Rebellion (3 page)

‘Edward of York is not king,' she said
clearly. ‘And when I have finished with him he will not be earl either. He will be
nothing – less than nothing!'

The French king's nose twitched again. He
indicated to a servant to fill her goblet. ‘What other support do you have?' he
said.

So she told him, hesitating only a little,
that she could count on the Duke of Somerset and the Earl of Devon, whose supporters
were in the south. That was where she thought an invasion might be made – through the
Channel Islands. Or alternatively to the north – through the lands of the Earl of
Northumberland, who had died for King Henry's cause at Towton. The lands no longer
belonged to him, of course – they had been granted to the Earl of Warwick's brother –
but still the family and tenants remained loyal.

‘If we can retake the castles,' she said,
warming to her theme, ‘the Scots will support us – I am sure of it.'

As she spoke, all her energies, all the old
fire, revived in her. But the French king gave no indication at all of his response. He
listened impassively, only occasional expressions of doubt or discouragement flitting
across his face like shadows across a deep pool.

Seen from the palace windows, the meadows
were a soft gold. Occasionally a bird flitted across the hillside, but other than that
nothing moved. Sheep stood or sat in absolute stillness, each one depositing an imprint
of shadow to the right.

As the day passed the heat would become
unendurable; the grass parched, sheep and horses seeking the shade afforded by a rare
tree or shrub. But in the early morning the world seemed saturated in stillness, as if
holding its breath, but content to wait.

Only the English queen was not content.
Waiting was not something she did well.

King Louis had promised her nothing, she
said. He had ushered her from his presence with only the pledge that he would give her
situation some thought.

‘As if I am not thinking enough for both of
us,' she said, gazing out of the window to where the sheep stippled the hillside,
motionless, without urgency.

The archdeacon, Dr Morton, with whom she
said Mass every morning, observed that thinking was indeed man's curse. ‘That is why God
has given us prayer,' he said, ‘to channel thought.'

‘I do pray,' said the queen. She had prayed
every day that Edward of York would fall on his sword, or Warwick from his horse and
break his neck.

The archdeacon refrained from saying that
perhaps this was
not what was meant. The queen was in no mood to be
instructed about prayer. Ever since she'd heard that Warwick had made a truce with the
Scots she had been beside herself. God, she said, no longer listened to her prayers.

He said instead that at least Louis had
given them lodging in the palace.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘And I am kept here,
waiting, without purpose. Every day the usurper secures his grip on my throne and all I
can do is wait to be summoned, for Louis to tell me what he will or will not do. He has
already decided – that much I know – but it pleases him to make me wait. And wonder. And
wait again. When will it come?' she said, turning round to him. ‘When will I hear the
knock at the door?'

Dr Morton was about to say something when
there was, in fact, a knock at the door, and they both froze, comically startled. The
queen drew herself up, very pale. ‘Enter,' she said.

She did not at first recognize the man who
stood in the doorway. He was somewhat shabby, unshaven, grey stubble covering his face
and head in roughly equal amounts. There was a scar beneath his eye and it was this she
recognized first.

‘Chevalier?' she said wonderingly, and in
two strides he crossed the room, sank to his knees and kissed her hand.

‘My lady,' he said.

Margaret of Anjou looked at the archdeacon,
who seemed as astonished as she but more wary.

‘It is the Seneschal,' she said, her face
breaking into a smile.

‘Pierre de Brézé, at your service,' the
kneeling man said.

‘I thought you were in custody,' she said,
and the man made a dismissive noise.

‘His majesty has released me,' he said. ‘I
was told I could come to you and I came, at once. I have had no time to change.' He
indicated his clothing.

The queen's heart quickened. This was surely
a good sign – the best indication that Louis intended to help her. She looked at the
archdeacon. ‘The Seneschal and I have many things to discuss,' she
said. The look of wariness on Dr Morton's face intensified. ‘Perhaps you will wait in
the outer chamber,' she said, and after a moment in which it seemed as if he might argue
or offer a cautionary sermon, he bowed and left.

The queen helped de Brézé to rise. He moved
more stiffly than she remembered, but his lopsided face creased into a smile. He had a
new scar, running from his chin to his mouth.

‘You've been fighting,' she said.

‘It was nothing, my lady – a duel only. A
man unfit to be named accused me of cheating at cards.'

‘Of course you would never do such a
thing.'

‘I would never allow it to be said that I
would do such a thing.'

‘And you were in prison.'

‘No, no, my lady – I was confined to a
chateau. It is not the same thing at all.'

‘You look as though you have been in
prison,' she said. ‘You look like a pirate.'

He knew she was referring to the acts of
piracy he had undertaken without any authority, plundering the south coast of England.
On one occasion he had burned the town of Sandwich, his men playing tennis afterwards in
the smoking ruins. Of course, the English had blamed her for this as well. And Louis had
imprisoned him, in an unaccountable show of solidarity with the new Yorkist regime. But
de Brézé failed to look penitent. He passed a hand across the stubble on his chin. ‘I
look like a man who would do many things for his queen,' he said.

‘Louis should not have imprisoned you,' said
the queen. Then she sat down at a little table and indicated that he too should sit.
‘Tell me,' she said in a low voice, ‘what else did he say?'

‘My lady, I have not seen the king. I was
told only that I was being released, and that I could come to you. And so I came.'

