she was motherly on this occasion because it was what was needed. Instinctively she knew that was the phase of their relationship which was required. She must soothe him, repeat that he had been over-generous, as he had.

‘How many would have despatched him long ago?’ he demanded not for the first time.

Jane could assure him that few would have been so lenient. He had forgiven Clarence again and again. Had his mischievous brother not joined Warwick and come against him? He had forgiven him then, which was magnanimous.

Jane assured him that he had only done what was necessary for his own safety and for that of the country.

Oh yes, it was indeed soothing to be with Jane. He was lucky to have found such a woman. Others sought her, he knew. That rake of a stepson of his, Dorset, had his eyes on her. Sometimes Edward wondered about them. Dorset was very good-looking ... and young. He was a cynical young man; inclined to be brutal, and he hoped Jane would never go to him.

Hastings had his eyes on her too. Well, Hastings was as profligate as Edward himself was. They had been companions in many nocturnal adventures and they still pursued them with the same gusto – or almost. Yes, Hastings undoubtedly had a tender spot for Jane. Oddly enough he believed that Hastings’s feelings were similar to his own. They both realised that there was something special about Jane.

Poor Hastings! He had to keep off. Edward had made it clear that he was in no mind to share Jane.

So he felt better for a while after a sojourn with her.

But later of course the haunting returned.

The weeks were passing. People did not talk quite so often of the death of the Duke of Clarence and ask themselves whether he had fallen into the butt of malmsey or had been pushed into it.

In time even events like that were forgotten.

Edward ceased to think of his brother every morning when he awoke. It was only occasionally now when he would suffer that sudden catch of his breath as he realised he had condemned his own brother to death. Clarence deserved it, he kept assuring himself. He had to die. It was Clarence or disaster. The country was not safe while Clarence lived.

There was one other matter which disturbed him. He had imprisoned Robert Stillington in the Tower and tried to forget him. But that was not possible of course. He had to do something about the man. It was now three months since he had been imprisoned.

Edward made up his mind that he could not allow him to remain there indefinitely. Questions would be asked. It was not as though Stillington was an insignificant person.

It was on a bright June day when Edward rode to the Tower and slipping in without ceremony ordered that he should be conducted to the room in which Bishop Stillington was held.

When he arrived, the Bishop hastily rose and hope shone in his eyes as he bowed low.

Robert Stillington was an ambitious man; he had chosen the Church as his profession not only because it suited his nature but because he saw means of advancing himself through it. He had shown himself to be an able man and preferment had come to him. He was now the Bishop of Bath and Wells. For a time he had been Lord Chancellor being a strong Yorkist but on the return of the Lancastrians in 1470 he had been deprived of his office. Edward had reinstated him but he had resigned from the office a few years later. Yet he and Edward had worked together on occasions. Edward had felt uneasy about the Tudors for they had made themselves prominent in the Lancastrian cause and he particularly suspected Jasper of subversive planning from Brittany. Jasper was getting old but he had with him his nephew Henry Tudor and by the way in which he kept that boy, nurtured him and trained him, suggested that he might have plans for him.

Edward had considered Henry Tudor. Unfortunately his mother was Margaret Beaufort descended from John of Gaunt and of course the Tudors said they had royal blood because of that connection with Henry the Fifth’s Queen. It was a mysterious relationship. Some were sure there had been a marriage, others said there had not. But in any case it was a very flimsy claim. Still, there was a strength about the Tudors, and Edward had decided that he would be more at peace if Jasper and his nephew Henry were in his care. He had sent Stillington to bargain with the Duke of Brittany to bring them out of that country and to England but as old Jasper discovered what was afoot and escaped with his precious nephew that had come to nothing. It was, however, no fault of Stillington.

Now the two faced each other and Edward studied the Bishop intently.

‘So, my lord Bishop,’ he said, ‘you have spent the spring in this place.’

‘It is so, my lord.’

‘It was well deserved,’ said Edward.

The Bishop bowed his head and said nothing.

‘You spoke ill-chosen words where it was most unwise to do so.’

‘That was so, my lord.’

‘My brother is now dead.’

An almost imperceptible shiver crossed Stillington’s face. By God, thought Edward, he believes I have come to murder him.

‘I am a lenient man, Bishop,’ he said quickly. ‘Do you agree with that?’

‘My lord, none could have been more so to the Duke.’

‘So because I act kindly towards men, because I understand their foibles and sometimes forgive, there are those who think it is amusing to provoke me since it will bring no punishment.’

‘I never thought that, my lord.’

‘And yet ... and yet ...’

Edward’s eyes had started to blaze. He was rarely angry but when he was he could be fierce. Stillington knew this and trembled.

He went down on his knees. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘I ask your forgiveness. I swear nothing shall pass my lips again.’

The King was thoughtful. He looked down at the Bishop’s head and was thinking of that occasion ... so long ago now it seemed. He could see them all in the little room – Eleanor, seeming so desirable then. Worth all the trouble. Virtuous, beautiful ... the sort of woman a man had to make sacrifices for. And he had not been a king then. The Bishop had warned him, this very Bishop. Pompous old fool, he had thought. What did Bishops know of love?

And so there had been that ceremony ... that fateful ceremony which if it were brought to light could wreak what damage? His marriage to Elizabeth no marriage at all! His son ... little Edward a bastard and that would apply to all his children. Oh no, it must be stopped at all costs. At all costs. Clarence had paid with his life. The secret would never have been safe with Clarence. Once Clarence knew, once he had spoken of it, that had to be the end of him.

And now the Bishop ... But the Bishop was not Clarence. The Bishop was a man of good sense. He had babbled. He had made a fatal error. He knew it now. He had learned the bitter lesson for three long months.

He would not commit such an error again.

‘Get up,’ said Edward.

The Bishop rose and Edward looked at him steadily.

‘You have been foolish, Bishop,’ he said. ‘Do you agree with me?’

‘Indeed I do, my lord.’

‘You and I were good friends once.’

‘My lord, I trust we still are.’

‘When you seek to harm me?’

‘My lord, what I did was done through carelessness ... I whispered ... I talked ... I could cut my tongue out now.’

‘And if you had the chance over again you would be silent ... You would not talk of this matter?’

‘My lord, I swear it.’

There was a silence which seemed to the Bishop to go on for a long time.

Then the King said: ‘I believe you, Stillington. You acted foolishly and carelessly and without any thought of what this could mean. You will not do such a thing again?’

‘My lord, I promise.’

‘Then I am going to be kind to you, Stillington. You shall pay a fine and go free.’ Edward moved very close to the Bishop and seizing him by the shoulder looked down on him from his great height.

‘It would go so ill with you, my friend, if you ever did, that I know you will not. That is why I am going to send you away a free man – on payment of your fine, which indeed you owe. I trust, Bishop, that you will be of as good service to me as you were before this unfortunate incident occurred. Remember, that with a less lenient master, it could have cost you your life.’

‘My lord, you are good and great and like all truly great men you are merciful.’

‘That is so. Now I will take my leave of you, Bishop. You may prepare to leave. I will give the order.’

With that Edward left him.

