Rebellion (32 page)

But that day the messengers arrived.

She ran to meet them, Henry hurrying
behind.

‘Where is he?' she cried. William Bailey
hardly had time to remove his hat.

‘He is safe, my lady, but Lord Herbert is
dead.'

Henry caught her as she collapsed.

Herbert was dead. Herbert. Dead. Her son was
safe.

‘The king is captured, my lord, he is the
Earl of Warwick's prisoner.'

So the news unfolded, even before they
reached the house. It was staggering. It redefined their world.

Henry held her, made her walk into the
kitchen, where they sat
round the table to hear more news, though for
a moment she could hear nothing for the ringing in her ears.

Her son had been taken to the battlefield –
as she'd thought – but he had been rescued by Sir Richard Corbet, who was married to
Lady Herbert's niece. He had taken him to Weobley to the home of Walter Devereux, Lord
Ferrers, who was Lady Herbert's brother. Lady Herbert had left Raglan as soon as she'd
heard the outcome of the battle. She too was staying in her brother's house. William
Bailey had gone there himself, to see Henry.

‘How is he?' she managed to say.

He told her that her son seemed well. He was
being looked after by one of Lord Ferrers' men, to whom they had given some of the money
for reward. They had given a further sum to Henry himself, to buy a new bow and some
shafts. They had not seen Sir Richard but had passed on her thanks. Lady Herbert also
they had not seen.

‘She was distraught, my lady. Her husband
and his brother both executed by Warwick, her son imprisoned …'

She thought of that for a moment; the tall
and queenly Lady Herbert, who had seemed untouched by misfortune.
Now it is her
turn
, she thought. ‘Do you know how long they will stay there?' she said.

They did not know. It seemed likely that
Lady Herbert would seek shelter with her brother for some time. She was afraid to return
to Raglan.

‘It is terrible for her,' Margaret's husband
said, but Margaret thought of her son on the battlefield and her stomach twisted with
nausea and her heart with rage.

‘I'm sorry it took us so long to get here,'
William Bailey said. ‘None of the roads are safe.' And, ‘They are saying the Duke of
Clarence will be king.'

That shifted the conversation towards
speculation about what might happen next. But Margaret thought that whatever happened
next she would have her son. His wardship had been granted to William Herbert only, not
to his wife.

And he was dead. Beheaded.
She could see that broad, genial, wary face struck off and rolling in the grass.

Finally, when they were alone, her husband
sat looking at her across the table.

‘You must be very relieved,' he said. But
she'd gone beyond relief; she was plotting.

‘As for the rest of the news,' he went on,
staring at the wall, ‘I don't know what to believe. There are two kings in England –
both in captivity!'

‘We should write to Lady Herbert,' she
said.

‘To express our condolences?'

‘To say that her wardship of my son is ended
now.' She lifted her chin a little. ‘The grant was made to Lord Herbert. Who is
dead.'

‘I don't think this is the time –'

‘When is the time?'

Sometimes her husband looked at her as if he
did not know her; as if she was some entirely alien being with whom he could not
commiserate. ‘Lady Herbert will not be up to grappling with legal niceties at the
moment.'

‘It's not up to her.'

‘Who, then? You've just heard that the king
is held captive – is perhaps no longer king. With whom will you raise this issue?'

She looked away from him, biting her lip. He
was right, of course. But if the king was deposed that would leave only one person to
rule the country. One person, or possibly two. Warwick was no friend of hers. But both
he and Clarence had hated Herbert enough to have him executed. And Clarence was in
possession of the fee of Richmond. Which was her son's inheritance. She had to act now.
She looked back at her husband.

‘No,' he said. ‘It is too dangerous.'

‘But Clarence has the rights to my son's
estates.'

‘Why would he give them up?'

‘Why would he need them, if he is king?'

Her husband got up in
alarm and closed the door. ‘Don't say such things,' he said. ‘It is treason.'

‘Not if Clarence is king,' she said.

