Текст книги "The Sun in Splendour"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

There were more messages from Burgundy. Maximilian was fighting valiantly but he needed help. Edward must come to his aid.

Edward turned away to read the despatches from Scotland.

By this time however Richard was realizing that he could not keep up his supply lines and good general that he was decided that the only sensible action was to return. He had taught the Scots a lesson; there would be no more raids across the border for a while; but there was one thing Scotsmen were determined on. They would not accept Albany as their King.

Richard rehred to Berwick where the siege was still in progress; realizing that Edward would not want to go on paying a large army he dismissed many of the men, keeping only a strong enough force to take Berwick which he promptly did.

Edward was delighted with the campaign.

He sent a special courier to Richard.

T want you to come to Court,' he said. 'I want to tell you myself how much I appreciate what you have done. I want to honour you. I want all men to honour you . . . my beloved and faithful brother.'

There should be feasting in Westminster. It was a time for rejoicing. The conquering hero should be feted.

Richard had more than subdued the Scots, he had given Edward those Northern victories to think of when he might have been very plagued by the news from Burgundy.

They would keep Christmas at Westminster he told Elizabeth and he wanted it to be a season all would remember.

Preparations were in progress, there should be special banquets, balls and a morality play performed in the great hall. The guest of honour should be his brother Richard. He wanted everyone to understand how he relied on his brother.

Elizabeth was a little sullen when Richard's name was mentioned. She would have liked to whisper a word of crihcism regarding him in the King's ear, but she was wise enough to know how that would be received.

T am glad,' she told her brother Anthony, 'that he seems to be so enamoured of his life in the North. It keeps him away most of the time. As for Anne, she is a poor creature; she always looks to me as though she is fading away—^and they say the boy is not very strong either.'

'We shall doubtless see them at Christmas,' said Anthony, who was suffering from a disappointment because his proposed marriage to the Scottish princess seemed to be going the same way as that which was once suggested with the Duchess of Burgundy.

Poor Anthony, thought Elizabeth. He needed a wife. She could easily find an heiress for him but she really*wanted someone royal like Margaret of Scotland or Mary of Burgundy.

Poor Mary, she was no more now, and her husband Maximilian was not in a very happy state. Elizabeth knew that they were always sending frantic calls for help to Edward and she wondered what would have happened if Anthony had married Mary. Would he be in the same position as Maximilian was now?

She shrugged her shoulders. She could always brush off her disappointments and look for new fields of conquest.

Messengers had arrived with more news from Burgundy.

The King received the despatches but did not open them immediately. He did not want to hear disturbing news.

He talked to Elizabeth of the coming Christmas and as he talked his fingers curled about the papers. He supposed he must see what they contained. Who knew, it might be good news.

Good news from Burgundy! What good news could there possibly be? That Maximilian had miraculously found the arms and money he needed from somewhere. Where? Elizabeth was watching him. She knew that he was delaying reading the

messages. She pretended not to notice and went on to discuss a new dance the girls were learning.

'Elizabeth hopes that you will dance with her/ she said.

'Ah yes . . . that I will. She is a delightful creature.'

'Oh, Madame la Dauphine has her fair share of good looks.'

He could delay no longer. He broke the seals. It was from Margaret.

The words danced before his eyes. He was not seeing correctly. It could not possibly be. Maximilian had capitulated. He could no longer hold out. He was making terms for peace with the King of France. In this treaty Louis had agreed that the Dauphin should marry Maximilian's daughter and bring the provinces of Burgundy and Artois under French domination.

Red mist swam before Edward's eyes; his heart was beating with thundering hammer-like strokes.

The Dauphin for Margaret of Burgundy. But the Dauphin was for Elizabeth. He could hear his wife's voice going on and on in his head. 'Madame la Dauphine . . . Madame la Dauphine . . . .' No. His lips formed the word. It must not be. The Dauphin was for Elizabeth, Madame la Dauphine. His Elizabeth. His daughter. There could be no other Madame la Dauphine. And Louis had done this . . . arrogantly, insolently, without even warning him. Louis knew how great his desire for this match had been. He knew what it meant to him. Perhaps he had heard how, ever since it had been decided on, young Elizabeth had been known as Madame la Dauphine. Perhaps he had laughed slyly. And he had done this . . . brushed the King of England aside as though he were of no importance!