He came out into the fresh air; he was smiling. He had settled that matter. There would be nothing more from Stillington. He could put that tiresome matter out of his head for there was an end to it.

Now if only he could banish George from his thoughts he could be a happy man.

Chapter IX DEATH AT WESTMINSTER

These were the good days. Edward could congratulate himself. When he had come to the throne the country had been in a state of disorder. He had brought it to prosperity. He was strong; while at the same time he was amazingly affable. His extraordinary good looks could not fail to distinguish him. Of late they had deteriorated from the golden glory of their youth. He had grown fat but his great height helped to disguise it and in some ways his immense bulk made him even more impressive than ever. He had the respect of his subjects and no matter what fines he levied he held their affection.

He looked like a king; he behaved like a king; and this was what the people wanted.

There was no doubt that the country was regaining its self-respect through him. He had a beautiful wife. True the people disliked her because of her arrogance and the fact that she was as they said ‘low-born’ but they admitted that she was very beautiful and she had done her duty in producing a fine family. There were now seven living children. George had been born within the last two years. A handsome King, a beautiful Queen and a clutch of children including Edward the Prince of Wales to follow the King – which they all hoped would not be for many years and before he was a mature man – and little Richard Duke of York who had so recently married Anne Mowbray and now little George just a year old. An unfortunate choice of name perhaps as it recalled that other George who had died so mysteriously in the Bowyer Tower but royal families stuck to certain names and so there was George.

As the months passed and the shadow of Clarence grew further away, Edward’s contentment grew. He had one great wish that was as yet unfulfilled and that was to see his eldest daughter Dauphine of France. This would be the ideal marriage. Peace would be brought about between the two countries and with an English Princess Queen of France none could complain but would realise how much wiser it was to settle these disputes through such alliances than to carry on with destructive wars. But Louis was prevaricating and there was always some reason why he could not send for the Princess. Now he was saying that he must come to some settlement of his disagreement with Burgundy before the plans for the marriage could go forward.

Edward waited content. He was more independent than an English king had been for many years. He owed this to what he considered his skilful diplomacy in France. What other king would have been shrewd enough to take a mighty army to France and come away with a pension and no bloodshed? Those fifty thousand crowns were a symbol of his shrewdness. They had bought him his independence; they had set his exchequer in order and made it possible for him not to impose heavy taxes on his people. They had enabled him to shake off the yoke the barons liked to put on their kings and usually managed to because the king had constantly to ask them for money.

He had always been something of a merchant. Perhaps that was why he had enjoyed mingling with them. He was interested in their trading as well as their wives. He had learned a great deal about the exporting of wool both raw and made into cloth, and he had sought to make English cloth the best in the world. Moreover he had succeeded.

He was at the height of his power. He was the glorious sun which the house of York depicted so well on its banner. Right at the heart of the people’s love for him was his interest in them. He loved his people. He could talk to them with ease; he could move among them dressed as a merchant so that they were not aware of his identity. He could talk to them of the difficulties of business and when they discovered that they had been in conversation with the King, they were his for ever.

He had the rare touch of being at one with his people and because he was at the same time so splendid, so magnificently attired on state occasions, and always, even now that he was so corpulent and showing the marks of a debauched existence, he was still handsome. He would keep this gift until the day he died.

Edward could look back on the last ten years since he had been restored to the throne and say: ‘I have done well. I have given them what they asked.’

But he did not stint himself. He still had his mistresses, his rich food, his fine wines and his splendid clothes. He lived like a king; and the people wanted it that way.

The Queen was quite content that it should be as he had made it. That he had his mistresses she had known for a long time. He had slipped back into his old promiscuous ways soon after their marriage. Her wise mother had taught her that that was something she must accept and she had accepted it. Her delight in her marriage did not lie in the bedchamber. Elizabeth liked to see her women kneel before her when they addressed her; she liked all of them to remember every moment of the day that she was the Queen. Her joy had been to see her family rise to be the most significant in the land. All the important posts now – or almost all – were held by Woodvilles. There were jokes about it in the Court. They said the Rivers flowed very high now. Let them! What mattered it what they said? While her brothers had grown rich and powerful the envious lords and ladies who had lost to them might look on and gnash their teeth all they wished.

Like the King, more than anything now, she wished to see the marriage of their eldest daughter to the Dauphin. Madame la Dauphine would in due course become the Queen of France. Herself a Queen, her daughter a Queen of France, what more could Elizabeth want.

The death of Clarence had brought them peace.

They owed something too to Edward’s brother Richard who was keeping order with constant efficiency in the North. Edward had often said how relieved he was to have someone up there whom he could trust. When he thought of Clarence which he still did far too frequently, he also thought of Richard. The contrast if nothing more would have brought Richard to his mind. He often said to himself: If I had but been blessed with another brother such as Richard how different life would have been. Richard he fancied had not come to Court so much since the death of Clarence. He seemed to make excuses for not coming. Was it because of George‘s death? Edward knew it was. With Richard’s strict code how would he have felt about the removal of their brother? It was hard to say. Richard had the makings of a ruler and surely one such must realise that the death of one man was a small price to pay if it was going to prevent the blood of hundreds being shed. Yes, Richard must understand that. But he had not liked it. Clarence’s execution had shocked him and Edward had to remember that Richard had been more closely brought up with him than he, Edward, had for they were nearer in age.

He must stop thinking of Clarence.

Richard then was in the North keeping the border safe, ever watchful of the Scots. He had some good men up there. He was not flamboyant like his brother but he did have a gift for binding men to him – some men that was ... men like Francis Lovell the friend whom he had known since they were both boys, Lord Scrope and Richard Ratcliffe.

He was happy up there too – always happier in the harsh North, he had often teased him. He liked the brash manners of the northerners rather than the more gracious ways of the South. One was honest, Richard said; the other far from that. Edward had laughed at him. Edward could put on a personality to suit all men. That was something Richard could never do.

Yes, he had brought things to a good pass, for while he had interested himself in trade he had not neglected the arts and his had become a cultured Court. He had furnished his Court so lavishly that he acquired some of the most beautiful works of art in Europe. His gold plate alone was worth a fortune; he had sets of arras representing the histories of the past – Nebuchadnezzar, Alexander and biblical subjects; he was a constant customer at the goldsmiths’ shops in London and all their best pieces were first shown to him.

He had started to build a new chapel at Windsor which he was calling the Chapel of St George and which he planned should exceed – or at least equal in splendour the buildings at Cambridge, built by his predecessor. He had gathered together some of the finest books in the world and was building up a magnificent library. He had monks in Bruges working on illuminating manuscripts for he particularly admired Fleming art. He had brought William Caxton to England. He had met Caxton during his enforced sojourn at the Court of his sister the Duchess of Burgundy and had then expressed great interest in the art of printing. At the time of Edward’s exile Caxton had been working on a translation of the Receuil des Histoires de Troyes and as there had been such a demand for copies he had learned the art of printing that he might produce a large quantity. A few years ago Edward had persuaded him to come to England where he had printed The Dictes and Sayings of Philosophers. Since then he had printed other books and Edward had let him know that he was always welcome at Court.

