Текст книги "The Sun in Splendour"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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She wondered what this deputation meant. That it was of the greatest importance was obvious from the presence of the Archbishop of Canterbury.

He greeted her with respect as indeed he should. Was she not the mother of the King? How she longed to see her son; and how comforting it had been when Jane had brought her messages from him.

The Archbishop came straight to the point.

'My lady, it is the wish of the Protector that you emerge from Sanctuary/ he said. 'You need have no fear. You have the Duke of Gloucester's word that you shall be treated as the mother of the King.'

Elizabeth lifted her head and her eyes glittered.

'What of my brother. Lord Rivers? Richard of Gloucester has imprisoned him. For what reason?'

'My lady, you must know that your brother Lord Rivers and your son Lord Richard Grey attempted to take the King from the Protector. They withheld from him the news of the King's death. It is for this reason that they are now his captives.'

'As I should be if I came out of Sanctuary.'

'That is not so, my lady. You have not committed these offences.'

'I do not trust the Duke of Gloucester.'

'He prides himself on keeping his word. He promised the late King that he would guard his son and that is what he is determined to do.'

'I am the King's mother. It is for me to guard him.'

Bourchier bowed his head and started again. 'The Protector offers you an alternative. Come out of Sanctuary or deliver to me the Duke of York.'

'Deliver him to you! Why? He is a child. He should be with his mother.'

'His brother is asking for him. He wants him to join him in his apartments in the Tower.'

'I shall not let him go.'

'My lady, you have no alternative. Either you must come out of Sanctuary with your son and daughters—and the Protector promises that if you do you will be treated with the respect due to your rank—or you must deliver up the Duke of York.'

Elizabeth was silent. She did not want to lose her son; on the other hand dared she emerge from Sanctuary? Her great hope lay in trying to raise an insurrection against the Protector which she had thought possible through Hastings.

She must stay in Sanctuary.

What if she let the little Duke go? He would be with his brother. Poor child, he would hate to leave her and his sisters, but he would be going to his brother . . . and it would be good for Edward to have his little brother with him.

Should she leave Sanctuary so that they could all be together? It was what her maternal feelings told her she should do. She knew Gloucester well enough to know that he would not be harsh with her unless she deliberately plotted against him. In truth he had been lenient with Jane Shore. He suspected her of plotting; she had indeed brought messages from Hastings; some would have had her head for that. Penance and confiscation had been enough for Gloucester.

No, he would not be hard on her. He would remember his brother's affection for her and for that reason he would be kind.

She should leave Sanctuary.

No . . . no . . . that would be the end of hope. She would be safer in here.

She would have to let Richard go.

It was a fateful decision. In later years she often thought of it and wondered what would have happened to her sons if she had left Sanctuary at that time and kept all the family with her.

She sent for Richard. He came running to her. He was a charming little boy, more healthy than his elder brother and of a merry disposition. Poor Edward was often tired, suffering as he did from that strange disease of the bones which, said the doctors, prevented them growing as they should normally. Poor little King, he would never be like his father. It was different with Richard, he was a healthy, normal boy.

'Richard, my little one,' she said to him putting her arms round him and holding him close to her, "you are going to see Edward.'

'Oh, my lady, when do we go? Now?'

'We are not going. I and your sisters have to stay here. It is just you who are going.'

'Is Edward coming back to us?'

'No, you are going to stay with Edward.'

'When are you coming?'

'That, sweetheart, I cannot say. It will depend on your uncle.'

'I don't like my uncle.'

'Dearest, none of us do but for a while we have to do as he says.' She held him to her and whispered in his ear. 'It won't always be so. Now you have to go with the Archbishop and he will take you to Edward and you will be able to shoot your arrows together.'

Richard smiled. 'I can shoot farther than Edward,' he said.

'Well, you must remember that he is not so well as you are. You will always remember that, won't you?'

'Yes, my lady. But you will come and be with us soon won't you, and Elizabeth . . . and Cecily. . . .'

'As soon as 1 can I shall be there. You don't think I like being separated from my boys, do you?'

'No, dear Mother, you do not. And you hate. . . .'

'Hush. . . . Not before these gentlemen.'