And what of the pension? What need to pay the pension now that he no longer feared Burgundy? What need to pretend this unnatural friendship existed? Oh he should have acted differently. He should have foreseen this. He should have sent everything he possibly could to prevent Maximilian being beaten by Louis.

At this most important stage of his career he had made a, great mistake. He had been too complacent. He should have seen disaster coming. He had but he had refused to look at it. He had pretended it wasn't there. And now ... it had come upon him. He had lost the marriage. He had lost the pension. An instalment was overdue now. No wonder for the first time Louis had held up payments. He should have seen it coming. And now here it was

presented to him in such a way that he could no longer pretend not to see it.

He had failed . . . wretchedly. He felt sick, sorry and ashamed. The old spider had got the better of him at last.

The maddening thing was that he might have prevented it.

'Edward . . . Edward. . . .'It was Elizabeth's voice seeming to come to him from a long way off. 'Edward . . . Edward.'

Red mists swam before his eyes and then blackness seemed to envelop him.

The King had had a slight seizure brought on by shock, but his strong body and immense will-power enabled him to shake off the effects and he declared that the Christmas celebrations should go on as planned.

In fact they should be more lavish than ever; he wanted the Court to say that this Christmas was the most magnificent of his reign.

Elizabeth had been thoroughly shaken by the sight of the King unconscious. At first she had feared he was dead and had immediately begun to calculate what this would mean to her and her family. That it would be a major calamity she had no doubt for although her family had been strategically placed in all the positions of power throughout the country they had been like planets revolving round the sun, drawing their power from that brilliant orb, and if it were suddenly removed who could know what would happen?

There was her son, twelve years old, and a minor unable to govern. He was it was true surrounded by his maternal relations who would govern for him, but Elizabeth knew there were many in the country who would rise against that. And Edward would not be there to suppress them.

For Edward himself she had a certain regret also. Theirs had been a happy marriage, and she could congratulate herself on keeping her place—no easy matter for a woman in her position, and with a man of such roving appetites one would have thought it well nigh impossible. But she had done it and proved to the world his continued interest in her by the fact that she continued to bear his children.

When she thought of losing him she looked into a dark future

where anything might be likely to happen.

Thus when she saw him there, still and silent, his ruddy face turning a deep purple, his limbs after twitching a moment or two remaining still, she was filled with a desperate fear.

She had shouted to the attendants who came rushing in. They managed to get him to his bed, not an easy matter for he was very heavy; they sent for the doctors.

By the time they came he had regained consciousness and as the days passed it became clear that he would recover; moreover, although the attack had alarmed him and those about him and the doctors said he must keep to his bed for a week at least, he seemed to have come through unscathed.

So preparations for Christmas went on. The King took a great interest in them. Richard with his family would be present and Edward would be surrounded by his own children—all five girls and the two boys and there should be special revelries.

He wanted to see the new velvets of which he had heard and he himself would select those from which new garments would be made. There was a cloth of gold shot with blue which was most effective. He would have a long gown made of that, and a new purple velvet mantle edged with ermine.

He was deceiving himself. He was feigning an interest in the garments. His thoughts were elsewhere. He knew he had come close to death and now he was looking the future starkly in the face.

His heir was twelve years old, and he had always believed the boy would have grown to a mature age before he ascended the throne. Little Edward was not yet fitted to be a king. He was not prepared at all. He had been kept at Ludlow, living by a set of rules, governed solely by his Woodville relations. He should never have allowed the Queen to have such influence over the boy. Why had he allowed it? Because Elizabeth had always been so understanding about the life he led, had never complained about his numerous mistresses, had never reproached him and had always received him graciously when he came to her; it was a rare quality in a woman. He had repaid her by letting her honour her family, by setting them in high places. So they surrounded the future king. She had made sure that when her son came to the throne his greatest friends would be his maternal relations.