So the King had reason to be pleased. These were the good years. The sun was high in the sky; the King in all his splendour reigned over a happy and prosperous country.

The Queen was pregnant again. Elizabeth bore children with ease and her continual confinements left her as beautiful as ever. She seemed to have some special power to remain young. It was small wonder that people said she was a witch.

That spring it seemed as though the country had had too many blessings showered on it for news came to London that there was plague at several ports. People had never forgotten the terrible Black Death which had swept over Europe even though it had happened more than a hundred years before. There had been minor outbreaks since and everyone grew fearful at the very mention of the dreaded scourge returning.

The King and Queen had left for Windsor where the King was absorbed by the work on his chapel. But there was a melancholy atmosphere over the Court. Even Edward was affected by it. He too thought of the Black Death and was afraid that everything he had built up since his second coming to power might be swept away if this bout were anything like that of the last century.

It was not to be so. For one thing, they had learned during that terrible time that the plague was brought in from abroad so the first thing to be done was close the ports. Any inconvenience this caused was trivial compared with having the epidemic raging through the country so fast that it could not be controlled.

Edward’s energy in sealing off infected areas was effective and the plague began to die out.

Little Prince George had begun to grow weak. There seemed to be no reason for it. His mother watched over him fearful that he might be suffering from a new form of the plague. The doctors attended him night and day, but they could not save him.

It was a great sorrow when the little Prince died. Elizabeth was deeply distressed for however cold and calculating she might be there was no doubt that she loved her children and could not bear to lose one of them.

Edward comforted her reminding her that they had six healthy children and there would soon be one more. God had blessed them and his beautiful Elizabeth was indeed as the fruitful vine.

She gave herself up to the preparations for the child about to be born.

It was a girl and they called her Catherine.

The King declared he was delighted with her. She had a good pair of lungs, said her nurses, and that was always the best sign.

Apart from the brief visitation of the plague and the death of little George, it seemed that the good times had come to stay.

The King’s sister Margaret, Dowager Duchess of Burgundy, was proposing to visit her brother. Edward was delighted, not only because his family feeling was strong and he would enjoy seeing his sister, but because he believed that she might have some proposition to lay before him. Margaret was astute; moreover the situation in France was uneasy. England had been the ally of Burgundy – it was for this reason Margaret had married the Duke – but since Edward’s treaty with Louis when he had received his pension and affianced his daughter to the Dauphin there had been a subtle shift.

Margaret had been of inestimable value to Edward when he had been in exile. She had been important to him as more than a sister and when the Duke had been alive she had kept the alliance between Burgundy and England firm. But when he had died and left her childless, his daughter Mary had become the Duchess of Burgundy and moreover the most wealthy heiress in Europe. It was at this time that Clarence had sought her hand in marriage and Margaret who had the strong family feeling of all the House of York had done all she could to bring about that match. The Queen had tried to secure the prize for her brother Earl Rivers, but that of course was not to be taken seriously. One of the reasons why Clarence had so hated his brother was because Edward had appeared to put forward Rivers’s suit while he had declined to help Clarence’s. This seemed to Clarence the height of family disloyalty though it should have been clear to him that Edward had pretended to help Rivers merely to placate the Queen while he knew full well that the idea of any match between the heiress of Burgundy and Rivers would be ridiculed.

As for Mary of Burgundy, she had declined both English matches and in due course had married Maximilian son of the Duke of Austria and Holy Roman Emperor.

Edward was determined to entertain his sister lavishly. He never forgot what she had done for him when he was in exile so he prepared a series of lavish pageants for her amusement. He sent the fleet over to Calais to escort her to England and she was immediately aware that this fleet was under the command of a member of the Queen’s family, Sir Edward Woodville. He was most splendidly attired and his retinue had been fitted out in purple and blue velvet especially for the occasion. A Woodville, of course! she thought. Edward had behaved as though he were bewitched by that woman and now it seemed her entire clan had him in thrall. Her brother George had told her of it, deploring it as undignified in a king. ‘It is Woodvilles before York, sister,’ he had said. And it seemed that this was so, for Edward had actually dared suggest Rivers for her stepdaughter. He could not have been serious of course, but he had done it ... to please his Queen, no doubt.

Well, she would soon see for herself, and at least the welcome was gratifying.

She was escorted to London and lodged in Cold Harbour, a house near the Tower and so close to the river that the water washed its walls. The family were there to greet her. Richard had come down from Middleham although his wife was not with him. Poor Anne Neville, she was a sickly creature Margaret believed yet Richard seemed content. There was one notable absence: her brother Clarence.

Edward was feeling a little uneasy. Margaret had expressed great sorrow and concern at the death of their brother, for oddly enough, he had been her favourite in the family. She had supported him whenever she could; although she had deplored his break with his brother and during that time when Clarence had gone over to Warwick against Edward she had done everything she could to bring them together. It had been unnatural, she had always said, that brothers should fight against each other and that they should be brothers of the House of York was quite unacceptable. Edward had always believed that it had been Margaret’s continual pleading which had brought Clarence back to him.

And now Clarence was dead – ordered to be killed by his own brother! It would make a rift between them, Edward feared, for Margaret could never understand.

Margaret embraced her family with great affection. It gave her great pleasure, she assured them all, to be among them. She congratulated Edward on what he had done for England; he had lifted the country out of the troublous state it had been in during the reign of poor weak Henry. It was a triumph for the House of York.

She obviously wished to speak to Edward in private and at length there came a time when this was possible. She mentioned Clarence at once.

‘It was such a bitter blow when I heard,’ she said. ‘I could not believe it.’

‘George was the most misguided of men,’ Edward replied. ‘It was a great tragedy but inevitable, I fear.’

Margaret did understand; she could see that George wanted the crown and partisan as she was, even she must agree that he would never have ruled the country as Edward did. But it was hard to forget the little brother who had always seemed so charming.

It was no use talking about George. He had come to a most undignified end and there was nothing that could bring him back. He had been reckless and foolish and dangerous and it was because of this last that he had had to die.

She understood. This was a new Edward who stood before her. He had hardened a little. It was natural with the life he must lead, with so many responsibilities. Not that they sat heavily on him. The same ease of manner, the same beguiling charm. He was over-fat of course, which would have been unsightly but his great frame enabled him to carry it off. But it could not be good for him. She had gathered that though he worked hard for his country by day, he pursued his pleasures by night and there were countless mistresses to satisfy his voracious sexual appetite; moreover he was a great trencherman and doubtless needed to be to a certain extent to support that massive frame. He was a connoisseur of wines and could discover the best by a sip.

He was larger than life, this brother of hers. But perhaps he was what men thought a king should be.

First she discussed exports of which her country was in need. She wanted licences to export oxen and sheep to Flanders and she wished to export wool free of customs duty. Edward enjoyed these discussions; he knew exactly what he was talking about. He was as good a merchant as any of his subjects. And because of Clarence, because he wanted to placate her and because he wished to kill that reproachful look in her eyes which was always there when Clarence was mentioned, he granted the licences.

