Death Be Pardoner To Me: The Life of George, Duke of Clarence (5 page)

Of a wonder, our lady mother agreed, provided I was escorted and held in a harness so that I would not fall into the moat.

Why was the desire there? In part because it had been forbidden, but a greater part was to see people small where I was small, to make me feel large, all powerful, inviolate, unreachable on the high points of the castle walls. Too high for anyone to see my face, to guess what I was thinking. I had to learn to shield my thoughts and my expressions. It was not easy. Up there no one who mattered would see my thinking writ large on my small face.

It had been a year of intense tutoring in all the skills, preparing Margaret for her new life in another home. Of necessity I was dragged in to learn to dance, to play the lute, to speak French and read and speak some Latin with her. I didn’t have to learn to sew, for which I was most grateful, but was diverted into practising with weapons; that suited me much better. There were endless instructions in manners, it seems we could hardly move without breaking some convention or other. This all came in addition to our lessons in reading, writing an elegant script and learning to figure. Sometimes I felt as if my head was bursting with all the information it had to contain. I realised I was losing my desire to run everywhere; I walked at a sedate pace and bitterly regretted the strictures placed upon me.

I recall even now the longing I had one day when, hanging out of a window to get air on a particularly hot summer’s day, I saw the stable boys mock fighting outside, shrieking with laughter. I saw them; they did not see me. They had freedom; I did not. Never had the contrast been so acutely brought home to me.

As if this was not enough, Margaret talked endlessly of going away, what it would be like, how she would find new people to be with, to care about. She did it deliberately, I knew that; she would be watching my face and the moment I showed distress she would throw her arms around me and tell me there was no one she cared about more than her brother George. She fussed, mother-like, over the small, quiet, determined Richard but not to the extent she did with me. I remember an instance that Autumn when she came into the Great Hall with her hands full of ripe plums. She handed some to me, totally ignoring Richard who was playing with something on the floor. I saw him look but he said nothing. He never did. I often wonder, I as the adult George, that is, how much he felt excluded, how much he wished to be part of the relationship. I almost wanted to say to him; ‘sorry, you were born too late and too small and we have no time for you’ but it would have been unkind and untrue. It was just the way I felt then.

It would be a kindness not to ask me how I feel now. Some things are better locked in the heart and mind and carried to the grave. On that associated thought, I have asked to be buried with Isobel in the abbey at Tewkesbury. I know my wish has been conveyed to my liege lord and it will be granted. It is small consolation at this time but any consolation is to be welcomed.

Everything changed when Margaret rode away. It was as if she had taken the light and life with her. My lady mother was often attending to business and I found my days revolving around studies, the small, dark, often silent younger brother I hardly knew, Susanna and the squires delegated to care for me. It was dull, tedious and held no promise of the future being any different. Apart from the great religious festivals, the visits of dignitaries and my lord father’s coming and going, life remained that way for a further four years. Of a surety there were times I believed it would never change, that I would be trapped in Fotheringhay ennui for the remainder of my life. At that time ‘the remainder of my life’ seemed like eternity. Now it has shrunk to – days? Hours? Minutes?

The flames leap with such energy, such zest for living, yet how soon they are extinguished, leaving no more than ashes for the servants to clear in the morning. If not removed they clog up the fireplace and then there is no through draught to burn the logs when the fire is revived. Even as we humans have to be removed at times to allow a through draught to cleanse the court, the parliament and the country. It was my reason for ordering executions when I had the power to do so. I accept, reluctantly, it is my brother the king’s reason to do the same to me. I stand between him and peace of mind.

The knowledge, the understanding, does not help and I have no peace of mind.

Will I be cruel enough to say it is also a tiny piece of evidence I hold in my drink-befuddled mind that also needs to be burned up and thrown out with the ashes, for fear of it becoming public and bringing down the court and all with it?

Beware the unwary tongue, George, beware. You hope and long for mercy from your brother of March, do not put that into jeopardy by unwise thoughts escaping.

Foolish thought. I cannot speak clearly any more, none would understand me and if I write, my tears smudge the ink so much one would think the paper had been left out in the courtyard among the ravens, that they had trodden on it with their clawed feet and destroyed the words.

Yes, but thoughts have life, have power, have energy and –

No, foolish, drunken man, no. No one can accuse you of releasing this secret to the world and they never will.

Look, now I speak to myself as if I was another person. Madness overtakes the pain or is it the pain which overtakes the senses?

Chapter 5

Suddenly life was stood on its head. Suddenly the order had arrived from the duke that they were to vacate Fotheringhay immediately and ride out for Ludlow. Everything was a flurry of preparations, packing, arguments of what and what not would be taken with them. Men rushed everywhere, attending to horses, tack, armour, weapons, women rushed everywhere with arms full of clothes, bedding, possessions of all kinds. There was no time to think, to question, to wonder, it was all they could do to obey the order and make sure everything was packed that should be packed.

For George the sudden removal was a serious shock. Fotheringhay had been home for many years, suddenly it was not home any more. They were to travel to Ludlow, which he had heard about but never actually thought about. It was just ‘over there’, another of his lord father’s homes, a distant place attended by people who were alien to him, for they were not Fotheringhay people. He hardly slept the night before they rode out, sick with worry and fear, wondering why there was this move, what had threatened their quiet life. But there was also a strange sense of excitement, for they were to ride with an armed escort, they were going alone, their lady mother was to follow later. And, when they got there, his two older brothers, whom he had never met, would be waiting for them. Excitement piled on fear piled on worry piled on wonder. It was a miracle he was not physically sick with it all.

Ludlow was a surprise in many ways.