He had shrugged it aside, telling himself that when the boy grew older he would take him in hand. Perhaps when he was

fourteen he would supervise his education, take him about with him, guide him, mould him, teach him all of the wily subterfuges which had to be practised by kings. There is time, he had told himself.

And then suddenly it had been brought home to him that there might not be time.

He was going to dance this Christmas as much as he ever had; he was going to drink and be merry. But this was for a reason—to show the people that he was not as ill as rumour might have had it. It was true he had had some sort of attack but it was nothing. He was as strong as he ever was. They must go on believing that. He must go on believing it.

He was glad that Richard was coming for Christmas. The sight of his brother did him good. He would confide in him as he could to no other. Poor Anne looked delicate and Edward wondered whether the harsh North was the place for her. He had always marvelled that Warwick—that bold strong man—had only been able to produce two sickly daughters. Richard proudly presented his son—another Edward. A pleasant boy, with clever looks like his father's and the same rather delicate build. So different from the King.

But how glad he was to see him!

Edward was filled with emotion as his eldest son stood before him. He looked so young—rather small for his age which was surprising. People had marvelled at Edward's height when he was his son's age. Young Edward would never match his father in stature. The doctors murmured something about his bones which did not grow as quickly as they should; they thought it was due to something . . . they knew not what. Richard was almost as tall as his brother. Richard looked more healthy. The brothers were pleased to be together. Perhaps it would have been better for them to have been brought up together instead of putting Edward in that establishment at Ludlow.

His thoughts were in turmoil since the realization that he could have died suddenly leaving the affairs of the country in anything but a settled state.

He must go on living for a few years yet. Edward must be of age before he became King.

The festivities progressed and none would have thought the King was in the least disturbed. It appeared that he had shrugged off the perfidy of the King of France, the loss of a pension for

himself and the crown of France for his daughter. He looked magnificent. His colour was a little deeper but that looked like good health. His garments were a wonder to all who beheld them. The sleeves of his handsome robe were very full and flowing, lined with the most expensive furs.

People said that rarely had he looked more handsome. There he was surrounded by five beautiful daughters, his two good-looking sons and his Queen who was reckoned to be one of the most beautiful women in the country.

He danced with his eldest daughter and both he and she seemed to have forgotten that she had just lost one of the most important titles in Europe.

They were all completely entranced by the special Morality which was performed for their enjoyment and the King applauded loudly and rewarded the players more handsomely than they could have hoped for in their wildest expectations.

It was a very happy Christmas. It was only to Richard that Edward spoke of his misgivings.

He made it clear that he wished to be alone with his brother and took Richard to his apartments.

'Richard,' he said when he had assured himself that none could hear them, T am deeply disturbed.'

Richard was surprised, having noticed that Edward had been behaving with exceptional gaiety.

T fear, Richard, that I have failed.'

'Failed?' Richard was amazed. 'You . . . why, you are the most successful King we have had since the third Edward.'

'I have been but I look to what this country is brought to now. If I live all will be well. But Richard, am I going to live?'

'What has happened to you? You are strong. . . .'

'I came near to death a short while ago.'

'But you are fully recovered now.'

'I am unusually healthy but I have impaired my health some would say. Too much riotous living. Too much excitement with the ladies. Too much rich food and wine. . . . You see how I have grown, brother.'

'You could lead a more abstemious life.'

'I was never made to be a monk.'

'There is no need to be a monk. You could eat less, drink less and be faithful to your wife.'

'Ah, there speaks my good brother Richard. You find it difficult to understand men such as I am.'

'You have lost Louis' pension and he is marrying his son elsewhere. Well, you have had worse setbacks. Do you remember when you had to flee the country? As I recall you were not so very worried then.'

'I was young then . . . not so weighed down with responsi-bihties.'