But this was not the main purpose of her visit. What she really wanted was help against the King of France.

‘You know, Edward,’ she said, ‘Louis has one ambition. He wants to bring Burgundy back to the crown of France.’

‘It is a worthy ambition, Margaret, and an understandable one. It has always seemed unnatural that Burgundy and France should be at war with each other.’

‘Burgundy will not submit to France. There is too much enmity between us.’

Edward nodded. He was thinking: How can I help her? How can I go against Louis now? I have his pension. Moreover young Elizabeth is to marry the Dauphin. On the other hand it was to his advantage to keep Burgundy and France at each other’s throats. It was this controversy between them which had been of such value to the English when they had been on the point of conquering France, and doubtless would have done so if a simple country maid had not risen to lead the French to the most miraculous victory ever known.

That was long ago. The picture had changed. Edward had no desire to fight in France. He liked things as they were. He had his pension from Louis – what could be better? As long as Louis went on paying that and kept Edward out of debt, Edward was content. Or would be when his daughter was the Dauphine of France.

‘You cannot trust Louis,’ insisted Margaret.

‘One learns to trust no one, alas,’ said Edward with a wry smile. He was wondering how he could refuse his sister without actually saying what he intended to do. He was certainly not going to help Burgundy fight its wars. He was at peace with the King of France and was paid well for it. He was going to let it stay like that. It was not easy to tell Margaret of course. She had come for help, expecting it from him as she had given it to him when he needed it. He would talk round the matter, not saying definitely that he would not help ... but all the time not intending to.

‘So, Edward, what say you?’

‘My dear, it is a matter which I have to discuss with my ministers.’

‘I seem to feel it is you who makes the decisions.’ ‘On a matter like this ...’ He smiled at her ingratiatingly.

‘You see, my dear, the country is at peace. It has known peace for some time. It has come to realise the value of peace ...’

‘So you will not help Burgundy.’

‘My dear, it is a matter I need to brood on. You see, I have an agreement with Louis. My young Elizabeth is betrothed to the Dauphin.’

‘And you think Louis will honour his pledges?’

‘So far ... he has appeared to do so.’

‘I see,’ said Margaret with finality. ‘You are making a mistake, Edward. You will see what happens if you trust the King of France.’

He lifted his shoulders and smiled at her.

She had turned despairing away. She knew her brother. He always wanted to please, which was why he had not given her a firm refusal; but he meant it all the same. He was too fond of the easy life; he liked his pension; he liked his growing trade, his prosperous country. He could have told her all this for he had said No to her request as clearly as if he had stated that he would not help, but being Edward he could not bring himself to say so directly. Yet none could be firmer than he when he had made up his mind and she would not be deceived by his smiles and smooth words.

She saw that her journey had been in vain.

She repeated: ‘You are making a grave mistake to trust Louis.’

He was to remember her words later.

On a dark November day the Queen gave birth to a daughter. She was to be christened Bridget and the ceremony which was to take place in the Chapel at Eltham was as splendid as any that had been performed for her brothers and sisters. Five hundred torches were carried by knights and many of the nobles in the land were in attendance. For instance the Earl of Lincoln carried the salt, Lord Maltravers the basin and the Earl of Northumberland walked with them bearing an unlit taper. Lady Maltravers was beside the Countess of Richmond who carried the baby and on her left breast was pinned one of the most splendid chrysoms ever seen. The Marquess of Dorset, the Queen’s eldest son by her first marriage, helped the Countess of Richmond with the baby; and the child’s two godmothers were the King’s mother, the old Duchess of York, and his eldest daughter Elizabeth.

As the ceremony was performed the torches were lighted and the little Duke of York with his wife Anne Mowbray together with Lord Hastings were all witnesses of the ceremony. After the baby had been carried to the high altar the most costly gifts were presented and when the processions to the Queen’s apartments took place the gifts were carried by the knights and esquires before the young Princess.

There the Queen, a little languid but as brilliantly beautiful as ever, waited with the King to receive those who had taken part in the ceremony.

The baby was taken to her nursery and the company circulated about the Queen and the King. The beauty and good health of the baby were discussed at length and the King sat back watching them all. He was in a somewhat pensive mood on that day. Perhaps it was the birth of another child and the recent death of little George which had made him so. He had a premonition that this might be the last child he and Elizabeth would have. They had eight now – all beautiful, all children of whom he could be proud. His eldest son would be King on his death; his eldest daughter Elizabeth would be Queen of France. He had much on which to congratulate himself.

As in every assembly of this sort there was a goodly sprinkling of Woodvilles. Elizabeth saw to that, and in any case they now held all the key positions in the country. He had been weak about that ... letting Elizabeth rule him. But he had liked the Woodvilles for themselves; they were handsome and charming; they flattered him blatantly of course but he liked flattery. Dorset, his stepson, was a rake who had even dared make advances to Jane Shore, but he enjoyed Dorset’s company. Hastings was there – dear old William, good and faithful friend since the days of their extreme youth. What adventures they had had then, vying with each other, notching up the conquests.

Then a faint feeling of unease came over him. Hastings could never disguise the fact that he deplored the rise of the Woodvilles. Elizabeth hated Hastings. Richard who was not here today disliked the Woodvilles and had never really accepted Elizabeth. He was polite and did all that was expected of him, but beneath the courtesy there was suspicion and distrust. And Elizabeth and her family had not endeared themselves to those of the most noble houses in the country. They were still referred to as upstarts.

For the first time he was thinking of death ... his own death. He wondered what had put such a thought into his head. Was it the birth of a new child; seeing little Richard there with his wife Anne Mowbray – such babies – and thinking of Edward in Ludlow with a household almost entirely made up of Woodvilles? Would Edward be able to step into his shoes? Not yet. There had to be many years before that happened. Young Edward was not as strong as his parents would have wished. There was a deficiency somewhere which affected his bones and he would never be the size of his father. Edward knew how that great height of his had stood him in good stead.

But why think of these things on such a day.

There was Elizabeth looking not so very much older than she had on the day he had first seen her in the forest, though a great deal more regal, of course, more sleek, accustomed to the homage paid to royalty. They could have more children yet. More healthy sons perhaps to follow young Edward and Richard.

Then his eyes fell on the Countess of Richmond. A comely woman, Margaret Beaufort, perhaps a year or so younger than himself. Married now to Sir Henry Stafford but still calling herself the Countess of Richmond – a title she had acquired through her marriage to Edmund Tudor.

The Tudors had always irritated him. They had been good fighters and always the adversaries of the House of York. Naturally, they considered themselves to be the legitimate offspring of Queen Katherine and half-brothers to Henry the Sixth. They might be. It was possible that there had been a marriage between Queen Katherine and Owen Tudor. Then of course Margaret Beaufort herself was the daughter and heiress of John Beaufort, eldest son of John of Gaunt and Catherine Swynford.

He wondered if they had been wise to let Margaret come to Court. She had been quiet and showed no desire to do anything but serve her sovereign. But there was that son of hers, born of her first marriage with Edmund Tudor. He was skulking abroad at the moment and he had his uncle Jasper with him.

