Текст книги "The Sun in Splendour"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

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 visitahon 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' 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 atrired and his rehnue 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 nrdsguided 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 responsibilihes. 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

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Death at V^estm ins ter 243

wished to kill that reproachhil 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 realize 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 Ffance. 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 pobte 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 Wood-villes? 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, bom 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 la 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.'

T 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.