'You will live long yet. The fact that you threw off this attack shows how strong you are.'

'That may be so, but I want to be prepared. I am going to use what hme is left to me to set my affairs in order. I reproach myself.'

'You reproach yourself! You who have brought the country out of anarchy! Order prevails now as hardly ever before. You have brought trade to the kingdom. You scared the King of France into paying you a pension. Forget that he will no longer do so. He did it for a time which was more than we could expect. You have the good will of the people. They love and admire you. You have a family of beautiful children and you seem to have remained pleased with the Queen.'

'Ah, I detect the inflection in your voice when you speak of the Queen. You never liked her, Richard.'

Richard was silent.

'Come,' said Edward, 'this is a time for frankness.'

'She was too low-bom for you,' said Richard.

'Oh come. Who was Warwick before he married and got his lands and title? Yet you considered Anne a worthy bride.'

'I have not been in the position to grant such possessions to her family that they might take over all the important offices in the land.'

'Ah, the Woodvilles! They are your grievance, Richard, as they are to so many others.'

'They are overbearing and arrogant for the most part as should be expected of those who come up suddenly from little.'

'I like them, Richard. They are good company. Handsome people. I like them about me.'

'And you like to please the Queen.'

'We should all try to please our wives, brother.'

'But now I sense this is the reason for your lack of ease.'

Edward was silent.

They have brought up the Prince/ went on Richard. They have imbued him with the idea that the Woodvilles are the most important people in the country.'

'If I should die/ said Edward, 'there might be trouble between the Queen's family and certain nobles/

It was Richard's turn to be silent. Edward caught his arm and looked at him earnestly.

'Brother, promise me this. You will be there. You will look after my sons. You will see them safe on the throne.'

'You are going to live for a long time. Young Edward is twelve. Why, in only six years he will be of an age to govern.'

'He will need help and what I want to be assured of is that you will be there to give it.'

'I will be there,' said Richard. 'But put these thoughts from your head. It is unlucky to speak of death. I am certain, brother, that you will not meet it for many years to come.'

'You are a comfort to me, Richard. Were you not always?'

'I have served you faithfully all the days of my life. Remember that.'

'I do remember it and it sustains me.'

'Now, have done with this talk of death. I want to speak to you about Scotland.'

After Christmas the Court went to Windsor but was back in Westminster by the end of February.

Edward had done nothing to change the household of the Prince of Wales. He knew that it would be difficult to explain to Elizabeth. It was still presided over by Anthony Woodville who was constantly with his young nephew. Anthony, disappointed of his marriage to the sister of the Scottish King, had now taken an heiress whom Elizabeth had found for him. This was Mary Fitz-Lewis whose mother was daughter of Edmund Beaufort, second Duke of Somerset. So there was not only money but good family there. However, in spite of his marriage he continued to live at Ludlow with the Prince. Elizabeth would not hear of those arrangements being changed. If Edward had had a shock, so had she and she was more determined than ever that if there were a new king he would be hedged in by Woodvilles.

There would have to be change, Edward supposed. He would see to it in due course.

At the Parliament which was called in January money and supplies were voted for an army which should go into Scotland and the King bestowed on Richard the Wardenship of the West Marches so that he was now indeed the Lord of the North.

February and March were very cold months and towards the end of March Edward went on a fishing trip with some of his friends. The wind along the river bank was piercing and the fishermen in due course decided to abandon the day's sport and return to a warm fire.

The next day the King was ill. He had pains in his side which made it impossible for him to lie comfortably.

The physicians came to him and declared themselves alarmed by his condition. He had lived so indulgently that he had used up his energies they said and lacked the strength to withstand this violent cold he had caught. It attacked his lungs.

April had come with warmer weather but the King remained in his bed for his condition did not improve. He knew he was dying and that the seizure just before Christmas had been a warning.

Time was slipping away and there was so much he should have done. He was leaving a son, a child little more, vulnerable in a situation which he, in his carelessness, had allowed to arise.