The riding out with the armed escort, the endless lanes along which they rode in the summer heat, the jangling of harness and the clop of hooves accompanying every move, that had at first been strange, then exhilarating, then boring. But two days of riding brought them to the large imposing fortress home of Ludlow castle. The great outer wall seemed fit to withstand any invading army, no matter how big and well armed and George was able to still his worried thoughts. To him, Fotheringhay had seemed inviolate but it was obvious to anyone that Ludlow was stronger and larger than Fotheringhay and he quietened his churning mind for the first time since they had rode out across the drawbridge. Because of his worry, he had hardly spoken a word during the journey which, at first, was a cause of great concern to his escort. He knew they were accustomed to a George who never stopped talking, who asked a hundred questions about every aspect of a day and there they were, riding to another part of the country, to a place he had never seen, to meet with brothers he had never met and yet he had hardly said a word.

Richard had not spoken, either, but they were used to that. The silent, solemn, deep thinking young boy was normally a shadow to the fair-haired ever-smiling George, whose vivid blue eyes missed nothing and who could normally not stop speaking to draw breath. To ride guard to two young boys who were silent when, under normal circumstances, at least one of them rarely shut up, must have seemed strange. George was constantly asked if he was all right; he responded with a nod or a muttered ‘yes’ and nothing more. By the end of the first day the escort must have decided he wasn’t going to speak to them so they gave up asking. Instead they chattered among themselves as they rode, discussing such mundane topics as the changing landscape, when they would stop for a natural break and what reception they would get at Warwick castle, where they were to rest overnight. George wondered why they had to talk, there was enough noise around them, everything from wildlife to the clatter they were making as they rode, but guessed they needed to pass the time in some way.

Warwick castle, whilst dissimilar on the outside to Fotheringhay, felt like home once they got inside; the familiar sense of being enclosed by impregnable stone walls, the echoing of footsteps where rushes had been kicked aside, the tapestries adorning the walls of the chamber where they slept, he and Richard in small beds side by side. George lay awake for some time, listening to his younger brother breathing softly and muttering occasionally in his sleep, feeling superior in years and experience over the small Plantagenet, feeling protective and supportive at the same time. It was odd; it was an alien feeling and he wasn’t sure he overly cared for it. George was the centre of his own universe; it was hard to acknowledge that someone else had a right to be in that universe with him.

Worry rode with him all the next day as, saddle sore, travel weary and tired from broken sleep, he constantly gnawed at the thought, why had they been ordered to leave Fotheringhay? Could this place, Ludlow, be stronger and more secure than his own home, which could surely hold off the largest army?

The answer, as they rode into the outer bailey, was yes.

The hustle and busyness of the place was impressive. The moment they were through the gates their horses were secured by men ready to lead them to the stables, people were gathering on the steps to greet them, their possessions were being manhandled into the castle and George, swaying a little with weariness and stiff muscles, bemused by all the activity and the people, walked toward the entrance and found himself gazing up at the tallest man he had ever seen in his life.

“You have the look of a Plantagenet.” The voice seemed to come from somewhere in the clouds and George strained his neck to look up at this incredible person. The sun lit up the golden hair and the smile lit up the already handsome face. A large hand reached for him. “I am Edward, your brother. You are George, I know that and there is Richard, the youngest but never overlooked York. Welcome to Ludlow!”

Richard seemed as overawed as George was by the giant who stood smiling at them but remembered his manners; he bowed and held out a small hand.

“I am pleased to meet you at long last, my Lord.”

“Such delightful manners!” Edward turned to the man standing next to him, a man a little shorter, with hair a few shades darker but every bit as handsome as Edward, earl of March himself.

George collected his thoughts, bowed and also held out a hand. “I have heard much about you, my Lord.” He turned to the other man and smiled his radiant smile. “I am assuming this is my Lord Edmund, Earl of Rutland.” It wasn’t a question. He hoped he had moved fast enough and diplomatically enough to cover his mistake in not offering his hand to his golden brother immediately; being outflanked by Richard was not a good move when meeting such impressive people for the first time.

Edmund smiled at both of them. “I am indeed. These young Yorks have been well brought up, Ned. We have brothers to be proud of! Welcome to Ludlow. You must be tired; it was a long journey. Come, we will arrange for squires to take you to your rooms so you can wash away some of the dust of the journey. Then you can both eat.”

They walked into the great tower, Edward with George, Edmund with the silent awe-struck Richard. Edward was still talking, asking about Warwick and their stay there, whether the journey had been uneventful whilst almost unobtrusively summoning squires to attend to them. The tapestries here were richer and thicker than those in Fotheringhay, the furniture seemed sturdier somehow, well padded and ornately marked. The one familiar item was the huge fireplace with the seemingly obligatory wolfhounds sprawled in front of it.

On the way to their rooms, one each this time, George noticed the armour and arms decorating the soaring walls, taller and more magnificent than – but he could not really continue comparing the two homes. This was the castle he had heard about from the servants and squires, the great fortified home of the Yorks, the place where his two older brothers had been brought up and taught all they knew about arms, armour and warfare, where his father apparently felt most at home, although he professed to love Fotheringhay.

‘I want to explore!’ thought George excitedly. ‘I want to explore everything – but oh, I am so tired!’

Warm water was brought so he could wash. His clothes had already been hung in his room and he was able to change his travel-stained tunic and hose for fresh ones. He ran a wet hand through his fair hair, bemoaning the fact it was not the same golden colour as Edward’s, hoping it looked respectable. The bowl of water was being taken away when he heard a sound and swung round to find Richard standing in the doorway, wearing a linen shift and fresh hose, holding a tunic.

“George, could you help me with this, please?” The voice was so quiet George wondered if he had heard correctly. His first thought was to say ‘where is your squire?’ but he swallowed the comment and nodded. Richard walked over to him; his eyes full of unshed tears.