The queen did not know what to make of this.
What game was Louis playing? But before she could speak, de Brézé continued,
‘Enough of me. Tell me about your situation.' And there was an
expression of such tender concern on his face that the queen felt an impulse to
weep.

She controlled it, however, and spoke quite
calmly as she told him about everything that had happened in the past year – the battles
she'd fought, the immense march south from Scotland to St Albans. Half the country had
flocked to her cause, and she'd won a great victory. But then London had closed its
gates against her and she'd been forced to retreat. And as she'd retreated, the Earl of
March, son of the great traitor Richard of York, had entered London and declared himself
king by consent of the citizens who had believed his lies, and the lies of Warwick. And
then they'd fought the greatest battle of all, Towton, on Palm Sunday in the whirling
snow, and so many had been slaughtered that the corpses were strewn all the way to York
on a road some nine miles long and three wide.

‘Many of our supporters are gone,' she said,
emotional now.

De Brézé leaned forward and took her hand.
‘And you?' he said. ‘How did you escape?'

They had escaped by torchlight, riding north
into Scotland through dense forest, as though all the hosts of hell were behind them.
They'd been besieged at Wark Castle, relieved only by retainers of the Earl of
Northumberland, and had escaped through a small gate at the back of the castle. From
there they'd ridden to Berwick and Galloway. And then her husband the king had been too
ill and devastated to proceed further. He had taken refuge in the convent at
Kirkcudbright, while the queen and her son had gone to the Scottish court, where Mary of
Guelders had given them a somewhat distant welcome. Then they had stayed wherever room
could be found for them.

The Yorkists had not been idle, of course.
Warwick had been sent north to retake the castles of Bamburgh, Alnwick and Dunstanburgh.
He had made the Scots promise they would give no military aid to the Lancastrians. And
now he had managed to
secure a truce between the House of York and the
young Scottish king, James III.

‘But they cannot ignore the betrothal,' she
said. Her son, the rightful prince, was betrothed to Margaret Stewart, sister of James
III.

While all this was happening, she, Margaret
of Anjou, had sent emissaries to France to ask for aid from her uncle Charles VII. But
then, of course, came the greatest blow. Her beloved uncle had died and was replaced by
her less-beloved cousin Louis. The news had taken a long time to reach her because Louis
had imprisoned her emissaries, including the Duke of Somerset, and their letters to her
had been intercepted. And then, equally mysteriously, Louis had released the prisoners,
welcomed them to his court and offered help to the Earl of Oxford, whose uprising had
failed.

Her uncle had offered de Brézé money and
ships before he died, but now his son Louis was prevaricating. ‘He keeps me waiting like
a prisoner myself,' the queen said.

‘He is not like his father,' de Brézé said,
and for a moment they both contemplated the difference between father and son. Then de
Brézé said, ‘The Duke of Somerset –'

‘The House of Somerset has always been loyal
to me,' the queen said warmly. ‘I know that I can trust them completely.'

De Brézé pulled the corners of his mouth
down.

‘What?' said the queen. ‘They have fought
one battle after another for me.'

‘“Completely” is an extravagant word,' de
Brézé said, and the queen stared at him until he went on. ‘The young duke is …
somewhat free with his speech.'

‘You mean – he has betrayed us?'

‘No, no,' de Brézé said. ‘But he may have
given the impression that he is somewhat more than your knight.'

Colour stung the queen's cheeks. ‘He would
not do such a thing!' she said. ‘Where did you hear this?'

‘It has been said.'

‘Rumours! You are listening
to gutter news.'

‘If I am listening, other people will.'

‘But it is not true! And he would not say
such a thing – what is he supposed to have said?'

De Brézé lifted his hands as though to ward
off blows. ‘I do not know that he has said anything, my lady. Except to boast of your
particular favour
. And people will make of that what they will.'

‘People!' she said. ‘I do not believe it –
that is what matters.'

At the same time she knew it could be true.
The young Duke of Somerset had already boasted of bedding the Scottish queen.

De Brézé suggested it was what King Louis
believed in this particular situation that actually mattered. ‘That's why I told you, my
lady – not to distress you, but to make you wary of any traps he might spring.'

‘You think he is trying to trap me?'

‘It would not be out of character – if he is
looking for a reason not to supply you with money and ships.'

The queen rose and began to pace around the
room.

‘But this is monstrous,' she said.

‘All I am saying,' said de Brézé, ‘is that
when he finally grants you an audience you must be clear that any help he may give is
for your husband and your son. I know,' he said, lifting his hands again, ‘your loyalty
is not in question. But Louis would rather help a king than a queen – despite any ties
of blood.'

The queen turned away. ‘
If
he sees
me,' she said. ‘How long is he going to keep me here? Weeks pass and our enemies sit on
the throne unchallenged. I should be raising an army – preparing to invade – this summer
while the weather holds. Will he make me wait until the middle of winter? Or until the
English people have forgotten my name? They will be eager to forget,' she added
bitterly. ‘They never wanted me there in the first place.'

De Brézé rose and stood behind her. ‘I have
two thousand men at my command,' he said quietly. ‘They will sail whenever you give the
word. Their lives are yours.'

She inclined her head. ‘Are
they all brigands like you?' she said.

‘They are men like me,' de Brézé said, ‘who
would do anything for you.'

The queen nodded. ‘If they are all like you,
we are lost,' she said. ‘You act without orders, and your actions rebound on me – they
cause my people to hate me. And they do hate me,' she said. ‘That is the simple
truth.'