There would be warring factions. There were so many who hated the Woodvilles. While he was there he had kept the peace but what would happen when he had gone?

What must he do? What could he do?

Richard was far away in the North. He wanted Richard here but he did not send for him. He was following his old practice of turning away from what was unpleasant. He was not dying, he told himself. He was going to survive this as he had that other attack.

He would not admit that he was facing death.

He was only just forty years of age. That was not old and he had always been in such good health. Until the seizure no one had thought of him and death in the same moment. He was going to get well.

But in his heart he knew that Death was close and that he must hurry to set things right. Conflict, which seemed inevitable, must be avoided. He sent for those nobles whom he thought might quarrel together. Chief among them was Dorset, his stepson, and Hastings, his greatest friend.

Dorset was on one side of his bed, Hastings on the other and

with them were those men who supported them. They looked coldly at each other across the bed and with a gnawing anxiety Edward was aware of their hostility towards each other.

'My friends,' said the King, T beg of you forget your differences and work together for the good of my son. He and his brother are but children. They need your help. I beg you give it to them. For the love you have borne me and for the love I have borne you, and for the love that the Lord God bears to us all, I beg you love each other.'

He could not sit up and collapsed on his pillows and the sight of this great strong man thus, moved everyone present to tears.

He begged Hastings and Dorset to clasp hands and to promise as they did so that they would remember their King's dying wishes.

Hastings was overcome with emotion. There were so many memories he had shared with the King, and to see Edward lying there while life slowly ebbed from him filled him with a sad emotion—not only for the past and the good times they had shared, but for the future. He well understood Edward's fears for his son.

The boy would have to be protected . . . against the Woodvilles.

'Remember,' went on the King breathing painfully and finding the utmost difficulty in speaking, 'remember they are so young, these little boys. Great variance there has been between you and often for small causes.'

He closed his eyes. He was young himself to die. Not yet forty-one years of age and having reigned for twenty-two of them.

But this was the end. There was nothing more he could do.

So on the 9th of April of the year 1483 great Edward died. The news spread through the city of London and on through the country to the blank bewilderment and dismay of the people. They had looked up to him—the great golden King, the rose-en-soleil, the sun in splendour. And now that sun had set.

What next? they asked themselves.

For twelve hours he lay naked from the waist that the members of the Council might see that he was truly dead. Then he was

taken to St Stephen's Chapel where mass was celebrated every morning for a week, and after that to Windsor and there buried in St George's Chapel in the tomb which he had had prepared for himself.

The country was stunned. He had been with them so long. They looked to him. They relied on him. He had been among them for so long—their brilliant, splendid, magnificent King.

And what would hapf)en now?

They waited in consternation to discover.

t

SUNSET

THE KING AND PROTECTOR

When he awoke that morning there was nothing to suggest to the thirteen-year-old Edward that this was going to be any different from another day. Time glided along smoothly at Ludlow. He had come to regard the great grey castle as home and when he rode out in the company of grooms and very often with his uncle. Lord Rivers, he was always delighted to come back to the square towers and the battlemented walls guarded by the deep wide fosse. He loved the Norman keep and large square tower with ivy clinging to it. In the great hall Moralities were performed at Christmas and when his mother came special balls were arranged. He loved to ride out into the town which itself stood on a plateau overlooking hills and dales of considerable beauty. It would be hard, his uncle Rivers had said, to find a more beautiful spot in the whole of England.

The most important person in his life was Lord Rivers, Uncle Anthony, who was so eager to be with him and explain everything to him and was such an agreeable companion. They hunted together, played chess together, and he had been very much afraid when his uncle had recently married—for he had been a widower—that he would lose him.

'No,' said Uncle Anthony, 'nothing would prevent my being with you, my little Prince. You are my first concern.'

So although he had gone away briefly he was soon back and it was as it had been before. His wife would visit them from time to time perhaps but she would want to please her husband and that would mean pleasing the Prince.

If Anthony was his favourite companion and perhaps the most important person in his life, his mother held a special place.