The boy put his arms round her neck and whispered: 'Dear Mother, I don't like them much either.'

'This is the Archbishop of Canterbury, my love, and Lord Howard. They are going to take care of you.' She lifted pleading eyes to the Archbishop. 'You will take care of him, my lord? I want your promise.'

'I give it, my lady. I pledge my life for the Prince's safety.'

'Then take him and remember those words. Goodbye, my little one. Say goodbye to your sisters. You are going to be with your brother and I shall be thinking of you both so dearly. Tell him that will you.'

'Yes, dear lady, I will.'

'And remember it yourself.'

The little boy flung his arms about her. T do not want to leave you, dear Mother. I want to stay with you. I don't want to go to Edward even. . . .'

She held him tightly and looked appealingly at the Archbishop, who shook his head.

'You could go with him, my lady,' he reminded her.

So she was torn again. She must stay. She dared not go out. How could she know what would happen to her? If she were ever going to regain her hold over her eldest son she must stay in Sanctuary and relinquish his younger brother.

'Dearest baby, you must go. You must be brave, my love. We shall all be together soon. Edward is lonely for you.'

'Yes, dear Mother.'

She kissed him tenderly and sent for his sisters who took their leave of him.

And then the Archbishop took the little boy by the hand and led him out of Sanctuary.

That day he entered the Tower to be with his brother.

In his prison at Sheriff Hutton Lord Rivers heard occasional scraps of news as to what was happening throughout the country. That the Protector was in command was obvious. It had been a masteriy stroke to arrest him at Northampton for it had given Gloucester a free hand with the King.

Yet how near the Woodvilles had come to success. Once the King had been crowned none could have taken charge of him, young as he was, and Edward was well enough primed to insist on keeping his Woodville relations about him. That would have been the end of the Protector. He would either have had to join the Woodvilles, and quite clearly become an inferior member of the party or go back to the North. No, that would have been too dangerous. Gloucester had the North with him. It would very likely have been his head for he—Plantagenet that he was– would never have taken a subsidiary role with the Woodvilles.

Oh yes, a master stroke. But then Gloucester was a master at the art of strategy and justice. Edward had thought more highly of him than of anyone else. Elizabeth knew that and had always resented it; but she had realized there was no one to change the King's opinion and that he would have turned against her if she had tried to.

Gloucester was indeed capable of governing. Rivers conceded that. But oh how the Woodvilles longed to!

And he. Rivers, was at the head of the family. He would have been chief adviser to the King.

Gloucester knew it; that was why Rivers' fate was inevitable.

Of course Gloucester might have had his head on the spot as he had Hastings'. That would not have been wise. He might have had the country against him if he had. He wanted to go cautiously, which he had done. He had by the arrest of Rivers and Grey taken over the King; he had delayed the coronation; he had set himself up as Protector, and as the last thing the people wanted was a bloody conflict, for heaven knows they had had enough of that with the Wars of the Roses, they had accepted him. They saw in him a good and steady ruler, and that was what they wanted.

So now there was only one logical fate which could possibly await Rivers. The only question was when would it come, and he guessed it was at hand when the Earl of Northumberland arrived at Sheriff Hutton.

The trial was brief. He was accused of treason and condemned.

It would not have been so easy for them to find him guilty if a quantity of arms had not been found in his baggage which indicated clearly that he was ready to do battle.

He spent his last night in making his will, praying and writing poetry.

'My life was lent Me to one intent. It is nigh spent. Welcome fortune. . . .'

He wrote and found some pleasure in musing and writing down how Fortune had treated him and at last brought him to the state in which he now found himself.

He had been told that he would be taken to Pontefract where Richard Grey was being held and Thomas Vaughan would be brought there from Middleham, so that they should all lose their heads in the same place on the same day.

Lord Rivers then asked that he might be buried beside his nephew. Lord Richard Grey.

The request was granted and on the twenty-fourth day of June Lord Rivers, Lord Richard Grey and Sir Thomas Vaughan were beheaded at Pontefract.

KING RICHARD THE THIRD

Buckingham was growing impatient. A volatile man, impulsive, always seeking excitement, he wanted events to move fast and if they appeared to lag he was always ready to act in such a way as to speed them on.

