Thwarted Queen (23 page)

York’s voice was drowned out in cheers.

“I ask this parliament to pass the
Act of Resumption
that requires royal favorites to return the land they have been given these past thirteen years, so that the value of this land may be used to get this country out of financial ruin.”

Nan’s husband rose. “My lord of York, you have given a most interesting speech. But I don’t think you can expect these lands to be returned. It would be like asking your lady wife to return a present you’d given her.”

Exeter laughed and the other lords laughed with him.

“I think we can dismiss these complaints,” he continued. “They are trivial. What does an unwashed peasant know of land husbandry? I tell you these lands are in good hands, and they should remain so.”

“You should not dismiss the concerns of the people so lightly,” said York, reddening. He glared at Exeter. But Exeter ignored him.

“You should not be questioning the king’s judgment,” he remarked, smiling. “What makes you think you know better than our king?”

The hall buzzed like a hive of angry bees.

“What of the traitors?” bellowed someone.

“What about the loss of Normandy?” shouted another.

“Impeach Somerset!” cried a third.

At this, the men-at-arms providing protection for the noble families brandished weapons and shouted: “Give us Justice! Punish the Traitors! Give us Justice! Punish the traitors!”

Their voices echoed around that huge room, soaring up to the hammer-beams built in the time of Richard II and dropping down to the old stone walls built in the time of William II.

Richard of York pointed his finger at the lords. “I demand that you impeach Somerset. Now.”

Marguerite bit her lip. From her chamber in Westminster, she heard the roar of the crowd. No doubt, York stirred more trouble. She wished she were back in France. Her youth seemed so golden and faraway, a lost time that tugged at her heart. How could people who smelled so bad she wanted to retch, who went around with lice-infested hair, open boils, and unseemly rags make things so difficult? Marguerite could not understand why anyone would bother to listen to them. Yet her husband was afraid of them, and York manipulated their opinions to his own advantage.

She must have spoken aloud, for Eleanor made sympathetic murmurs as she folded up the queen’s gowns.

“It’s so lonely being queen,” said Marguerite, looking out of the mullioned windows at the grey, pillow-shaped clouds, that were scattering flakes of snow as if they were goose-down feathers.

“You are not alone!” exclaimed Eleanor, turning and glaring. “Your husband, the king, indulges your every whim. And you have my Somerset.”

Marguerite stared. She had never heard Eleanor speak so disrespectfully. She opened her mouth to say something when Eleanor interrupted. “My Somerset,” she said, pointing her finger at the queen, “is devoted to you. He would do anything you asked. Anything.”

“My Queen.”

Marguerite turned, and Somerset came swiftly forward. He knelt and brushed her hand with his lips. Marguerite’s mouth curved into a smile, regarding her friend. Though he was old enough to be her father, Edmund Beaufort, now Duke of Somerset, had the looks and manner of a much younger man. She was so absorbed in gazing into his eyes, she barely noticed Eleanor whisking out of the room with nary a curtsey.

Somerset arched an eyebrow as he rose. “You seem troubled, my love.”

“York is giving a speech before the Commons today.”

“Ah.”

Marguerite moved closer and placed her hands within his. “I fear for you, dearest cousin. I fear that he will try to destroy you.” A tear ran down her cheek.

Somerset brushed the tear away with his finger and stooped to kiss her cheek. “York cannot touch me: I have your favor and the favor of the king.”

“But he will try,” said Marguerite, lifting her face to his.

He bent down and kissed her slowly on the lips.

A sound of mailed feet made them turn. A detachment of guards rushed into the room, followed by the Constable of the Tower, who unrolled a parchment.

“My Lord of Somerset, I hereby arrest you on charges of treason. I am bidden to take you to the Tower forthwith.”

Marguerite recoiled. “You cannot do this.”

“I have Parliament’s authority,” replied the constable, as the guards seized Somerset.

“I am your queen!” shrieked Marguerite.

But the constable merely bowed and escorted Somerset out.

Marguerite sank down onto a window seat, sobbing. She could not understand it. How could Parliament have more power than the queen?

Sir William Oldhall rose to his feet. “To the Duke of York!” he exclaimed, holding his wine cup high. “Today, he has set England on the right course—with the Duke of Somerset shut up in the Tower.”

Applause and cheers came from the assembled company of merchants and noblemen finishing the splendid feast provided by the wealthy merchant who’d rented out his house to the Duke during his stay in London.

