Текст книги "The Sun in Splendour"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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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 realized 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 realization 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 hme he seeks to stab me in the back.'

'At least you now realize 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' 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 La 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 anxiehes. She feared for their children and in particular for the Prince of Wales.

Tt'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 driveilings.'

'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.'

T 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 meehng 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 realized 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 a^feuch rimes. She was delighted with the marriage; her eldest daughter, Madame la 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 ritles 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 step-son 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 la Dauphine to sit beside her and help her for the bride was very young.