Richard told him of Stillington's revelahon and Buckingham now suggested that Richard should make this known to the people and then take the crown.

This was a big step which Richard had had in mind for some time, but he hesitated to take it. In the first place it seemed disloyal to the brother whom he had revered for to declare his sons illegitimate would have enraged the late King. On the other hand he must have known the truth—who more than he? And he had had Clarence despatched when Stillington had let the truth slip to him; and Stillington himself had been imprisoned in the Tower.

It was the truth and the fact was that Edward the Fifth had no right to the throne.

The trouble with the country now was that there were rival factions conspiring against each other which was due to the minority of the King. But if the true King were proved to be a grown man, a man who had the ability to govern, what a boon that would be for the country!

Buckingham was right. He should state the truth and tell the people; then he would be proclaimed Richard the Third.

It would save the country from possible civil war—and the country had had enough of that.

He discussed the matter with Buckingham; he pondered the position deeply. It was right that the truth should be known. It was best for the country.

How should the secret be revealed?

'Let the Lord Mayor of London make the announcement from Paul's Cross/ suggested Buckingham. 'The Londoners will listen to their Lord Mayor as to none other and Sir Edmund Shaa is a good man for the job.'

'My brother knew him well and thought highly of him.'

'Indeed he did. Shaa is a prosperous goldsmith and you know how your brother liked such men. Didn't he find Jane in a goldsmith's shop? Shaa is a member of the Goldsmiths' Company and now Lord Mayor, so let us see him and tell him what is required of him.'

'Yes/ said Richard. 'Send for him.'

Sir Edmund Shaa came to Baynard's Castle for the Protector had moved there from Crosby Place about the time when young Edward had taken up residence in the Tower.

Shaa listened. He had known the late King at the time of his obsession with Eleanor Butler and he could well believe that a marriage had taken place. Yes, he saw that if that were so, the true King was Richard and what a good thing it would be for the country if this was generally accepted to be the case.

'There is another matter,' he said. 'I had heard that your brothers, Edward the King and George Duke of Clarence, were not the sons of the Duke of York, and that so incensed was the Duchess of York when the King married Elizabeth Woodville that she said she would make it known that she had taken a lover while the Duke was away on his many campaigns and that Edward and George were the result of this liaison.'

Richard shook his head, but Buckingham was excited. 'It strengthens the case,' he said. 'Both the late King and his son bastards! My lord, we have to think of the country. We want a good case. We must end this strife, for if it goes on it could well result in civil war.'

'That,' said Richard, 'must be stopped at all events. England is more important than anything. A boy King is the biggest danger which can threaten us.'

Buckingham nodded to Sir Edmund. This was tantamount to the Protector's consent to give the full details at Paul's Cross.

Buckingham was exultant. The plot was going to work. Within a few days Richard would be proclaimed King of England.

'I would not wish it without the people's consent," said Richard.

'My lord, they will be begging you to take the crown.

Fron St Paul's Cross the Lord Mayor spoke to the people. He had grave news for them. A great discovery had been made. The little King who had not yet been crowned as Edward the Fifth was not the true King after all. King Edward the Fourth had already been married when he went through a form of marriage with Elizabeth Woodville.

This had been proved and the King's real wife was none other than the Lady Eleanor Butler, daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury—a lady of higher rank than Queen Elizabeth Woodville at the hme of her mock marriage. Of course everyone knew how the Woodvilles had risen since that time but let the people consider, they owed their rise to a ceremony which was invalid and should never have been performed at all. The truth was that the young boy whom they called King Edward the Fifth was a bastard and therefore should never have been called King.

There was only one true King of England. They knew him well. He had done good service in the North and held back the Scots. He had served his country and brother with absolute loyalty and devotion. And he was the true King of England.

There was one other matter. Edward himself had been a bastard. The Duchess of York had taken occasional lovers during her husband's frequent absences. Both Edward the late King and George Duke of Clarence were bastards. The Duchess herself had threatened to reveal this at the time the late Edward the Fourth went through a form of marriage with Elizabeth Woodville, so shocked had she been that one of what she called such low birth should marry her son. She did not, however, for that would have meant exposing her own dishonour; but now that the King—and make no mistake he had been a great and good K^ig—was dead, they need not despair. What was past was done with. They had a new King, one who had proved his ability to serve them well.