“Sir William Oldhall, My Lord Mayor of London, and Master Simon Eyre, who graciously provided his house to me and this feast for us today, I thank you for your hospitality and for your vote of confidence in me. We have much to do to root out corruption and waste in this land.”

Richard told the assembled gathering about his plans: How he wanted to raise revenues by cutting waste, rather than taxing the poor. How he wanted to bring justice back into the land so that murderers could not escape their crimes by bribing local juries. As he spoke, people nodded. They smiled. Their confidence stoked his excitement. “We have impeached Somerset,” he said, “and now let us turn our attention to other members of the Court Party who have profited so unscrupulously at the expense of the country—”

“There was a duke who went to the Tower, Inducas,”
sang the crowd outside, making Richard stop.

“Who loved a queen full many a day, in temptationibus,”
the crowd sang on, their voices muffled by the glazing in the windows.

“This queen was lusty, proper and young, Inducas

“She offered the duke a way out of jail, in temptationibus.”

Richard strode to the window. Chairs scraped as the assembled company rose hastily and followed, thrusting open the casements. The crowd bubbled with shy merriment as they recognized Richard of York:

Hey hey, fiddle-de-dee

What kind of queen have we?

Loyal, loyal to those she loves

And she loves this duke.

Hey hey, fiddle de dee

What’ll happen tonight think we?

Jump jump, jump into bed

And cuddle and kiss—

“Good people, what is this?” called Richard down to the crowd.

“Your bird has flown, my lord Duke!” shouted someone.

“Queen’s got her lover back!” shouted another.

A messenger rode up and reined in sharply. The horse quivered, its flanks still damp from exertion. It snorted through its nostrils, sending great puffs of steam into the air. “I’ve come from the Tower!” he shouted, gasping for breath. “My lady queen went to the king and prevailed upon him to set Somerset free.”

Chapter 24

1452 to 1453

Richard passed a hand over his forehead. The water trickling down his face was not from the rain alone. His show of force would be interpreted as an act of treason against the king.

He groaned as he slid off his horse. The past fifteen months had not been good. He hadn’t been able to prevail in his plans for reform, and things went from bad to worse. Somerset, who just presided over the ignominious loss of Normandy, had been appointed Captain of Calais, the largest garrison maintained by the Crown. In August 1451, the entire duchy of Aquitaine surrendered to the French King. The merchants of England were shocked and dismayed, for in the space of two months they’d lost their grip on the lucrative wine trade that flowed through Bordeaux.

By summer’s end it was plain to all that King Henry VI had no plans to implement government reform. France was all but lost, his government as rotten as a barrel of bad apples, justice was as scarce as hen’s teeth, and disorder and anarchy prevailed. Yet the king was content to let things remain as they were.

York worked tirelessly for months, courting public opinion and sending his agents up and down the country to tell the good people of England that the king was fitter for a cloister than a throne. Then York left Ludlow and led his army towards London, intending to take the capital. The Londoner’s response was to man the defenses, for they knew full well that supporting Richard of York would be construed as treason.

Finding London barred to him, York swung his army south, crossed Kingston Bridge and led his army towards Dartford. There, he waited for the king’s army.

“My lord, there is an embassy come to speak with you from Her Grace the Queen.”

Richard set his jaw. But he jerked up in surprise when a well-known figure was ushered in. “Salisbury!” he exclaimed. The Nevilles had been keeping distant from him during these campaigns against Somerset, and Salisbury had large problems of his own with the Percies.

“May I present my eldest son,
Warwick
?” Salisbury motioned to a tall, young man with fair hair. “And the Bishops of Ely and Winchester.”

Richard snapped his fingers, and squires came forward to place chairs for his guests and to tie down the tent flaps, protecting the party from the soaking, cold rain.

The bishops sat, but Salisbury and Warwick remained standing. “I am come from the queen,” said Salisbury, a member of the king’s council, “to command you in the king’s name to return to your allegiance.”

York thinned his lips. “I have one condition: Somerset must be punished for his crimes against the state.”

There was dead silence as his guests looked at one another.

Richard rose. “I will have the Duke of Somerset, or die therefore.”

The Bishop of Winchester coughed. “Perhaps matters could be arranged to your liking if you were to have a private interview with the king.” He looked at the Bishop of Ely.

Ely turned towards Richard, “I could engage Her Grace the Queen in a game of chess.”

Richard smiled.