Death Be Pardoner To Me: The Life of George, Duke of Clarence (25 page)

We rode for London, ahead of a victorious army, into a city that welcomed us. The gates were flung open, the people cheered and shouted for the Yorks. If any Lancastrians were there, they hid, or pretended to be Yorkists.

I bid goodbye to my brothers and went home, fearing giving Isobel the news of her father, whom she loved and feared in equal proportions.

I planned to say nothing when I arrived, but tell her in the privacy of our chamber. It didn’t work like that, she must have seen something in my face, for she ran to her room calling her ladies, shrieking her agony. They wondered what was wrong with her, but I detained one, whispered the bad news and sent her after the others so they knew what they were dealing with.

Later, after a meal, she told me the pregnancy was indeed a false alarm. I felt a sense of relief, for her violent reaction to the news of her father’s death would have damaged the child or her in some way. It was then she asked me how he had died. I told her he died a soldier’s death, cut down on the battlefield. It was the truth, she did not need to know he was fleeing at the time.

The mourning went on for some time. The whole family had lived under Warwick’s strictures, a powerful man with a strong will was no more. If Isobel held me to blame for any part of this, in going back to the Yorks, she never uttered a word of it in my presence. Nor did it make any difference to the way she acted with me, she was still the loving and devoted wife. I heard stories of his death, that he was fleeing the battlefield when the men captured him, that he tried to fight back single handed, that he was a bold and brave soldier, that he was a coward who fled, what is the truth? Would any of us know the truth on the battlefield if it were writ large on a pennant before us? Blood lust and fear fight for control of the mind, battle fever and sheer bowel clamping terror compete with one another for the control of the senses. Who knows what any of us would do confronted with a line of men determined to take your life? I say nothing against my cousin of Warwick, I knew him for a brave and loyal man, even if his loyalty was to himself and the Nevilles. Are we not all guilty of that, taking consideration for that which is ours and all else secondary? Is there a man among you who would know of a surety what he would do in that position? So we allowed the story to stand, that he died as a soldier and it seemed to me to be an epitaph worthy of my cousin of Warwick, Richard Neville. I wish you peace, my cousin. I wish that it had been otherwise with us.

Should I think of Tewkesbury, so soon after Barnet? A mere three weeks passed and it seemed that we were hardly out of our armour before we were back in it again, marching out to yet another battlefield. Margaret of Anjou was not giving up so easily. I will not think of Tewkesbury now, the death, the destruction, the killing that seemed endless. There was the death of my sister-in-law’s husband, the young Prince of Wales, cut down on the battlefield, but who is to say that was not a good thing? I say this to the arras and the walls of this prison, was that not a good thing? I will say to the shades around me, those who might hear and take the word back to those who live still, I had no hand in his killing. I saw him struck down but it was not I who struck the blows. I was not near enough to do the deed. Would I have liked to? I cannot answer that. Had I thought it through, mayhap I would have, to have left the way clear for my brother of Gloucester to have the only woman he had ever loved, it would seem. But who has time for rational thought in the middle of a battle, when it is kill or be killed? I had my own life to protect and my own wife to consider; I did not wish her to be a widow so soon after the death of her revered father. There was an additional worry: the callous way my brother the king had men dragged from sanctuary and executed. I could not condone this in my mind: church was sanctuary and should not have been violated. My belief, but obviously not his. I thought then, battle had hardened my brother’s mind and heart and he would not be as giving in the future as he had been in the past. I wondered if our lady mother knew of this change in her eldest son and if it would make any difference to her if she did.

After that battle, life seemed to quieten for a while.

My brother the king had a boy-child at last. I recall Durian bringing me the news, carefully, as only he could. Whilst the offspring were mere girls I could hold on, no matter how fragile that hold, to the faint hope that I could one day be king. With the coming of the boy-child, a healthy one, apparently, not one that would deliver himself into the hands of Death at an early age, my last faint hope flickered and all but died.