They had King Richard the Third.

There was silence in the crowds about Paul's Cross. This was the most astounding revelation and if anyone but their Lord Mayor had made it they would have thought he was a madman.

The King married already! The little King a bastard! And those slanderous things they were saying about the Duchess of York!

They wanted to get away to talk together. It was astounding. They did not believe it.

Sir Edmund Shaa watched them walking away, whispering together.

In Baynard's Castle Buckingham and Richard discussed the people's reactions.

'What did their silence mean?' asked Richard.

'That they were shocked of course. Although we have heard the rumours they had not. They will take a little time to get used to the idea.'

'I like it not,' said Richard. 'The announcement should never have been made. I liked not the slander against my mother. I'll swear it is a lie.'

'The important thing is the King's pre-contract. You believe that, I'm sure.'

Tdo.'

'Stillington must be brought forward to show proof.'

'There is no proof. Only Stillington's word.'

'What reason should he have to lie?'

'He might think it would bring him advancement in a new reign.'

'He would never dare to lie in such a matter. We must strike again quickly. I will take some of my men with lords and knights to the Guildhall on Tuesday. There I will make a declaration. The people will have crowded into the hall and will have assembled outside. There I shall state the facts again.'

T forbid you to mention my mother.'

There is no need to. All that matters is that the boy is known as a bastard, and that you are the rightful King of the realm.'

Buckingham went to the Guildhall as he had said he would. There he spoke with the utmost eloquence on the situation which had arisen through the disclosure of Bishop Stillington, and when he had assessed Richard's claim to the throne, he cried out: 'Will you accept Richard of Gloucester as Richard the Third of England?'

There was heavy pause in the crowd which as Buckingham had predicted, filled the Guildhall and spilled into the streets outside.

Then some of Buckingham's men shouted from the back of the hall: 'Long Live King Richard.'

Buckingham appeared to be satisfied.

The next day the Parliament met. The facts were presented; the marriage discussed, as was the illegitimacy of Edward the Fifth and of Edward the Fourth and the Duke of Clarence. Buckingham reminded the peers that Edward had been bom in Rouen and Clarence in Dublin. Richard was a true Englishman for he had seen the light of day at Fotheringay castle in Northamptonshire. Would they agree that a deputation should be sent to Baynard's Castle and ask Richard to take the crown? They agreed and the following day, Buckingham led the deputation to the Castle where Richard, with a show of reluctance, agreed to accept the crown. The reign of Edward the Fifth was over. That of Richard the Third had begun.

Anne had arrived in London with her son Edward. She was uneasy for she was sure that Edward was not fit to travel. However, on such an occasion she must be present and so must their son, for now she was the Queen . . . Queen of England. On the journey down from Middleham her apprehension had increased. She had grown accustomed to the quiet life at Middleham; she had wished, naturally, that Richard could be with them, but since the death of his brother she had scarcely seen him. It had been something of a shock to her to learn that he had been offered the crown and for what reason.

She thought often of Queen Elizabeth Woodville and imagined her wrath at the turn events had taken. And here was she, in Elizabeth's place. She wondered what those who had departed would think if they could look back and see what was happening. She could imagine her father's delight. His daughter a queen!

Dear father, who had been good to his family when he had time for them, but he had sought the glittering prizes of life and had in time met his death. What were all those prizes worth now? But she smiled to think how he would have rejoiced to see his daughter Queen. He would have thought everything worth while and she wished that she could share those feelings. Alas, the prospect filled her only with misgivings.

She knew that Richard would be uneasy too. He would be a worthy King; he had the gift of governing well; but to think that he had come to power through the dishonour of his brother and

his young nephew would disturb him greatly she knew.

He brought her into London by barge but as soon as he had greeted her she noticed the fresh hirrows on his brow. He was delighted to see her and their son of course though the looks of both of them added to his anxieties.

She had commanded her women to brighten her complexion for she did not want to alarm Richard with her pallor. There was nothing she could do, though, to disguise the boy's wan looks.

