Death Be Pardoner To Me: The Life of George, Duke of Clarence (27 page)

These are mere speculations and cannot be proved by anyone other than my brother of Gloucester and he is a closed man.

What is not speculation is the fact that my brother the king drew up a bill of resumption which deprived me of my estates and I was forced to submit to his will if I wished to continue to live in some comfort. I knew I angered him with my persistence in fighting for every hectare of land but he knew nothing of my deep inner longing for security, for land and wealth to buffer me against the hostile world in which I lived. He knew nothing of my ever-present feeling of being second best and needing the comfort in my own heart of being a man of stature to give me stature. Instead he took from me much that was close to my heart, starting with Tutbury. Punishment? Very likely. Granting me an equitable settlement a sign of his affection, as was stated by some? I doubt it. Trust me? He did not. In return I did not trust my brother the king again, for he knew what Tutbury meant to me and he took it away and gave it to another. He could have taken any other estate I held title of and he knew it. I did not argue, not then. I kept my thoughts close to my heart and considered them well during the long dark nights when sleep evaded me.

Sleep evades me now, has done since I was interred here in this cold cell of a room. Ever do I refer to it that way, as it is my prison, regardless of how anyone else might view it. Sleep has evaded me and the hours are long and tiresome in their passing, what else is there to do but consider my years already lived?

My brother the king did me one disservice after another. He deprived me of this role and of that, took from me the Lord-Lieutenantship of Ireland and gave it to another, no doubt fearful that if he let me go there, I would foment an uprising. I had no intention of doing so but he did not know that and, had I expressed the thought to him, he would have dismissed it as mere talk on my part. Of a surety he would. Under pressure from the leeches who had attached themselves to him, he took from me that which gave me my stature and in doing so, pushed me further from him. I took great exception to his treatment of me and withdrew from court. I still had estates left to manage and live in, gardens to supervise, my second child, my son Edward, to be proud of and delight in and my daughter Margaret, growing fast and becoming as beautiful as her mother. Two children and possibly more to come, I thought then. I had enough and more to do without the intrigues and unpleasantness of court. It was as if I no longer had time for the façade of politeness that obscured the reality of court, it was as if I could no longer expend the energy to cope with the deviousness of those who were around my brother the king and, of a surety, I could no longer cope with my brother the king whose feelings toward me were more than evident.

There were rewards in being away from court. I could spend more time riding, hunting, hawking, being entertained by my minstrels and singers. I had a new Fool, not one I entrusted with anything but a man of wry humour and great insight and he was good to have by me when my spirits needed lifting. I had my ever-faithful secretary and chancellor; I had my physician and my squires. I had my wife, my two children and a household of servants, ladies, squires, pages, all manner of people doing all manner of tasks to ensure that my wife and I were kept in the luxurious way we took as our right.

It is of one of these ladies I have to speak at some point; my thoughts are already travelling in her direction. Ankarette Twynho, will you ever know what you did to me? Her part in my life is yet to come, there are events prior to that but she is there, ever there, in the back of my mind, ever waiting to come forward and flash those covetous eyes at me again. Did I not say this at the beginning of this walk into my past, her covetous eyes? Believe me, you shades of darkness and death, covetous indeed were her eyes. I was a pure man; I walked not outside my marriage vows. I believed in the words I spoke to bond myself to Isobel and kept to them. But Ankarette Twynho would have turned the head of many a man, with her buxom figure, her gold/red hair and eyes which melted a man when she looked at him.

If I had bedded her and not killed her, for I killed her as surely as if I had stabbed her through the heart myself, would my fate have been different?

Chapter 29

Everything was hustle and bustle, messengers rode frantically between Court and homes, arranging this, commanding that. Edward was taking a campaign to France. The soldier king had at last remembered he was a soldier and not only a king. He was about to put on a show of strength to impress the French. George immediately agreed to bring a hundred and twenty men at arms and a thousand archers to the army, having heard that Richard of Gloucester had agreed that same number. When the armies met, it was shown that Richard had brought an additional three hundred men, whether to deliberately show George in a bad light, to impress his brother the king or both, was not clear. George was quietly furious and the king openly delighted, showering yet more honours on his devoted and loyal younger brother. Swallowing his anger for the sake of family unity at such an important time, George, Richard and the king set sail for France.

The great expedition had required a massive amount of planning but Edward had the men and the resources to do it. All George had to do was equip his men at arms and archers and transport them to the loading point. This he did with his usual efficiency and with a sense of excitement that life was likely to become a little more interesting. It had to be said there was a certain pleasure in heading into possible combat once more. George was in his prime, full of energy, apart from the insistent pain in his head, ready to do battle, to prove himself as a knight and a duke. Tending gardens and managing vast estates had become almost too easy. As he never rode in a tournament, he sometimes sighed after the thrill of riding against someone in reality, not mock combat. If he was to be unhorsed, let it be on the battlefield, not in some joust where the spectators would see his shame and humiliation. His pride, as ever, dictated his thoughts and his actions.

There was no battle. Duke Charles arrived at Calais with a bodyguard and high-blown phrases which were supposed to flatter the King of England and divert him from his chosen goal, victory for England. Everything conspired to ensure that the duke of Burgundy did not join forces with them to confront the king of France.

There was feasting, ceremonial, discussions and more discussions. Voices were raised in council, mostly for suing for peace. George was taken aback when Richard denounced the whole thing, demanding that war was not abandoned. It was the first time in many a long year, if ever, that he had spoken out and disagreed with his brother the king.

It made no difference, except that when the treaty was signed, Richard was not there.

