Текст книги "The Sun in Splendour"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

But as Edward came to York he found there were plenty to rally to his banner and he began the march south. He was near Banbury when he heard that Clarence was not far off and shortly afterwards Clarence sent a messenger on in advance to tell Edward that he wanted to speak with him.

Edward was pleased for there was a conciliatory note in the message and he believed that his brother was fast regretting his action in turning against him.

Edward was thoughtful. Could it really be that George was looking for a reconciliation? It was too good to be true. If it were so he would forgive him with all his heart. Not that he would ever trust him again. When he came to think of it he had never really trusted Clarence. But if he and his brother were friends again, if Clarence brought his men to fight for him, this would be a tremendous blow to Warwick.

Yes, certainly he would welcome Clarence. Let them meet without delay.

Outwardly it was an affectionate meeting. Clarence looked at

Edward shamefacedly and would have knelt, but Edward laid a hand on his arm and said: 'George, so you want us to be friends again?'

'I have been most unhappy,' said Clarence. 'It was all so unnatural. 1 was under the influence of Warwick and I want to escape from that influence now.'

'We have both been under the influence of that man—you so far as to go against your own brother and marry his daughter.'

'I regret all I have done . . . except my marriage to Isabel. She is a good creature and I love her dearly.'

Edward nodded, thinking: She is a great heiress and you also love her lands and money dearly.

Clarence went on: 'I no longer wish to stand with Warwick. I want to be back where I belong. Our sister Margaret has written to me most affectingly. I have suffered much.'

'I too suffered from your desertion,' Edward reminded him.

'And can you forgive me?'

'Yes,' said Edward.

'By God, together we will fight this traitor Warwick. We'll have his head where they put our father's.'

'It was not Warwick who put our father's head on the walls of York and stuck a paper crown on it, George. That was our enemies . . . our mutual enemies. But yes, we are going to defeat Warwick.'

'I will bring him to you in chains.'

'Your father-in-law, your one-time friend! I want him to be treated with respect if we have the good fortune to capture him. I can never forget how he taught me, how he showed me how to fight and win a crown. Sometimes I think I am more hurt that he should take his friendship from me than my crown. I would always treat him with honour. He had his reasons you know for doing what he did. Warwick would always have his reasons. He is my enemy now but he is one I honour.'

Clarence thought what a fool his brother was. But there was a hard side to Edward, he knew; he could be ruthless but where his affections were concerned he was soft. He had married Elizabeth Woodville; he was ready to forgive the man who had taken his crown from him and his own brother who had deceived him. No wonder he had lost his throne! He would lose it again and if Henry were driven out there was one who would stand in to take it: George, Duke of Clarence.

Well, there was reconciliation between the brothers and as Edward had predicted Clarence's desertion of Warwick and return to Edward had the desired effect. Edward marched without hindrance into London.

Warwick was in Coventry when he heard of Clarence's defection. There was even more bitterness to come for Louis had signed a truce with the Duke of Burgundy and so was making terms with Warwick's enemy. Clarence he despised. He had never trusted him but his greatest hope had lain with the French King. Margaret of Anjou had left France and with the Prince of Wales and Anne and Warwick's Countess was about to land in England. He, Warwick, was heading for some climax. Meanwhile Edward had reached London. His spirits rose as he saw the grey stone walls of the Tower and he assured himself that Elizabeth was not far away.

First he went to St Paul's to give thanks for his return. Then he must see Henry who was at the Bishop of London's palace close by. Warwick had ordered that he should be taken there and put in the charge of Archbishop Neville and that Neville should let him ride through the streets in an attempt to arouse people's enthusiasm for him.

This was difficult for the people could not feel very much for the poor pathetic creature. There was nothing kingly about him. And when the Archbishop thought of Edward soon to arrive—so handsome with that special charm which had taken the people by storm in his youth and was still there—it seemed to him that the wisest thing was to take Henry back to the palace.

When Edward arrived and Henry was brought, Henry blinked up at him and said: 'Cousin, you are welcome. My life will be safe in your hands.'

'I mean you no harm,' said Edward. 'You shall go back to your prayers and your books.'

Thank you, thank you. It is what I have always wanted.'

'And now,' said Edward, 'to the Sanctuary.'

Elizabeth was there with her beautiful hair hanging about her shoulders as he liked it best. They looked at each other for a few seconds before they gave themselves up to a fervent embrace.