'So,' she said, 'you are the King now. You were a mere Duke when we last met.'

'It has all happened quickly, Anne. I want to talk to you about it/

The people cheered them as they sailed up river to Baynard's Castle. There was little time, Richard explained, for the coronation was fixed for the sixth of July.

'So soon?' cried Anne.

'Coronations should never be delayed,' answered Richard.

He talked to his son and was at least pleased with the boy's brightness. It helped to compensate for his frail health.

He sought an early opportunity of being alone with Anne for he could see that she was bewildered by the astonishing turn of events.

'You have heard the story. Young Edward was a bastard because of my brother's previous marriage.'

'The whole country talks of it.'

'Everyone of good sense wants a stable country and that cannot be with a King who is too young to govern. There are certain to be rivals—different people eager to get the King in their control. If Edward had been of age I should have subdued the fact of his bastardy for my brother's sake.'

'Yes, Richard, I believe you would.'

'It is not that I wish for the crown. . . for the arduous duties of a sovereign. Power is enticing but it brings such burdens, Anne. We were happy at Middleham, were we not?'

'So happy,' she said. 'But such happiness does not last.'

'And you are worried about the boy?'

'His health is not good.'

'We will make him Prince of Wales.'

'I do not think that will improve it.'

'Anne, he must get well'

'I wish we could have more children. I'm afraid I am not a very

good wife for you, Richard. You should have had someone fecund, vital. . . someone like Elizabeth Woodville.'

'God forbid. I dislike that woman as much as she dislikes me. I thought Edward demeaned himself by marrying ... or rather going through a form of marriage with her. It was from that that all our troubles started. The Woodvilles . . . the cursed Woodvilles . . . they brought your father against my brother.'

She laid a hand on his arm. 'Richard, that is all over now. Don't let us brood on the past.'

'You are right. But let me say this one thing, Anne. I was begged by the lords to take the crown. I hesitated but I saw my duty, though if the people had raised a voice against me I would have refused.'

'Of course the people did not raise a voice against you. They want you, Richard. They want what you can give them ... a stable, prosperous country . . . the kind they had when Edward ruled. They cannot get that without you. If it were not for you the Woodvilles would rule the country now. All know their cupidity. They had done nothing but enriched themselves since Edward made Elizabeth his Queen. They want you, Richard. They are determined to have you. And do not forget, because of Edward's previous contract, you are the rightful King.'

'I know it, Anne. It is for this reason that I have taken the crown.'

'Then, let us give our thoughts to the coronation for there is very little time.'

On the day before that fixed for the coronation ceremony the people crowded out on the river bank to see the King with his Queen and his son go by water to the Palace of the Tower.

Edward the Fifth and his brother Richard Duke of York had been transferred from the royal apartments as soon as they had been declared illegitimate and lodged in the Garden Tower. They did not, of course, attend their uncle's coronation.

There in the precincts of the Tower the son of Richard and Anne was formally created Prince of Wales, and the next day the coronation took place.

It had been short notice but as a great many preparations had

been made for the coronation of Edward the Fifth it had been possible to make use of this. A coronation and its festivities would not have to change because the King to be crowned was not the same one for whom all the pomp had been originally created.

The Duke of Buckingham carried Richard's train while the Duke of Norfolk bore his crown before him. Then came the Queen with the Earl of Huntingdon bearing her sceptre and Viscount Lisle the rod with the dove while the honour of carrying her crown was assigned to the Earl of Wiltshire.

Anne splendidly clad, weighed down with jewels, felt tired before the ceremony had begun. Walking under a canopy, to each comer of which had been attached a golden bell which tinkled as they moved, she hoped that she did not show how she was longing for it all to be over. But it had only just begun. The anointing had to take place and afterwards the crowning.

'God Save the King. God Save the Queen.'

The cries rang out clearly and Richard was straining his ears to hear one dissenting voice. There was none.

Afterwards they dined in Westminster Hall, Anne and Richard seated on a dais overlooking the rest of the guests at their tables while the Lord Mayor himself served the King and Queen with sweet wine as a sign of the capital's desire to do homage to them.