But, the army returned to England without having tasted battle. Men were unhappy at not being in combat, not having the chance to bring home plunder. George was unhappy for he had left his wife and children for nothing more than an encampment on the battlefield of Agincourt and a showy signing ceremony. He was unhappy also because Isobel was pregnant again and was not in the best of health. He wanted to return to her covered in glory, to reinforce himself in her eyes as a man of stature, of wealth, of respect and of dignity. Instead he had to return, admitting that the whole campaign had been, for him, a waste of time. No matter that the fault lie with Edward and the duke of Burgundy, no matter that he was able to be present at the ceremonial signing of the treaty and guaranteeing his name in history for the being there, it had been a dismal failure.

Isobel was wan, tired, not able to hold her food well and spent a good deal of time in her chambers, resting and being cosseted by her ladies. Her physician was permanently in attendance. If he had worries about the child to come and Isobel’s health, he was not saying anything to anyone. George visited her daily but found the presence of so many fluttering hands and fans rather overwhelming and escaped when he could to the company of squires and staff he trusted, men he could talk with, joke and laugh with and never ever say a word about the gnawing worry at the back of his mind, for her health and his.

He soon realised that everywhere he went, he was seeing the young girl, Ankarette. She was servant to his wife and apparently did her work well, according to those he spoke to about her. George was disconcerted for her eyes glowed and her smile was coy and seductive. He worked at ignoring her and the blatant invitation he saw in those glowing eyes and in the smile. He chose to overlook the fact that he saw her mostly standing in the doorway of the bedrooms, where it would have taken but a moment to walk in, kick the door shut behind him and take what she was offering. It had been some time since he had bedded Isobel and the need was there, but not with someone so blatant and so untrustworthy. He was convinced that if he so much as touched her arm, she would run and tell everyone about it. Her infatuation for him was obvious; he hoped his indifference was as obvious as it was real. He did not care for her at all and had no intention of taking up the invitation.

Just before the whole situation became ridiculous in the extreme, when he was beginning to feel he could not walk freely in his own home without being constantly on the lookout for a sly girl with covetous eyes who might entrap him and cause problems, Isobel went into labour.

It was a horribly long drawn out affair, quite unlike her earlier pregnancies when the babies seemed to come within a few hours. After a day and a night of unremitting pain, despite all the attentions and skills of her physician, the midwife and nurse hired for their specialist knowledge, Isobel birthed the child which would end her life. No one seemed able to stem the flow of blood gushing from her body. George heard the screams and shouts and something snapped in his mind. He ran like a man demented to the birthing chamber, thrusting aside all who would stand in his way, breaking all precedent and shocking those who were around her. He gathered her up in his arms, kissing her face, calling her name, rubbing her hands. He slowly became aware of the faces around him, shocked faces, felt the hand on his shoulder as Peke struggled to pull him away from his wife. Slowly he got up and looked at everyone.

“My apologies,” he said in a voice on the edge of breaking. “I thought-”

He turned and walked out, making his way to his own chambers where he barred the door so none could enter. It was in her screams and in his instinctive reaction to them that he discovered a truth, he had a very deep emotion for his wife which he had denied, smothered beneath his own demands and interests. His occasional ‘I love you’ had been said to keep her happy, not said with conviction. Now he needed the chance, the opportunity, please God, just once! to say it and mean it.

Anyone who passed by the door as they went about the task of attending to Isobel and the new-born baby heard just the click of his boot heels as he paced endlessly, attempting to walk the pain from his mind. Everyone knew, from the volume of blood that had poured from Isobel, that she would find it hard to survive. Everyone knew it and none would say it to his face but George knew only too well that his wife’s days were numbered. All he could do was ensure her final days on earth were as comfortable as his wealth could make it, the finest physicians, the most caring of nurses, the most devoted of attendants for his new son, christened Richard. The child was weak, sickly, for the pregnancy had been beset with problems throughout and it showed in the health of the child.

From October to December Isobel rested but was weak and showed no real signs of improvement but he took the opportunity God had given him and in the quiet moments when the nurse was busy elsewhere and the servants were despatched on many errands, he told her of his deep love for her and how much she had meant to him as helpmeet and wife. He knew, by the glow in her eyes, he had done the right thing. He prayed for her, for strength for his son as well as giving thanks for the gift of time with Isobel to tell her of his true feelings and give her that happiness. He prayed for her recovery whilst knowing full well it would not happen.

He decided, after lengthy discussions with Isobel, they would go to Warwick Castle for the Christmas festivities and invite many local nobles and other high ranking officials to the feasts each day, the better to show solidarity with the people who mattered, those who still revered him and would support him. On a bright December day the procession set out, Isobel in a horse litter, smiling happily at going home, as she referred to it. The words struck George as being odd. Everywhere they had lived had been home, for he had arranged it to be so. Isobel had the best of everything everywhere they lived. But Warwick had been her childhood home and she was inordinately pleased they were holding Christmas there. For her sake he was glad they had decided to go there, even though the journey would be fraught with danger for she was far from well and it was not the best of times to travel.

They made a good show for the local people, the armed men, the pennants, the pack horses laden with supplies, clothes and gifts. Many turned out to see them and shout greetings as they passed, pleasing George for he knew then he still had some standing with those on his lands and estates. But the journey was still long and worrisome for them all.

The cooks had been working hard to prepare for the great feasts, everywhere had been cleaned and prepared, the castle looked wonderful when they arrived. Immediately Isobel went to her chambers to rest, leaving George to prowl the corridors and rooms, searching for – he knew not what, only that he sought something.

If it was peace of mind he sought, it was not to come. The journey had after all proved too much for the invalid. She did not leave her chambers again and on the 22
^nd
December Isobel went into a decline, just as the household was in the throes of preparation for the Christmas festivities, she quietly slipped away in her sleep.