The Red Rose of Anjou (46 page)

Swallowing his rage, suppressing his rancour Warwick did it but it needed iron control of his feelings to perform the exercise with a good grace.

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To keep up this attitude was easier to contemplate than to put into practice.

Elizabeth Woodville was an ambitious lady and she was surrounded by impecunious members of her family. She was determined to advance them and such was her power over the King that she had little difficulty in doing this.

Warwick was glad to see that many of the nobles were growing more and more disgruntled by the elevation of the Woodville family. The Queen married her sister Margaret to Lord Maltravers, son of the Earl of Arundel; her sister Mary was married to the son of Lord Herbert who was heir (o the Pembroke title; and there was outraged indignation when her brother John, aged twenty, became betrothed to the Duchess of Norfolk who was nearly eighty years old.

It was easy to see the motives behind these marriages. No one could realize the tremendous importance of the right marriage more than Warwick. He owed his vast wealth and titles to his. He could see that in a short time the Woodvilles would be of greater importance than the Nevilles through these advantageous marriages.

The people did not like it. They deplored the marriage. Even the most humble in the land criticized the low birth old Elizabeth Woodville—which was amusing if it were not so very useful.

It began to dawn on Warwick that if he were not careful he would be ousted from the realms of power. All that he had clone would be forgotten; there would be a new ruling family in the country—that of the Woodvilles.

The time had come (or him to do some deep thinking. What did a King-Maker do when his puppet refused to respond to the strings? He found a new puppet.

It was an exciting project. There’ was another. At the moment he was a poor neglected prisoner in the Tower.

‘This needed a great deal of thought.

There came a day when he found himself face to face with Edward and because his plans were now taking real shape in his mind he no longer felt the need to cloak his feelings.

Edward noticed the strange brooding expression on his face and when he asked what ailed him, Warwick’s rage broke out.

‘Need you ask, my lord? I am suffering from a surfeit of disloyalty. I have given my life to what I believed was a good cause. I have squandered men and money in giving England a ruler whom I thought would serve her well. And what does he do? He makes a marriage which is suicide to his political advantage. He has destroyed the hope of an alliance with France. As for myself I have had indignity heaped upon me. While I was negotiating with the King of France you, my lord, were making a mockery of those negotiations...of not only your faithful friend but the King of a powerful country. Do you wonder I am sick at heart?’

Edward expressed no surprise that he should be addressed in this manner by a subject. He had always recognized Warwick as a specially favoured one. He laid an arm about his shoulders.

‘You distress yourself unnecessarily,’ he said. ‘I know the people don’t like my marriage. But Elizabeth is different from all other women I have ever known...and I speak of one who knows the sex well. It was the only way, Richard. It was marriage or nothing...’

‘And you were duped by that tale?’

‘Oh come, she meant it. She was a virtuous widow.’

Warwick threw off the King’s arm. ‘It was an act of folly and I promise you it is one you will regret.’

He did not wait for more. He had made the break now. Affable as he was, Edward would not forget that scene in a hurry.

Now he would have to act, Warwick had decided, and he knew what he was going to do.

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Warwick rode north to his castle of Middleham, his head teeming with plans. At Middleham were the King’s brothers George and Richard. He had always been on very good terms with them. There could not be two brothers less alike. George, Duke of Clarence was vain, avaricious and selfish; he was easily swayed and Warwick had been able to win his friendship. The other, Richard Duke of Gloucester was a quiet, studious boy, rather delicate, and he had been brought up at Middleham and had formed a close friendship with Warwick’s younger daughter Anne.

Therefore Warwick had the two Princes as he thought in his power. Clarence would be malleable; he was not so sure of Richard. The younger boy was passionately devoted to his brother Edward, and would not be easily persuaded that his own advantage might lie elsewhere. In fact Warwick was certain that Richard would stand by his brother no matter what happened.