When the champion of England rode into the hall and challenged any to combat who did not agree that Richard was the rightful King, Anne was aware of her husband's tension; and when there was not a single voice raised against him, she was aware of his sinking back into his seat with an overwhelming relief; and she hoped that had silenced his fears for ever. The people had chosen him. The people wanted him. He was the rightful King; and he must stop thinking of those little boys in the Garden Tower. Their claim to the throne was null and void. The rightful King was at last crowned.

Darkness fell and the torches were brought in and one by one the nobles and their ladies came to the dais to pay homage to the King and Queen.

And when that ceremony was over they could retire to their apartments and make their preparations to depart for Windsor where they would go when the festivities were over.

Richard was already planning a tour of the country. They

would go to the North. He had no fear of what his reception would be there. The North was his country. He had served it well and they were with him to a man.

BUCKINGHAM

The Duke of Buckingham was displeased. The excitement which he so enjoyed had abated considerably. Richard was King and he had been accepted by a docile people. Secretly Buckingham had been hoping for trouble. He revelled in trouble. He found life dull without it.

Moreover Richard had angered him. It was over the matter of the Bohun estates. These had come to the crown on the marriage of Mary de Bohun and Henry the Fourth and now that he was Lord High Constable of England which was the ancient hereditary office of the de Bohuns, he believed he had a right to the estates.

Instead of enthusiastically agreeing to this, Richard had demurred; and that angered Buckingham. He looked upon himself as a Warwick, a Kingmaker. Who had suggested that Richard should claim the throne? Who had made the announcement at Paul's Cross and whose men had shouted for Richard at the Guildhall? The answer to that was Buckingham's, and Richard it seemed, now he had achieved the goal, was ungrateful and was reminding him that he was King. Richard would do well to remember his old friends. In a fit of pique Buckingham left Court and decided to go for a while to his Castle Brecknock on the borders of Wales and which had come to him with his post of High Constable of England. He was looking forward to having conversarion with a most interesting guest . . . well hardly a guest, a captive in fact.

He was thinking of John Morton the Bishop of Ely who had been arrested at the same time as Hastings during that fateful meeting in the Tower. Morton with Rotherham had been confined for a while in the Tower and being interested in the

man—for they had love of plotting in common—Buckingham had asked Richard if he might take care of Morton. The Bishop could not stay all the time a prisoner in the Tower and his rank as churchman demanded that certain respect be shown to him, so Richard agreed that Buckingham might make him a sort of honoured captive in his castle of Brecknock.

This Buckingham had done and had become on good terms with the Bishop. He enjoyed his conversation. Morton was a clever man—shrewd and devious, and as such he appealed to Buckingham.

That he was at heart a Lancastrian, the Duke knew; he also knew that he was not averse to changing sides when expediency demanded it, but he would be pleased of course to put forward the side he really supported while he tried to live amicably with its enemies.

In spite of this he had been one of the last King's chief advisers; he had helped to arrange the treaty of Picquigny which had brought such good fortune to England at the expense of the French; he had negotiated for the ransom the King of France had paid for Margaret of Anjou. Edward had thought highly of him. Of course Edward had a habit of believing the best of everyone until their perfidy was proved. Morton had gone from strength to strength until the meeting in the Tower.

That his head was full of plans, Buckingham had no doubt, and that they were not for the good of Richard the Third he was certain.

That suited him in his present mood, and so he was looking forward to seeing the Bishop at Brecknock.

When he arrived he went to the Bishop and greeted him warmly, asking if he lacked anything he needed for his comfort.

The captive has nothing of which to complain,' the Bishop told him.

'You must not think of yourself as a prisoner. Bishop.'

'My lord Duke, you are kind. But what else am I?'

'A friend I hope.'

'I doubt a friend of Richard of Gloucester would be a friend of mine.'

Buckingham sent for wine and they drank together. The wine was good and warming and Buckingham enjoyed his wine.

The Bishop watched him closely. He knew that something had happened between the two who had been so close together.

Buckingham had been Richard's first man. Now what? Morton asked himself. He felt gleeful. He summed up Buckingham– feckless, unreliable, friend today and enemy tomorrow. He was surprised Richard had put so much faith in him.