Death Be Pardoner To Me: The Life of George, Duke of Clarence (26 page)

He stopped suddenly, swung round on one heel and pointed a finger at his chancellor. “Facts, figures,” he said abruptly. “What am I worth right now and what is my brother of Gloucester worth? I want a comparison of the two and I want it as soon as you can arrange it.”

He saw Peke’s eyes light up and a knowing smile cross Durian’s face. He knew that both men knew him well enough that he needed no other explanation. He had a plan and he would see it through.

The nightly conferences with Durian had become such an integral part of George’s life he wondered how he would cope if his Fool were not there. Squires were dismissed, no servants were allowed in the room, the two men were closeted together as George prepared for bed. It was a time of quiet discussion before he went to Isobel and listened to the litany of problems, resolved and otherwise, of the household, much of which he completely ignored as it was Isobel’s duty to resolve it, not his. Durian alone knew of the deep-seated resentment George held against his brother of Gloucester, of his perpetual feeling that no matter how much was given to him in the way of estates, positions of power or titles, he was and always would be second best in Ned’s eyes and affection. It was there in the way Ned spoke of his younger brother, in the proud way the name Gloucester was said, as if he, Clarence, for all his skills and abilities, did not measure up. It wasn’t possible for him to make overtures of brotherly friendship toward his brother for he was, on the outside, a cold controlled person as he had been throughout his life. So few were the occasions when the control broke that George could count them on one hand and have fingers left doing nothing but record his own times of loss of control. Ha! He thought, I would need an abacus to record the amount of times I had lost control!

As if reading his mind, one night Durian commented very quietly, “your brother of Gloucester is not your enemy, sire.”

“No, he isn’t, but I feel as if he is.”

“It is because you have been pitched against one another too long. You have no way of knowing how he felt when you were exiled, sire, and you have no way of knowing how he felt when he was exiled. I would just put forward the premise that he had a better time of it than you did, having no wife to worry about and a brother who was still king, in many respects, to share your exile, whereas you had-”

“My cousin of Warwick, my wife and a household of hangers on.”

“You are determined he shall not have a share of the inheritance, I take it?”

“I am. I will find a way to stop him. He has virtually the whole of the North of England to call his own and, unless they stop him, he will walk into Scotland too and no doubt be crowned king!”

They both collapsed with laughter at the thought of Richard being crowned King of Scotland and that, to some degree, restored George’s good humour, although it was tinged with two worries: the persistent pain in his head and Durian’s persistent cough which he insisted was responding to the physician’s treatments. George did not think so, he did not believe it to be getting any better. He wished to avoid embarrassing his friend by insisting he take good care of himself as he was needed; one such night of emotion between them had been more than enough, but it was there in his gentle tone when speaking to his friend in these private moments and Durian knew it, responding with his own affection.

It was during this particular conversation that Durian said something profound which stayed with George for a very long time. “Beware of your brothers, sire. Your brother of Gloucester has but one devotion, to king and country. No one else matters, no one else is worthy of his consideration, unless it be the pretty little Anne Neville. I would say to you, walk cautiously with your brother for he will fight you for all that he considers rightfully his.

“Your brother the king shows a face of great humour to the world but beneath it lies a cruelty that is not seen or appreciated by the many who are around him. Feel not that he has forgiven everything, remember that his wounds were deep and his memory is long. One day he may wish to exact his revenge.”

It was a thought to take into the darkness of the long nights, when Isobel tossed restlessly by his side, coughing from time to time, as if the illness she had contracted whilst in France had not quite left her. There was a promise of a new pregnancy and this time it seemed to be right, her blood flow had not shown itself now for three months and George had every hope that this would be his much longed-for child, son or daughter, it did not matter. He longed only to hold a child, his own child.

At times like this he envied Ned his easy-going manner and ability to sire children seemingly at will. While he envied him, he kept Durian’s words in his mind for Durian had never failed him with wisdom and sharp observation. It was all too easy to believe, in the closed world of the court where money and titles were everything and he had both, that Ned had forgiven him his trespasses. But would I have forgiven and forgotten, he asked himself and came up with the answer: no. Forgive, yes, forget, no. Given the chance of revenge, would I not take it? Of course I would. So Durian’s words are right and to be remembered at all times. Walk carefully with my brothers, for either of them could cause problems for me in the future, for different reasons.

Yes, but I hold a secret and I hold the dice of Fortune in my one hand too. I was son-in-law to the Kingmaker and as such I can use my knowledge to influence events. I will keep Anne Neville from my brother of Gloucester as long as I can. I will argue with him that the estates are mine. I will ensure the greatest part comes to me. Of a surety I will not get it all, Ned does so favour his loyal and devoted brother above all others! I will have a child I will need to favour, to ensure they have what s rightfully theirs, as offspring of the daughter of the Kingmaker and a prince of the royal blood.

That comforting thought eased him into sleep that night.

Not all of life goes according to our plans. Isobel’s cough became worse and the coughing brought on convulsions which caused the loss of the child. For a while Anne, lodging with them while the inheritance problem was resolved, was companion and nurse to her sister, listening to her endless weeping that she would never produce the much wanted heir. George became impatient with the dispute, demanding that it be settled and soon, as it was interfering with his running of the many estates and the manifold tasks he had through the honours heaped on him by his brother the king. But the dispute went on and on and became steadily more bitter as it did so. Both brothers were well versed in law, both well versed in the matters of estates and land, their arguments were so precisely matched that Ned found it hard to adjudicate on the matter.