Clarence on the other hand was disgruntled. He was old enough to see that the Woodvilles were fast becoming the most important family in the land and that was something he was not prepared to tolerate, for there was an arrogance about the new Queen’s family which extended even to the King’s brother.

So to Middleham where his two daughters, Isabel and Anne, with his wife were waiting to greet him.

Richard was there too, in the courtyard. The boy had grown since he had last seen him, though he was delicate still and one shoulder was higher than the other, though slightly so and almost imperceptible. Poor Richard, he lacked the outstanding good looks and physique of Edward, but that had not prevented his partaking in all the manly pastimes which were necessary for boys of his rank.

The Duke of Clarence was on his way, the Countess told him. He had sent heralds ahead to announce his coming as the Earl had expressed an urgent desire to see him.

Warwick embraced his family. He loved them with as much affection as he could spare from his ambitions. Naturally he had spent little time with them. He could never prevent himself regretting that he had no son; but the girls were pretty, charming and obedient. He must therefore be grateful for what he had.

Clarence arrived in rather flamboyant style, eager that none should forget he was brother to the King. Warwick greeted him with such respect that even Clarence was satisfied. He sat on the Earl’s right hand at table. Warwick intimated that he wished to speak to the two Dukes alone as soon as the meal was concluded.

When the three of them were together in a small but private room Warwick looked very seriously from George to Richard and said that he had no doubt that they were as worried as he was by the manner in which the Woodvilles were behaving.

‘Indeed yes I am!’ cried Clarence. ‘These marriages...this taking of power...and all by these upstarts.’

‘I see you have a grasp of the situation,’ said Warwick. ‘The people are getting displeased. I do not think the King understands how angry the people are growing.’

‘If the people are growing angry my brother the King would be aware of it,’ said Richard gravely.

Ah, thought Warwick, be wary of Richard!

‘Our brother is too busy with his woman,’ said Clarence with a laugh.

‘My lord, you speak truth. I fear this country will be at war again if we do not take heed. In fact I think it is time our King was taught a lesson.’

Richard had gone white. ‘I will not remain here and listen to such lack of respect for the King.’

With that he walked out of the room.

‘You mistake,’ Warwick called after him. ‘I love the King. I have served him with all I have...’

But Richard was gone.

Clarence shrugged his shoulders. ‘He is very young,’ he said. ‘He worships Edward blindly. He even says he likes this marriage because it is what Edward wants.’

‘It is true he is young,’ said Warwick, ‘and therefore you and I need not concern ourselves with him yet. I am glad he has left us for now we can talk as men.’

Clarence smiled, well pleased. ‘I knew you had something of importance to say to me.’

‘Indeed I have. As you know, I have made your brother King of England.’

‘I know you are called the King-Maker.’

‘And rightly. It would seem, my lord, that if we allow matters to go on as they are you and I...and young Richard who will not listen...yet...will be the subjects of the Woodvilles, for all these marriages they are making are going to make them more powerful than any of us...even the King.’

‘I’ll not tolerate that.’

‘I thought you would not.’

‘What then?’

‘Your brother is not so secure on the throne that he can afford such a marriage. There is one other...’

‘Henry...poor old Henry...the prisoner in the Tower.’

‘A figurehead, nothing more. And we would have an heir.

Not Margaret’s bastard...for bastard I believe him to be. Henry could never have begotten a son and she was friendly first with Suffolk and then with Somerset... There would be an heir...’ Warwick was looking intently at Clarence, whose eyes widened as he grasped the Earl’s meaning.

Clarence on the throne! Why not? He was Edward’s brother and in fact if Edward did not produce a child he was next in line.

It was a glorious prospect.

‘Well?’ he said almost imperiously as though the crown was already on his head.

‘The King of France would be our ally. It would be necessary to get his help. We should also bring back Margaret to work for us...’

‘With the Prince of Wales...’

‘Why shouldn’t they work for us? Although the people detest her they like to have everything in order. If we could bring out Henry and ride with him into battle...and bring Margaret and the so-called Prince back to England...’

