The White Queen

WINTER 1477

We celebrate Christmas at Westminster, but it is an odd Christmas with George, Duke of Clarence, missing from his place in the hall, and his mother with a face like thunder. George is in the Tower, charged with treason, well served and well fed, drinking well-I don’t doubt-but his namesake is in our nursery, and his true place is with us. I have all my children around me, which gives me all the joy that I could wish: Edward home from Ludlow, Richard riding with him, Thomas returned from a visit to the court of Burgundy, the other children well and strong, the new baby George in the nursery.

In January we celebrate the greatest marriage that England has ever seen when my little Richard is betrothed to the heiress Anne Mowbray. The four-year-old prince and the little girl are lifted onto the table at their wedding feast in their beautiful miniature clothes, and they hold hands like a pair of little dolls. They will live apart until they are old enough to marry, but it is a great thing to have secured such a fortune for my boy; he will be the richest prince England has ever seen.

But after Twelfth Night, Edward comes to me and says that his Privy Council are pressing him to make a final decision on the fate of his brother George.

“What do you think?” I ask. I have a sense of foreboding. I think of my three York boys: another Edward, Richard, and George. What if they were to turn against each other as these have done?

“I think I have to go ahead,” he says sadly. “The punishment for treason is death. I have no choice.”