They came closer to a full-blown quarrel
over this than they had ever done. Her position was simple. King Edward had not released
her son because he was Herbert's great benefactor. Now, while he was – indisposed – was
the perfect time to petition the Duke of Clarence. ‘I can write to him at least,' she
said.

Henry stared at the wall, then at the floor,
then the window. ‘If you put this in writing,' he said, ‘you will jeopardize us
both.'

‘Then I will have to go,' she said. ‘If he
comes to London I will visit him.'

‘I will not accompany you,' he said. ‘I will
go with you to London, but if you insist on this reckless enterprise you'll be on your
own.'

She bowed her head. He had never left her on
her own before. She felt a tremor of fear. But playing it safe had got her nowhere thus
far.

She realized that he was waiting for her to
make some response, to tell him, perhaps, that she had reconsidered. When she did not
respond, he got up and left.

She sat back, expelling a long breath.

There was so much to do. She sent their
receiver, Reginald Bray, to consult the most distinguished lawyer in the capital,
Humphrey Starkey, Recorder of London. On his advice Reginald Bray obtained a copy of the
original patent for the wardship and marriage of her son. She sent William Bailey to
Pembroke in case there was any additional documentation to be found there. At Woking she
gathered the paperwork that proved no attainder had ever been served on her son's
father, Edmund Tudor, so her son should therefore be allowed to inherit all his father's
legacy and estates.

As soon as she heard that the Duke of
Clarence and the Archbishop of York were coming to London to assemble a parliament,
despite all her husband's warnings she wrote to Clarence. And
received
the reply that she could visit on the Thursday of that week. Triumphantly, she showed it
to her husband.

‘It will not get you anywhere,' he said.
‘Except prison, when the king returns.' But Margaret said it was nothing so serious – it
was only an informal visit. They set out together, barely speaking along the way.

At the appointed time she arrived at the
gates of Clarence's house on Downegate Street.

They were opened by a young man she did not
know; lanky, with heavy-lidded eyes and unruly hair. He looked at her dismissively, as
though she had just been washed up by the river. The Duke of Clarence wasn't there, he
told her. He was at an undisclosed location in the north.

Her heart raced. ‘But he has written to me,'
she said, showing the invite. The young man shrugged. ‘He must have changed his mind,'
he said.

It was fortunate that she did not get a
chance to say what she was thinking, because just then the duke himself appeared from
behind the gatehouse. ‘John,' he said, ‘do not keep the countess waiting. She has come
all this way to see us.'

She glared at the young man who stared back
at her impudently, so that she almost forgot to greet the duke, but Clarence seemed
unperturbed. ‘Come in,' he said. ‘Do not mind John. He doesn't like visitors.'

She accompanied the duke into his house and
sat with him at his request. ‘You are lucky to catch me,' he said. ‘I have great
business in the city.'

‘I heard,' she said. It would perhaps not be
wise to congratulate him on kidnapping the king. ‘The whole nation is awaiting your
news.'

He seemed pleased by this, but he said, ‘It
will have to wait a little longer. There are many things to decide.'

Or for Warwick to decide
,
she thought, but she said that she was sure he would act with perfect wisdom,
like Solomon. And was
pleased with this comment, as he was, because,
of course, Solomon had been king.

‘What can I do for you?' he said graciously,
as a king might.

‘My son,' she said, ‘has been put in great
danger by his guardian.'

She could sense a falling off of interest.
He was not like his brother, attentive to the needs of those who petitioned him. But she
outlined the circumstances: how her son, at so young an age, had been taken to war
against the Earl of Warwick and the duke, by their enemy, Lord Herbert. Who should have
protected him, but instead had put him at such risk.

He looked at her laconically. ‘You don't
need to worry about Herbert now,' he said, ‘since he is dead.'

‘I'm aware of that,' she said. ‘That is
precisely why I worry. What will happen to my son now? Since Lord Herbert
is
dead,' she added, ‘his wardship of my son has ended.'