She was so beautiful. He had never seen anyone like her. And she was always affectionate towards him. When she arrived she could look so cold, like an ice Queen and he liked to watch her when she was greeted by the servants and attendants with the utmost respect because after all she was the Queen; and then she would see him and her face would change; it was like the snows melting in early spring. The colour would come into her face and she would hold out her arms and he would run into them and then he thought he loved her more than he could ever love anyone even Uncle Anthony, although of course he admitted to himself he needed his uncle more. His mother was like a beautiful goddess—something not quite of this earth.

Then there was his half-brother, Richard Grey, another of his close friends, who was Comptroller of his Household. His uncle Lionel was his chaplain although he did not see a great deal of him for he had so many other duties to perform being the Chancellor of Oxford University as well as Bishop of Salisbury and Dean of Exeter.

How could he be so many things all at once? Edward had asked Anthony, who replied that it was possible; and at the same time to be able to keep an eye on his young nephew.

'After all,' said Edward, 'he is a Woodville.'

Anthony agreed. He had always taught the boy that there was something very special about the Woodvilles. They were capable of doing what ordinary mortals could not. The King, Anthony explained, had recognized that. It was why he had married one of them and so given Edward his incomparable mother; it was why he had put so many of them in the Prince's household so that his son should have the benefit of their virtues.

Yes, there were many of his mother's family. Her brothers Edward and Richard were his councillors and even Lord Lyle, his master of horse, was her brother-in-law by her first marriage. His chamberlain however was not a Woodville. He was old Sir Thomas Vaughan who had been with him since his babyhood. He seemed to be the only one to hold a post in the household who was not a Woodville.

Well, it worked very happily for Edward. He loved to hear of the perfections of his maternal ancestors. He scarcely knew those of his father, although Anthony said that now that he was coming into his teens he supposed his father would wish him to go to Court now and then.

'I don't want to/ said Edward. 'I like it here with us all. We are all so happy together.'

'It gives me great pleasure to hear you say that,' replied his uncle. 'It is what I have always striven for.'

There were his sisters the Princesses and his brother Richard. He liked Richard and his sisters, but he did not see them very often. He had to be kept apart in his own household. He knew why. Anthony had explained. It was because he was the most important member of the family; the heir to the throne.

He had scarcely known his uncles on his father's side. Anthony had told him something of them, of his wicked uncle Clarence for instance who had taken arms against the King and had come to a violent death—drowned, they told him, in a butt of malmsey. Edward could hardly imagine what that was like. He was overcome having already drunk too much of the stuff, his uncle told him, and then he toppled in. That was the end of him. It was a Good Thing.

There were certain events which were Good Things and they were the things that the Woodvilles wanted or caused to happen. Then there were Bad Things which were brought about by the enemies of the Woodvilles.

There was his uncle Richard. He did not know what to think of him. He was cold and stem and he had a son named Edward too, and a wife whom they always called Poor Anne. There was nothing very attractive about Stem Richard and Poor Anne. Moreover although his uncle Anthony did not say anything very revealing about him Edward sensed that he did not like him much. Therefore Edward was not going to either.

So he awoke that day with no premonition of the great change which was about to burst on him. He had heard of his father's seizure for he had nohced that Anthony was a little perturbed and when he asked him why Anthony told him that his father had been taken ill.

That had been hard to imagine. That great big splendid man suffering from the ailments which beset ordinary mortals had seemed impossible.

It was not impossible, said Anthony, his brow furrowed. Men like his father who lived . . . Anthony had sought a word and found 'luxuriously', often had what was called seizures. They hved so fully that they used up as much energy in half a lifetime as some did in the whole of one. Did Edward understand?

Edward did.

'Has he used up all his energy then?' he asked.

'Oh no . . . no. It's just a warning of what could happen.'

The King recovered. At Christmas Edward had seen him looking even larger and grander than ever. He had talked to Edward and told him to obey the rules of his household and grow up quickly. He had pointed out that heirs to the throne had to learn more quickly than others.