Clarence’s eyes sparkled. He loved intrigue and as he thought of the possibilities of this he was overcome by excitement. He had always been jealous of Edward. His mother, his father, everyone had marvelled at Edward’s good looks and charm, and it had not been easy for one of Clarence’s nature to have such a brother.

And now Edward had been a fool! He had married that lowborn woman; he had offended Warwick and everyone knew that Warwick had put him on the throne. Edward had at last shown that he was not so clever. And Clarence was going to show that he was clever, very clever indeed.

Warwick was smiling. How easy it was. Henry would be much more malleable. Imagine Clarence on the throne! Still, it might never come to that.

Warwick went on: ‘I have long known your regard for my elder daughter Isabel.’

Clarence was smiling secretly. It was so obvious. Cunning old Warwick. Make Clarence King and his daughter Isabel Queen.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘how well you have guessed my feelings. I have always had the highest regard for Isabel and of late my heart has become deeply involved.’

‘I have been thinking that a match between you two would be a very desirable outcome for you both.’

‘You have guessed my heart’s desire.’

Warwick laid his hand on the young man’s arm.

‘Well, there will be work to be done first.’

‘I can scarcely wait to begin,’ answered Clarence.

THE QUEEN’S GRIEF

There were important visitors at the castle of St. Michiel. Prince Edward came in excitedly to tell his mother of their arrival. Life was so quiet in St. Michiel. The Prince had longed for something to happen. His mother often said that one day they would go back to England and claim what was rightfully theirs and Sir John Fortescue was always keeping him to his lessons and impressing on him that a Prince born to be King must be skilled in book learning as well as martial arts.

But nothing happened. The years passed. He had been a child when he came here and now he was sixteen. It seemed he had spent all his life in this quiet castle where every day was exactly like the one which had gone before.

And now…messengers.

He was with his mother when the messengers were brought to her. He stood by her while she received the letters.

There were several of them. One bore the royal seal. There was another from his grandfather and one from his aunt as well.

How slowly his mother opened them. She was pretending she was not excited for she must be since that letter was from the King of France.

She read it through.

‘What does he say, dear lady?’ begged the Prince.

Margaret smiled at her son’s eagerness.

‘The King commands us to go to Tours.’

“’The King. To Tours! Oh, dear mother, when?’

‘Very, very soon. And now here is a letter from your grandfather.’

He looked over her shoulder and read that Margaret and the Prince should lose no time in coming to Tours. The King was eager to discuss the prospects of the House of Lancaster which it seemed were growing a little brighter.

Margaret stared ahead of her. What did this mean? What could have happened? It had seemed so long now since Edward had usurped the throne and sent her into exile and Henry to the Tower.

But since the King of France was involved this must be of some significance. Not that she dared hope for too much. Perhaps she had hoped too deeply in the past; when hope turned to disaster the bitterness was hard to bear.

There was a letter from her sister Yolande. She reiterated what her father had said. There were hopeful signs and they were excited, for certain things it seemed had happened in England which had changed the outlook. Yolande’s husband Ferri—the Count of Vaudémont—joined his wishes with hers that Margaret would lose no time in coming to Tours.

It was indeed exciting. She had to admit it. Something important was about to happen.

‘My dear mother, you have become young again,’ said the Prince.

She put her arms about him and held him close to her, suffocatingly so. She was very demonstrative and sometimes her absolute devotion was an embarrassment to the Prince. He was devoted to her. He knew that he owed her a great deal and all her vehemence was for his sake. He had been brought up to realize that he was the rightful heir to the crown of England and that it was his mother’s dearest hope that he should have it. Yes, she was wonderful, but he wished that she would not be quite so fierce in her displays of emotion.

He withdrew himself, smiling at her and kissing her cheek to show that he loved her even though he did not want to be suffocated.

‘We will prepare to leave for Tours at once,’ she said.

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It was with great emotion that she was reunited with her family.