His glance was calculating now. ‘That was my
brother's decision,' he said slowly.

‘I believe it is in your power to overturn
it,' she replied, aware that she was on treacherous ground. As far as she knew, Edward
was still king. But she had to appeal to the duke's vanity, which was the vanity of a
man who wished himself other than he was. ‘It seems to me that Herbert was granted many
things beyond his station,' she said.

‘He was an interloper,' Clarence said. ‘He
thought himself king of Wales.'

‘There are many things your brother has done
that you might wish to undo,' she said.

Clarence would not dispute that. ‘Certainly
he loved the commons,' he said, giving the word an especial emphasis, to include all
those whom the king had promoted: the queen's family, Lord Hastings. ‘He allowed them to
rise far above their station. Even the enemies of his own family.'

‘I would not want my son to be kept by a
family who were enemies of yours.'

He had to acknowledge this
assertion of loyalty. ‘It might be possible to regain custody of your son.'

Her heart leapt. ‘And his inheritance,' she
said quickly. ‘The fee of Richmond was his father's – and Edmund was never attainted. I
have the papers here.'

She held them out to him, but his face was
wary. Possibly he had heard of her case against the Earl of Warwick in Kendal. He didn't
take the package but said she could leave it there. Somewhat reluctantly she set it down
on the table, aware of the change in atmosphere between them; aware also of the
limitations of his power. ‘I expect you are busy,' she said.

‘You could say that.'

‘Many people will come to you who have felt
oppressed or injured. There will be so many wrongs to redress.'

‘My brother's actions have caused much
damage.'

He hated his brother, she could see it on
his face. ‘You will want to dissociate yourself from them – prove that you had no part
in them.'

‘Am I my brother's keeper?' he said, then
sniggered suddenly. ‘Actually, I am,' he said.

She smiled. ‘You will want to make sure that
all those who were honoured by him will not enjoy the same favour now. They should not
continue to keep the same wardships and grants and titles as before.' She gazed at him
intently. ‘That would be one of your first actions, I should think.' She did not say
when you are king.

‘It will take some time,' he said. ‘The
country has been overrun by predators – who have taken on themselves far more than they
should. But be assured, Countess, I and my father-in-law, the Earl of Warwick, will not
rest until they are brought down.'

The Earl of Warwick. In all probability he
would do nothing without the earl.

‘I must congratulate you on your marriage,'
she said, aware that she was treading on even more dangerous ground here, since the king
had expressly forbidden it. He smiled at once, gratified. ‘Now that you are united with
the earl, many things will become
possible,' she said warmly. ‘That's
why I'm here, to appeal to the new rule of justice and honour.'

He was flattered, of course. But still he
would not commit himself. ‘I will consult with my father-in-law,' he said, ‘and I will
have my lawyers look into your case.'

He sat back as though the interview was
over, then rose and extended his hand. ‘It has been a pleasure, Countess,' he said, with
exactly his brother's inflection and manner. ‘I'm sure we will see more of one another
very soon.'

Her heart sank. She had achieved nothing.
Clarence was no king. He was not like his brother. He looked like him, spoke like him,
had several of his manners and gestures, but he was more brittle. Warwick would
rule.

He escorted her out of the house with a
courtesy that would in other circumstances have been charming, assured her he would do
everything in his power to redress her situation; that she would hear from him very
soon. Then, excusing himself, he went back inside. The same young man was at the gates
and he bowed a little mockingly as she left. But he could hardly make her feel any
worse. Everything she had just done and said could be construed as treason. She had left
incriminating evidence of her visit. Clarence had her legal documents, and in all
probability he would not even look at them. He would consult his father-in-law, Warwick,
who was not well disposed towards Margaret. And if the king returned he would have
evidence of what she had done.

Even as she got into her carriage she knew
that Edward would return. Clarence would not be king. Which meant she had just condemned
them all: her husband, herself, her son.