Somehow it was not very comforting to think of the Tudors free. Surely they would not have the temerity to consider for a moment that they had any right to the throne! No, that would be absurd. But there was something about them ... a singleness of purpose ... an aura of some sort. It had been there in Owen and had stayed with him until the time of his execution in the market-square of Hereford. He had even made a flamboyant exit. Edward remembered how a woman had washed his face and combed the hair on his poor severed head.

An insidious thought had darted into his mind. Beware of the Tudors.

Then it was gone and a warm feeling of well-being followed.

Life was good. All was going well in England. The King of France dared do nothing but send his annual pension and very soon he would be sending for the King’s eldest daughter to be the bride of the Dauphin and the future Queen of France.

These were appropriate thoughts on such an occasion. On the birth of one daughter he should be thinking of the glorious prospects which were about to be opened to another.

Two peaceful years had passed. The King had grown a little fatter, the pouches were a little more defined under his eyes and his complexion had taken on a slightly deeper hue; his energy was as unflagging as ever. He could still occupy himself with state matters and commerce with an amazing skill and at the same time spend his nights in luxurious debauchery.

There might perhaps have been a slackening off of his sexual adventures. He had three mistresses now. They were the merriest, the wittiest and the most pious, he declared laughingly; and he was clearly satisfied with them all. It was not that he had given up the stray encounter but he did not go off in disguise as he had in his youth. Hastings and Dorset were still his companions; and each of them had a reputation almost as bad as his own.

But the people continued to love him. They did not want a monk. They had had that with Henry the Sixth. Edward had the reins of the realm firmly in his hands. He was driving along at a steady pace and everyone had come to understand that his method was so much better than those of other kings. They had had great conquerors, but what had happened to the conquests when the conqueror passed away? Some other king lost them. There had been King John, Edward the Second, Henry the Sixth. What had become of their predecessors’ victories when they were in power? They were lost, frittered away, and it was as though they had never been. But the wool trade could prosper; a king who had arranged that the King of France should support his country and so relieve his people of exorbitant taxes was a good king indeed.

There had been two sad incidents. The first was the death of little Anne Mowbray. Richard Duke of York had become an eight-year-old widower. The little girl herself had not been quite ten years old and she was with the Queen’s household at Greenwich when she had passed away. Elizabeth had been saddened by her death for she had loved the little girl and she had always said it was so charming to see her and Richard together. The child was buried in Westminster Abbey and it was fortunate, said Elizabeth, that the possessions she had brought to her young husband were to remain his even though his wife had died before him and they had no children.

So apart from the unfortunate death of the child, the little Duke of York had come well out of his marriage. That was what Elizabeth liked to see – the most cherished possessions of the kingdom falling into her family’s hands.

There had been an even greater blow for the royal family when the Princess Mary died after a short illness. Mary was nearly sixteen and her parents had been planning a brilliant marriage for her with young Christian, the King of Denmark, when she developed a sickness which made her weaker every day.

The Queen was overcome by her grief. Her daughter Margaret had died some ten years before, but she had been with them only eight months and that had been hard enough to bear, but to lose a daughter who had been with them for nearly sixteen years and had been healthy until this time seemed a bitter blow indeed.

They buried her at Windsor and the Prince of Wales attended the ceremony as chief mourner. Elizabeth was comforted a little by her daughters and in particular the eldest Elizabeth who was now known in the family as Madame le Dauphine.

But since the death of Clarence there had been peace in Court circles – at least outwardly, for although the resentment was there between the noble families and the Woodvilles it was rarely allowed to show itself to the King. That was what he wanted. He had never lost the desire to turn away from what was unpleasant as if by ignoring it it ceased to exist.

Richard was a great blessing, and Edward would never cease to be thankful to have the troubles of the North taken from his shoulders by someone as able and loyal as his brother.

Scotland had been a thorn in the side of every English king. Peace would reign for a while and then there would be war. It had gone on like that for centuries and always would unless some solution could be found whereby they could live peacefully side by side. A few years earlier he had agreed to a marriage between his daughter Cecily and the Duke of Rothesay, son of James the Third; and he had been paying annual instalments of the dowry ever since, a fact which pleased the Scots; moreover, Elizabeth had been most anxious to find a royal bride for her brother who had been widowed and a match had been arranged between James’s sister, Princess Margaret and Earl Rivers.

Even so trouble continued: raids over the border, pillaging of English towns, raping of women and carrying off booty. Even Richard could not be everywhere at once.

On Richard’s last visit to the Court he and Edward had talked at great length about James’s young brother, the Duke of Albany.

‘Like other younger brothers he is eager to take the throne,’ said Edward sadly. He looked with affection at Richard. ‘There is so little loyalty in the world.’

Richard met his gaze steadily. ‘You will always be able to rely on me,’ he said firmly.

‘I know it,’ said Edward, stretching out a hand and taking his brother’s. ‘I never forget it. It has been the greatest comfort to me and will always be to the end of my days.’

‘I beg you do not speak of their ending. You are the king England needs and Edward, this country cannot do without you, so I pray you do not talk of leaving us.’

‘Lately the thought comes into my mind now and then.’

‘Then dismiss it.’

Edward laughed. ‘You know my nature well. Yes, I dismiss it, Richard, because it alarms me.’

‘There is no need. You are in good health.’

‘Oh yes, I have always enjoyed that. The occasional touch of some disorder. Natural enough, I suppose. I must live until young Edward is of an age to govern.’

Richard looked uneasy. ‘Let us hope that he will be a worthy successor to his father.’

‘You speak with doubt.’

‘It would be hard to match you, Edward, and the Prince is ... smothered by his maternal relations ...’

Edward burst out laughing. ‘My dear brother, you never liked my marriage did you? Too loyal to stand against me of course, but Elizabeth and you were never the best of friends, let’s face it.’

‘She is a very beautiful woman and she has given you and the country some handsome heirs. She has also set up her own family very well ... very well indeed.’

‘Sometimes I think it is due to Elizabeth and her family that you stay so long in the North.’

‘I have duties there.’

‘You remind me of Scotland and that is somewhere I would prefer not to remember. But you are happy in the North.’

‘I was brought up there. Middleham was my home for so long. Anne loves it. It is her home too. There we can live away from the ceremonies of Court life like a modest noble family.’

‘In a way, Richard, you are King of the North.’

‘I hold the North for you.’

‘And well you do it. You make a fine administrator. I want you to promise me, Richard, that if I should go before young Edward is of an age to govern, you will be close to him ... you will be beside him, you will govern for him until he is of an age.’

‘You have my word on it.’

‘Then that is settled. Let us have done with this dismal subject of my demise and speak of the almost equally dismal one of Scotland. What think you of this project concerning Albany?’

Richard was thoughtful. ‘Albany is weak, but we could control him. If we helped him to the Scottish throne we could demand all sorts of concessions. We could insist that he break his treaties with France. Scotland has always been there ... ready to stab us in the back whenever we crossed with our armies to the Continent. Now there are the proposed marriages.’