When George learned of Richard’s plan to take Anne away from his home with the intention of arranging their marriage, he swiftly hid her away in a cookshop nearby, with orders that no one was to allow anyone near her. Unfortunately that too did not go as planned; the owners of the cookshop were over-awed by having nobility in their presence and word soon got out that she was there. Richard ‘rescued’ her and arranged sanctuary for her in St Martins In The Field. George was fuming that his plans had been so easily and swiftly disrupted and this embittered him even more.

I will find a way to get back at him! Thoughts raged through him as he spent yet more time simply pacing, sometimes in the elaborate gardens he loved to maintain or in his rooms, away from all eyes but Durian’s, endlessly pacing but unable to walk away from the pain in his head and his heart. Durian was visibly fading before his eyes. Isobel was not of good health but George knew, in his totally honest moments, that he was more afraid of losing Durian than losing his wife. He could find another wealthy heiress to marry, he could not find another Fool with the skills, the abilities and the devotion Durian brought to his life. Once, in a moment of frustrated emotion, he shouted at Durian, ‘I order you not to die!’

Durian just smiled sadly at him. “That, sire, is in God’s hands and, great as you are, you are not God.”

Chapter 28

How endless and tedious were the arguments over land! How angry I was when Richard married the mouse-like Anne! Oh, those who said he was after her estates were only half right, you only had to see the way he looked at her and she at him, you only had to watch them in each other’s company to know it was a love bond as much as a financial acquisition for my brother of Gloucester. When he marched into my home and demanded that I hand her over, his face showed true emotion for the first time in many years, to the point when I hardly recognised him as the cold controlled person who had shared so much of my life. When I said she was not there, he stormed out, not walked, stormed. He was almost not touching the flagstones, so great was his anger. He had what seemed like half of London searching for her so she was soon found. Then, to see them together was to see the other side of him, the loving consort, solicitous in the extreme. Their marriage was a true love-bond and I said so to any who dared raise a voice otherwise. There were two forbidden subjects in my household: my brother of Gloucester’s reason for marrying Anne Neville and the besmirching of the memory of my proud fearless father. Any who dared break that rule found themselves penniless, homeless and unemployed in a very short time. I only wish that my family had been so determined to protect me, but perhaps I do them an injustice, perhaps they have fought harder than I realise for my life.

What matter anyway; the hours pass by, the flames drop low and the chill in the room is preparing me for the chill of the tomb which I will share with Isobel.

What do I say of the endless arguments, the final division of land, the agreements we signed and in between all that, my first child being born, my daughter Margaret? She was a joy to me, such a pretty child and so quick to recognise me when I visited her. Isobel was overjoyed and looked unbelievably pretty as a mother, flushed with pride and motherhood.

What do I say of the time when the printer William Caxton, now in London with the new printing press wonder which transformed books, worked on his second book, ‘The Game and Playe of Chesse’ and dedicated it to me? What do I say of my pride in this, what it said about my standing in England? I so loved books and he knew it.

What do I say of the time Durian died? What do I say of his wasting away, his fighting for breath, the smell of the burning herbs infiltrating every part of my home and I not allowed to enter the room to say goodbye to the one person I loved beyond all other, for fear of my contracting the disease myself? If my household thought I paced endlessly before, they knew nothing until the days after Durian was lowered into the ground and I had a hole in my life big enough to fit Ludlow Castle into and leave room for Fotheringhay, too. I never thought I could ache for someone so much. I never believed I could miss someone so much. God knows in truth I would have joined him in the grave to take the pain from my life.

And at times to take the pain from my head. Of a surety it grew worse. I consulted my physician many times, asking for a draught to ease the pain. He spoke to me of the times I had fallen from my horse, asked if I had hit my head when falling, asking if I had caused damage that was coming back to trouble me. I said I recalled once having a very large lump on the side of my head, but my falls were trivial to me, nothing broken, just damaged muscles and aches and pains for a time, not to mention the serious damage to my pride. Had I damaged myself? I knew not the truth of this and doubted whether he did, either. But he strove to help and at times he actually relieved the pain for a while. Then it would go and I would be blessed with peace.

What do I say about the rumours which my trusted staff brought to me that I was in collusion with this one and that to overthrow my brother the king? I could declare it to be nonsense but right now none would understand a word I said. Of a surety I spoke with this one and that, of a surety I was still ready to battle my brother of Gloucester for there were many unresolved matters between us regarding the inheritance and when the Countess went to live with the Gloucesters, my inheritance seemed to be undermined and this worried me. But through all this I held my hand; I was loyal, I was obedient to my king, brother or not. What my brother of Gloucester thought at this time is not something I am truly privy to, for he kept a closed household and without Durian’s skills at piecing together small snippets of information or gossip, I was unable to put anything together and make sense of it. I had some ideas but nothing I could say was the real truth. I knew he considered me an enemy and was preparing for ‘battle’ in case I began another series of disputes, but that is the way we were. Ever at each other’s throats. It makes his unexpected and unbelievably welcome visit to me here, in my bleak lonely prison, all the more surprising and sad, it showed me what we could have had and didn’t have through our own temperament. I have asked myself many times, did he fight me for the Warwick lands for Anne’s sake or his own? Did he fight me because I am who I am; someone who turned traitor for a while but who was showered with estates and titles when they returned? Did that cause resentment in my younger brother? Only he can answer these questions and I doubt he would, if anyone were to ask him, for he was a closed man when it came to what he really felt. I doubt anyone ever saw him weep, I doubt if many saw him smile. If anyone knows him at all, it is that little mouse of a wife whom he chose above all others and who has the key to his heart where no other has ever done.

It occurs to me, as I sit here with my memories and nothing else that I might be doing Anne a disservice. Underneath the submissive exterior she might be a woman of steel, someone who is a perfect helpmeet for my brother, maybe she has wisdom beyond her years, maybe –