We were required to swear fealty to the boy-child Edward, one who would one day be Edward V, life being fair and equitable and he living to a good age. I went with the crowd of knights, dukes, earls and other nobles to make my oath. I went with sawdust in my mouth and lead in my heart. I forced a smile for all gathered there. I went with the knowledge that there might be a pre-contract which would make this boy-child a bastard but knowing full well that the chances of proving such a thing and demanding that the crown be given to me in the event of Ned’s demise was slender indeed. Who would stand for me if such an occurrence happened? Who would be strong enough to defy convention, to put the heir apparent to one side and ask me to take the crown of England? What would parliament make of such a claim? Would Bishop Stillington stand up and declare it to be a fact, taking my side, ensuring that the people clamoured for me and not for Edward V? I asked myself, in the solitude of the night hours, when my lady wife slept softly beside me and the squire at the doorway snored gently and rhythmically, all these nonsensical questions.

What if Ned were taken with some tertian fever from which he did not recover?

What if the Wydevilles proclaimed Edward V as king and I were to ride to London with my armed guards and Stillington and there announce to Parliament that the marriage of Elizabeth Wydeville and my brother Edward Plantagenet was illegal and void and that I alone was entitled to the crown of England?

What would my brother of Gloucester do if this were to happen, would he kneel before me and swear fealty? How far did his loyalty to the House of York and the crown of England really reach? Could he do that; would he do that?

Would I be content to let him continue to rule the North in the way he had become accustomed, virtually a king in his own land? Would I be content in my mind to leave him with such power? What if he rose up and brought an army against me in the south?

What if Ned lived to an old age and Stillington died? No amount of written evidence would stand in my case, for they would say it could be a forgery and indeed it could. I would need the man himself.

So many thoughts, so very many thoughts. So many imponderables, so many variations on a theme. I was awake for hours, considering them all. They each held an element I did not wish to dwell on, starting with the death of my brother the king.

I recall when I finally did slide into the arms of sleep, my dreams were racked with strange visions of a Coronation at which everything was going wrong and Ned appeared as a spectre, denouncing my right to be king. I woke in a cold sweat, to find Isobel already at her morning rituals of being prepared for the day. I woke feeling as if I had consumed half a hogshead of malmsey wine when in truth I had drunk nothing but light ale the whole day before.

For a long time I tormented myself with my thoughts, asking the questions, asking the Fates, give me a sign, a hint, an indication, should I share my knowledge with my brother of Gloucester or go to my brother the king himself and say ‘this I know, brother, your marriage is not as it should be’ and always I held back. I could not see a way to approach and confide in Dickon who, in any event, appeared to be spending a lot of time away from court, beginning to make his presence felt as a leader, a commander of men, a person of authority. He seemed to have more power than I, something that rankled and stopped me considering approaching him for fear of saying the wrong thing and causing another breach in the family.

I could not see a way to approach my brother the king who would have immediately taken steps to ensure that the situation never arose and my claim would have been as dead as my ambitions. He was doubtless hoping against all hope that the pre-contract would never be exposed to public knowledge. It was possible that he had forgotten about it, as he had the ability to live for the day and to see only that which he wished to see. I found him full of kingly arrogance: his predecessor had been quietly and effectively dismissed - to the grave - and the kingdom was his to do with as he wished. He seemed to wish to populate the court with his offspring, give his son every honour and lie a sybaritic lifestyle. Could I, in truth, go to him and say he was living a lie and escape with my life? It was debatable, to say the least.

Despite all the doubts, I kept a tiny spark of hope alive, as in a fire all but extinguished but which could be revived with kindling and twigs, brought back into full conflagration once more with a little encouragement.

I lived my life with a mind full of questions, usually starting with ‘what if-’ and the answers nowhere to be found, except mayhap somewhere in the future, when the fates decreed that lives would turn and events would dictate and situations would change.