‘There have been several marriages between our two countries but that has brought no permanent peace. I have drawn up a list of concessions we will demand, and let us bring him over. We could have a meeting somewhere ... I suggest Fotheringay. You and I will see him together and we will discover what we can get from him. He should be ready to give us a good deal. Then we will set him up in place of James and he will be our puppet. It is always best to have a puppet ruler who moves when we jerk the strings.’

‘If it works it could be good,’ said Richard. ‘It will mean getting an army and marching across the border.’

‘That, brother, I leave to you. But first let us get Albany.’

The brothers spent several days together discussing how they would deal with the situation, and during the last days of March messengers arrived with news from across the seas.

Edward’s sister Margaret, the Duchess of Burgundy, wrote to her brother telling him that her stepdaughter Mary, the heiress of Burgundy, had been killed while out riding. Her horse had thrown her and she had died soon after.

This was a great tragedy, for Mary was clever and she had been brought up by her father with a sense of deep responsibility. She was married it was true to Maximilian, the son of the Emperor, and they had two young children, a girl and a boy; but Burgundy had been Mary’s inheritance and Margaret was fearful of what the reaction of the King of France would be.

‘You know,’ she wrote to Edward, ‘he has always wanted to bring Burgundy back to France. He will now do everything in his power to achieve this. Maximilian would fight but he has no money to do this. Edward, you must help.’

Edward stared ahead of him. He could see the comfortable existence slipping away. Help Burgundy against the King of France! What of his pension? He was in no mood to fight for Burgundy. He had Scotland to think of.

How could he possibly help Burgundy? What? Lose fifty thousand crowns a year! What of the marriage of his daughter and the Dauphin? That was almost as important to him as the pension.

He wrote to his sister commiserating with her for the loss of the stepdaughter of whom he knew she was very fond. But he offered no help for Burgundy.

There were more messengers.

Louis was now claiming that Burgundy should revert to the crown of France. If it did that would affect trade.

Edward was in a dilemma, but he dared not quarrel with the King of France. Ever since Louis had promised to pay the pension, he had paid it and it made all the difference. On no account must it be stopped.

Edward did what he often did in such circumstances, he turned away from what was unpleasant – more than that in this case ... alarming.

He must think of Scotland.

After the meeting with Albany at Fotheringay, Richard returned to the North and it was not long before the attack began. Richard was a clever commander and in a short time he was besieging Berwick. In the South, Edward expressed great satisfaction with the Scottish campaign and he arranged for special couriers to bring him the news because it was such a pleasure to receive it. He had great faith in his brother and Richard’s successes could stop his thinking of what was happening in France.

All through the autumn Edward revelled in the news. Richard was triumphant. He had left troops at Berwick to continue with the siege and marched on Edinburgh. James was at his mercy; the Scots were ready to treat for peace and even promised that if Edward did not wish his daughter Cecily to marry the heir of Scotland they would refund the instalments of the dowry which had already been paid.

There were more messages from Burgundy. Maximilian was fighting valiantly but he needed help. Edward must come to his aid.

Edward turned away to read the despatches from Scotland.

By this time, however, Richard was realising that he could not keep up his supply lines and good general that he was decided that the only sensible action was to return. He had taught the Scots a lesson; there would be no more raids across the border for a while; but there was one thing Scotsmen were determined on. They would not accept Albany as their King.

Richard retired to Berwick where the siege was still in progress; realising that Edward would not want to go on paying a large army he dismissed many of the men, keeping only a strong enough force to take Berwick which he promptly did.

Edward was delighted with the campaign.

He sent a special courier to Richard.

‘I want you to come to Court,’ he said. ‘I want to tell you myself how much I appreciate what you have done. I want to honour you. I want all men to honour you ... my beloved and faithful brother.’

There should be feasting in Westminster. It was a time for rejoicing. The conquering hero should be fêted.

Richard had more than subdued the Scots, he had given Edward those Northern victories to think of when he might have been very plagued by the news from Burgundy.

They would keep Christmas at Westminster he told Elizabeth and he wanted it to be a season all would remember.

Preparations were in progress, there should be special banquets, balls and a morality play performed in the great hall. The guest of honour should be his brother Richard. He wanted everyone to understand how he relied on his brother.

Elizabeth was a little sullen when Richard’s name was mentioned. She would have liked to whisper a word of criticism regarding him in the King’s ear, but she was wise enough to know how that would be received.

‘I am glad,’ she told her brother Anthony, ‘that he seems to be so enamoured of his life in the North. It keeps him away most of the time. As for Anne, she is a poor creature; she always looks to me as though she is fading away – and they say the boy is not very strong either.’

‘We shall doubtless see them at Christmas,’ said Anthony, who was suffering from a disappointment because his proposed marriage to the Scottish princess seemed to be going the same way as that which was once suggested with the Duchess of Burgundy.

Poor Anthony, thought Elizabeth. He needed a wife. She could easily find an heiress for him but she really wanted someone royal like Margaret of Scotland or Mary of Burgundy.

Poor Mary, she was no more now, and her husband Maximilian was not in a very happy state. Elizabeth knew that they were always sending frantic calls for help to Edward and she wondered what would have happened if Anthony had married Mary. Would he be in the same position as Maximilian was now?

She shrugged her shoulders. She could always brush off her disappointments and look for new fields of conquest.

Messengers had arrived with more news from Burgundy.

The King received the despatches but did not open them immediately. He did not want to hear disturbing news.

He talked to Elizabeth of the coming Christmas and as he talked his fingers curled about the papers. He supposed he must see what they contained. Who knew, it might be good news.

Good news from Burgundy! What good news could there possibly be? That Maximilian had miraculously found the arms and money he needed from somewhere. Where? Elizabeth was watching him. She knew that he was delaying reading the messages. She pretended not to notice and went on to discuss a new dance the girls were learning.

‘Elizabeth hopes that you will dance with her,’ she said.

‘Ah yes ... that I will. She is a delightful creature.’

‘Oh, Madame la Dauphine has her fair share of good looks.’

He could delay no longer. He broke the seals. It was from Margaret.

The words danced before his eyes. He was not seeing correctly. It could not possibly be. Maximilian had capitulated. He could no longer hold out. He was making terms for peace with the King of France. In this treaty Louis had agreed that the Dauphin should marry Maximilian’s daughter and bring the provinces of Burgundy and Artois under French domination.

Red mist swam before Edward’s eyes; his heart was beating with thundering hammer-like strokes.

The Dauphin for Margaret of Burgundy. But the Dauphin was for Elizabeth. He could hear his wife’s voice going on and on in his head. ‘Madame la Dauphine ... Madame la Dauphine ...’ No. His lips formed the word. It must not be. The Dauphin was for Elizabeth, Madame la Dauphine. His Elizabeth. His daughter. There could be no other Madame la Dauphine. And Louis had done this ... arrogantly, insolently, without even warning him. Louis knew how great his desire for this match had been. He knew what it meant to him. Perhaps he had heard how, ever since it had been decided on, young Elizabeth had been known as Madame la Dauphine. Perhaps he had laughed slyly. And he had done this ... brushed the King of England aside as though he were of no importance!