It was an emotional moment and even Elizabeth felt the tears in her eyes. He was back, as she always knew he would be.

'You have been my brave Queen,' he murmured.

'I am so happy that you are back. It all seems behind me now. It

does not matter, if you are to stay with me for ever.'

'As long as God will let me/ he said.

'Edward, we have lived here in Sanctuary all these months. We could not have survived but for our good friends.'

'They shall be rewarded. All will be well now. I am going to be victorious.'

Jacquetta came to him and was warmly embraced. He would never believe the stories that she was a witch and had captured him for her daughter through witchcraft. He was fond of Jacquetta and he knew that she would have been a great help and comfort to Elizabeth during his enforced absence.

'You have not seen your son,' cried Elizabeth.

'My son . . . the boy I have always wanted! Bring him to me. I long to see him.'

'He is Edward . . . after you.'

'It is a good name.'

He gazed at the child in wonder. His beloved son—a perfect healthy boy to delight any father's heart, most of all a king who must be assured of the succession.

He took him in his arms and tenderly kissed his brow. The baby opened its eyes and regarded him solemnly for a moment before closing them again while the little girls were clambering round him. He handed the baby to Elizabeth and embraced his daughters all together so that one should not feel favoured more than the other.

'Are you going to stay with us?' asked Elizabeth. 'When are we going home?'

'This is home,' said Mary.

'Nay, my dearest,' said Edward. 'You are going back where you belong. There shall be no more of this place. You are going to be surprised when you are taken back to your real home, sweetheart.'

The little girls watched him with wide eyes. They were happy. He was back with them—their big laughing handsome father and if Mary could hardly recognize him and Cecily not at all, they all knew that the best thing that could happen to them was his return.

Edward said they should go at once to Baynard's Castle and must prepare to leave. There they would stay until he had made everything secure in the land.

So to Baynard's they went, riding along by the river while the

people cheered to see Edward with his beautiful Queen and their lovely children. Elizabeth herself carried the child. She sat in her litter holding him, her lovely golden hair like a halo about her perfect features and the people cheered Edward, the baby Prince, the little girls and yes, they even cheered Elizabeth, although it was due to her rapacious family that the Earl of Warwick had turned from the King.

Never mind; she was so beauhful and she had given the King all those handsome children and he clearly loved her dearly even though he was not the most faithful of husbands.

Cheer then for the return of Edward, the strong man, the King they preferred to poor mad Henry. They fervently hoped Edward and the Earl of Warwick would settle their quarrels.

At Baynard's Castle the Duchess of York was in residence. When she saw her son the tears streamed down her cheeks and she fell upon him kissing his face and his hands. There was little sign of Proud Cis at that moment.

'My dearest boy,' she called him, forgetting the dignity owed to the King even though dignity was something she had always been so insistent on. 'Oh a thousand welcomes. . . . This is the happiest day of my life. You are here with us . . . and the people want you. . . .'

He let her talk. Then he kissed her tenderly and said: 'Elizabeth and the children have come to stay here. I shall leave them in your care.'

For a few seconds the two women looked at each other. Proud Cis who could not like her son's marriage to this commoner and Elizabeth Woodville who knew that Edward's mother would have done everything possible to stop the marriage.

The Duchess's eyes softened. Elizabeth Woodville was an exceptionally beautiful woman and she could not but be moved to see her standing there beside her own handsome Edward. Surely a more good-looking pair could not be found in the whole of England.

And Elizabeth had done her duty. Edward still wanted to keep her after all these years so there must be something special about her. And she had produced those lovely children—and now a Prince of Wales.

The Duchess went forward. She could not expect a Queen to kneel to her, but she held out her hand and Elizabeth took it.

'Welcome to Baynards, my dear,' she said. 'It makes me happy

to have you here . . . you and my grandchildren.'

Edward put an arm round her and the Queen; he held them tightly against him.

Thank God you are back/ said the Duchess.

'Yes, I am back. But there is work to do. I shall not stay here long now. But at least I shall know that you are together. Look after each other, my dear loved ones.'

Edward stayed at Baynard's Castle tor a day and a night. Then taking Henry with him, he rode out to Barnet.

*

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 whole-heartedly 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 ser ants, 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 Bamet 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 hme . . . waihng.

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 realized 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 realize 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