Текст книги "The Sun in Splendour"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

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 irresishble 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 conhnued peace between the two countries.

But Louis' 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 iorgifts.'

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 enhrely 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 disillus-

ioned. 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.

'Do 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.

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 farther ... 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, realized 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 somerimes 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 monasric 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 bom 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 bom 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.'

T 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 1. Have you . . , ?'

'Selected him? It is hardly for me to do that. Mary 1 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. 1 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 realized 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 htles 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 hon}e, 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?