And what of the pension? What need to pay the pension now that he no longer feared Burgundy? What need to pretend this unnatural friendship existed? Oh he should have acted differently. He should have foreseen this. He should have sent everything he possibly could to prevent Maximilian being beaten by Louis.

At this most important stage of his career he had made a great mistake. He had been too complacent. He should have seen disaster coming. He had but he had refused to look at it. He had pretended it wasn’t there. And now ... it had come upon him. He had lost the marriage. He had lost the pension. An instalment was overdue now. No wonder for the first time Louis had held up payments. He should have seen it coming. And now here it was presented to him in such a way that he could no longer pretend not to see it.

He had failed ... wretchedly. He felt sick, sorry and ashamed. The old spider had got the better of him at last.

The maddening thing was that he might have prevented it.

‘Edward ... Edward ...’ It was Elizabeth’s voice seeming to come to him from a long way off. ‘Edward ... Edward.’

Red mists swam before his eyes and then blackness seemed to envelop him.

The King had had a slight seizure brought on by shock, but his strong body and immense will-power enabled him to shake off the effects and he declared that the Christmas celebrations should go on as planned.

In fact they should be more lavish than ever; he wanted the Court to say that this Christmas was the most magnificent of his reign.

Elizabeth had been thoroughly shaken by the sight of the King unconscious. At first she had feared he was dead and had immediately begun to calculate what this would mean to her and her family. That it would be a major calamity she had no doubt for although her family had been strategically placed in all the positions of power throughout the country they had been like planets revolving round the sun, drawing their power from that brilliant orb, and if it were suddenly removed who could know what would happen?

There was her son, twelve years old, and a minor unable to govern. He was it was true surrounded by his maternal relations who would govern for him, but Elizabeth knew there were many in the country who would rise against that. And Edward would not be there to suppress them.

For Edward himself she had a certain regret also. Theirs had been a happy marriage, and she could congratulate herself on keeping her place – no easy matter for a woman in her position, and with a man of such roving appetites one would have thought it well nigh impossible. But she had done it and proved to the world his continued interest in her by the fact that she continued to bear his children.

When she thought of losing him she looked into a dark future where anything might be likely to happen.

Thus when she saw him there, still and silent, his ruddy face turning a deep purple, his limbs after twitching a moment or two remaining still, she was filled with a desperate fear.

She had shouted to the attendants who came rushing in. They managed to get him to his bed, not an easy matter for he was very heavy; they sent for the doctors.

By the time they came he had regained consciousness and as the days passed it became clear that he would recover; moreover, although the attack had alarmed him and those about him and the doctors said he must keep to his bed for a week at least, he seemed to have come through unscathed.

So preparations for Christmas went on. The King took a great interest in them. Richard with his family would be present and Edward would be surrounded by his own children – all five girls and the two boys and there should be special revelries.

He wanted to see the new velvets of which he had heard and he himself would select those from which new garments would be made. There was a cloth of gold shot with blue which was most effective. He would have a long gown made of that, and a new purple velvet mantle edged with ermine.

He was deceiving himself. He was feigning an interest in the garments. His thoughts were elsewhere. He knew he had come close to death and now he was looking the future starkly in the face.

His heir was twelve years old, and he had always believed the boy would have grown to a mature age before he ascended the throne. Little Edward was not yet fitted to be a king. He was not prepared at all. He had been kept at Ludlow, living by a set of rules, governed solely by his Woodville relations. He should never have allowed the Queen to have such influence over the boy. Why had he allowed it? Because Elizabeth had always been so understanding about the life he led, had never complained about his numerous mistresses, had never reproached him and had always received him graciously when he came to her; it was a rare quality in a woman. He had repaid her by letting her honour her family, by setting them in high places. So they surrounded the future king. She had made sure that when her son came to the throne his greatest friends would be his maternal relations.

He had shrugged it aside, telling himself that when the boy grew older he would take him in hand. Perhaps when he was fourteen he would supervise his education, take him about with him, guide him, mould him, teach him all of the wily subterfuges which had to be practised by kings. There is time, he had told himself.

And then suddenly it had been brought home to him that there might not be time.

He was going to dance this Christmas as much as he ever had; he was going to drink and be merry. But this was for a reason – to show the people that he was not as ill as rumour might have had it. It was true he had had some sort of attack but it was nothing. He was as strong as he ever was. They must go on believing that. He must go on believing it.

He was glad that Richard was coming for Christmas. The sight of his brother did him good. He would confide in him as he could to no other. Poor Anne looked delicate and Edward wondered whether the harsh North was the place for her. He had always marvelled that Warwick – that bold strong man – had only been able to produce two sickly daughters. Richard proudly presented his son – another Edward. A pleasant boy, with clever looks like his father’s and the same rather delicate build. So different from the King.

But how glad he was to see him!

Edward was filled with emotion as his eldest son stood before him. He looked so young – rather small for his age which was surprising. People had marvelled at Edward’s height when he was his son’s age. Young Edward would never match his father in stature. The doctors murmured something about his bones which did not grow as quickly as they should; they thought it was due to something ... they knew not what. Richard was almost as tall as his brother. Richard looked more healthy. The brothers were pleased to be together. Perhaps it would have been better for them to have been brought up together instead of putting Edward in that establishment at Ludlow.

His thoughts were in turmoil since the realisation that he could have died suddenly leaving the affairs of the country in anything but a settled state.

He must go on living for a few years yet. Edward must be of age before he became King.

The festivities progressed and none would have thought the King was in the least disturbed. It appeared that he had shrugged off the perfidy of the King of France, the loss of a pension for himself and the crown of France for his daughter. He looked magnificent. His colour was a little deeper but that looked like good health. His garments were a wonder to all who beheld them. The sleeves of his handsome robe were very full and flowing, lined with the most expensive furs.

People said that rarely had he looked more handsome. There he was surrounded by five beautiful daughters, his two good-looking sons and his Queen who was reckoned to be one of the most beautiful women in the country.

He danced with his eldest daughter and both he and she seemed to have forgotten that she had just lost one of the most important titles in Europe.

They were all completely entranced by the special Morality which was performed for their enjoyment and the King applauded loudly and rewarded the players more handsomely than they could have hoped for in their wildest expectations.

It was a very happy Christmas. It was only to Richard that Edward spoke of his misgivings.

He made it clear that he wished to be alone with his brother and took Richard to his apartments.

‘Richard,’ he said when he had assured himself that none could hear them, ‘I am deeply disturbed.’

Richard was surprised, having noticed that Edward had been behaving with exceptional gaiety.

‘I fear, Richard, that I have failed.’

‘Failed?’ Richard was amazed. ‘You ... why, you are the most successful King we have had since the third Edward.’

‘I have been but I look to what this country is brought to now. If I live all will be well. But Richard, am I going to live?’

‘What has happened to you? You are strong ...’

‘I came near to death a short while ago.’

‘But you are fully recovered now.’

‘I am unusually healthy but I have impaired my health some would say. Too much riotous living. Too much excitement with the ladies. Too much rich food and wine ... You see how I have grown, brother.’

‘You could lead a more abstemious life.’

‘I was never made to be a monk.’