One question I should confront right here, shades of night, of Death, whoever you are. I see the shadows move and I move not, I see flickers and I know the flames have not reached that part of the room. I know you are here, ghosts, spirits, emanations, whatever you are. I know time is running out for me and there are years I wish to think on, come to understand and accept, before you and I become one. Hold back the hand of my brother the king for a while yet, I beseech you.

The question is this: why did I take that frightened mouse, Anne Neville, and hide her from my brother of Gloucester? What was really in my twisted troubled mind at that time? Was I so afraid of his finding happiness where I had not? Was it a desire to strike back for some imagined slight I had long since forgotten? Did I not say earlier I was glad of the death of the Prince of Wales as it freed her for my brother of Gloucester who loved her so? I know I did and yet in my confusion and jealousy I decided he would not have her. So I hid her in a cookshop, disguised as a pastry maid and watched as Gloucester searched London for her with a face of stone and a determination that no person or thing would stand in his way. It did not take long for him to find her, to escort her to St Martins for sanctuary, to claim her for his own.

I know now I am deeply ashamed of my selfish, greedy attitude but who is to hear me confess this, apart from those invisible beings with me now? Would the world believe it of me were I able to speak it coherently anyway? Have they not all made up their minds that Clarence is ever greedy, acquisitive, selfish and demanding? These things were said of me many times; I am sad and heartsick to say they were true then. They are not true now but now it is too late, dear God, it is too late!

I confront the question, you shades who move a little closer to me as I speak to you, mind to mind. I confront the question but is there an answer?

Chapter 27

The Warwick lands, estates, power and might devolved upon his family, in particular his widow. George took ‘charge’ of the widowed Anne and wanted to send her away to be with her sister, ostensibly to take care of her. He heard the rumours, the stories that it had been suggested in many quarters that he had taken control of the young widow so that the world would not be so aware of her claim to any part of the estate, should a bill of attainder be brought against the Earl’s name. All this was brought to him via his network of spies and he consistently marvelled that people were unaware their words and actions were being reported back to those who would benefit from the information. It was through his spy system he learned that Richard had sought and gained the king’s permission to marry Anne, that possible heiress to great fortune. Was Richard of Gloucester, wealthy beyond reckoning, powerful beyond dreams, virtual ruler of the North, scourge of the Scots, still seeking money and estates? Or was it for love?

George quietly took counsel with his trusted advisers, aware he was bending the laws rather than breaking them, so far anyway. The Countess was still alive, she was still Anne’s legal guardian but with his pre-emptive strike, as it were, he had managed to gain the upper hand. The task now was to maintain it. The news that Middleham had been given to Richard infuriated him, not that he had any real interest in the place; he had visited often and quite liked it but that was not the issue. It came with a huge estate and other homes were associated with it, making Richard of Gloucester one of the most influential people in the North.

I see my farseeing prophesy coming true before my very mind, he told himself, pacing the floor of his study, fuming. What is my role, what is my place in this new regime my brother the king is creating? Everything seems to be going to Richard! God’s eyes and teeth, am I not the older brother here, am I not entitled to some consideration? I fought alongside Warwick, surely that gives me a right to the estates? But then, Ned will want money for his coffers for he is spending as if the coin of the realm will cease and he wants his pleasures while he has the gold to pay for it. Or the silver, or anything that will create something he can spend.

George’s patient staff watched as he paced, aware no doubt of his inner turmoil and unable to do anything about it until he spoke to them of his thoughts.

I am consulted by a king, he thought as he paced. I am consulted on state matters. I am given responsibilities. I am Chamberlain of England, I am Lieutenant of Ireland, I am entitled to Isobel’s share of the estates. I am a very important person. Why then do I feel as if I am being offered titbits from the king’s table, that all this is being done not so much to honour Clarence as keeping Clarence quiet and on the king’s side? Is he so afraid I will turn traitor on him again? Have I not proved my worth and loyalty in battle?