‘There is no need to be a monk. You could eat less, drink less and be faithful to your wife.’

‘Ah, there speaks my good brother Richard. You find it difficult to understand men such as I am.’

‘You have lost Louis’s pension and he is marrying his son elsewhere. Well, you have had worse setbacks. Do you remember when you had to flee the country? As I recall you were not so very worried then.’

‘I was young then ... not so weighed down with responsibilities.’

‘You will live long yet. The fact that you threw off this attack shows how strong you are.’

‘That may be so, but I want to be prepared. I am going to use what time is left to me to set my affairs in order. I reproach myself.’

‘You reproach yourself ! You who have brought the country out of anarchy! Order prevails now as hardly ever before. You have brought trade to the kingdom. You scared the King of France into paying you a pension. Forget that he will no longer do so. He did it for a time which was more than we could expect. You have the goodwill of the people. They love and admire you. You have a family of beautiful children and you seem to have remained pleased with the Queen.’

‘Ah, I detect the inflection in your voice when you speak of the Queen. You never liked her, Richard.’

Richard was silent.

‘Come,’ said Edward, ‘this is a time for frankness.’

‘She was too low-born for you,’ said Richard.

‘Oh come. Who was Warwick before he married and got his lands and title? Yet you considered Anne a worthy bride.’

‘I have not been in the position to grant such possessions to her family that they might take over all the important offices in the land.’

‘Ah, the Woodvilles! They are your grievance, Richard, as they are to so many others.’

‘They are overbearing and arrogant for the most part as should be expected of those who come up suddenly from little.’

‘I like them, Richard. They are good company. Handsome people. I like them about me.’

‘And you like to please the Queen.’

‘We should all try to please our wives, brother.’

‘But now I sense this is the reason for your lack of ease.’

Edward was silent.

‘They have brought up the Prince,’ went on Richard. ‘They have imbued him with the idea that the Woodvilles are the most important people in the country.’

‘If I should die,’ said Edward, ‘there might be trouble between the Queen’s family and certain nobles.’

It was Richard’s turn to be silent. Edward caught his arm and looked at him earnestly.

‘Brother, promise me this. You will be there. You will look after my sons. You will see them safe on the throne.’

‘You are going to live for a long time. Young Edward is twelve. Why, in only six years he will be of an age to govern.’

‘He will need help and what I want to be assured of is that you will be there to give it.’

‘I will be there,’ said Richard. ‘But put these thoughts from your head. It is unlucky to speak of death. I am certain, brother, that you will not meet it for many years to come.’

‘You are a comfort to me, Richard. Were you not always?’

‘I have served you faithfully all the days of my life. Remember that.’

‘I do remember it and it sustains me.’

‘Now, have done with this talk of death. I want to speak to you about Scotland.’

After Christmas the Court went to Windsor but was back in Westminster by the end of February.

Edward had done nothing to change the household of the Prince of Wales. He knew that it would be difficult to explain to Elizabeth. It was still presided over by Anthony Woodville who was constantly with his young nephew. Anthony, disappointed of his marriage to the sister of the Scottish King, had now taken an heiress whom Elizabeth had found for him. This was Mary Fitz-Lewis whose mother was daughter of Edmund Beaufort, second Duke of Somerset. So there was not only money but good family there. However, in spite of his marriage he continued to live at Ludlow with the Prince. Elizabeth would not hear of those arrangements being changed. If Edward had had a shock, so had she and she was more determined than ever that if there were a new king he would be hedged in by Woodvilles.

There would have to be change, Edward supposed. He would see to it in due course.

At the Parliament which was called in January money and supplies were voted for an army which should go into Scotland and the King bestowed on Richard the Wardenship of the West Marches so that he was now indeed the Lord of the North.

February and March were very cold months and towards the end of March Edward went on a fishing trip with some of his friends. The wind along the river bank was piercing and the fishermen in due course decided to abandon the day’s sport and return to a warm fire.

The next day the King was ill. He had pains in his side which made it impossible for him to lie comfortably.

The physicians came to him and declared themselves alarmed by his condition. He had lived so indulgently that he had used up his energies they said and lacked the strength to withstand this violent cold he had caught. It attacked his lungs.

April had come with warmer weather but the King remained in his bed for his condition did not improve. He knew he was dying and that the seizure just before Christmas had been a warning.

Time was slipping away and there was so much he should have done. He was leaving a son, a child little more, vulnerable in a situation which he, in his carelessness, had allowed to arise.

There would be warring factions. There were so many who hated the Woodvilles. While he was there he had kept the peace but what would happen when he had gone?

What must he do? What could he do?

Richard was far away in the North. He wanted Richard here but he did not send for him. He was following his old practice of turning away from what was unpleasant. He was not dying, he told himself. He was going to survive this as he had that other attack.

He would not admit that he was facing death.

He was only just forty years of age. That was not old and he had always been in such good health. Until the seizure no one had thought of him and death in the same moment. He was going to get well.

But in his heart he knew that Death was close and that he must hurry to set things right. Conflict, which seemed inevitable, must be avoided. He sent for those nobles whom he thought might quarrel together. Chief among them was Dorset, his stepson, and Hastings, his greatest friend.

Dorset was on one side of his bed, Hastings on the other and with them were those men who supported them. They looked coldly at each other across the bed and with a gnawing anxiety Edward was aware of their hostility towards each other.

‘My friends,’ said the King, ‘I beg of you forget your differences and work together for the good of my son. He and his brother are but children. They need your help. I beg you give it to them. For the love you have borne me and for the love I have borne you, and for the love that the Lord God bears to us all, I beg you love each other.’

He could not sit up and collapsed on his pillows and the sight of this great strong man thus, moved everyone present to tears.

He begged Hastings and Dorset to clasp hands and to promise as they did so that they would remember their King’s dying wishes.

Hastings was overcome with emotion. There were so many memories he had shared with the King, and to see Edward lying there while life slowly ebbed from him filled him with a sad emotion – not only for the past and the good times they had shared, but for the future. He well understood Edward’s fears for his son.

The boy would have to be protected ... against the Woodvilles.

‘Remember,’ went on the King breathing painfully and finding the utmost difficulty in speaking, ‘remember they are so young, these little boys. Great variance there has been between you and often for small causes.’

He closed his eyes. He was young himself to die. Not yet forty-one years of age and having reigned for twenty-two of them.

But this was the end. There was nothing more he could do.

So on the ninth of April of the year 1483 great Edward died. The news spread through the city of London and on through the country to the blank bewilderment and dismay of the people. They had looked up to him – the great golden King, the rose-en-soleil, the sun in splendour. And now that sun had set.

What next? they asked themselves.

For twelve hours he lay naked from the waist that the members of the Council might see that he was truly dead. Then he was taken to St Stephen’s Chapel where Mass was celebrated every morning for a week, and after that to Windsor and there buried in St George’s Chapel in the tomb which he had had prepared for himself.

The country was stunned. He had been with them so long. They looked to him. They relied on him. He had been among them for so long – their brilliant, splendid, magnificent King.

And what would happen now?

They waited in consternation to discover.