Thwarted Queen (41 page)

I left Fotheringhay, the home that Richard and I had made together for over twenty years, to the sounds of my household weeping. They did at least allow me to ride my best palfrey and to wrap myself up in furs to keep out the cold. But the weather was bitter with icy winds by day and frosts by night. As I rode the eighty miles to Berkhamsted in Hertfordshire, I wondered if I would die from cold, damp, sorrow, and humiliation. Bitterly did I regret my words. Far from abandoning Edward, the Serpent had drawn even closer and connived to send me to Berkhamsted in disgrace.

At length, we arrived. My head reverberated with the sound of the Serpent’s brittle laughter as I looked around. The towers leaned and the roof over the great hall had fallen in. My rough escorts left me in the muddy courtyard, sitting bedraggled on my coffer. It was sleeting hard. They took my horse away and drew straws to determine who would guard me while the others foraged.

The dull afternoon was darkening slowly when, through lines of sleet, a black shape came into view. I stiffened. Was this figure Death? Had my lord Richard come for me? Or was it one of the men, determined to humiliate me further?

“My lady,” said the figure in a high voice, “my name is Ghislaine.” She curtseyed low, muddying her skirts as she did so.

I beckoned and the figure let down her hood. She was a finely made girl of around twelve or so with delicate pale features and grey eyes.

“Child, what are you doing here?”

“My parents are gone, so I must find my own keep,” she replied. “The sisters at the convent of Ashridge took me on as a maid. They asked me to walk over here, to see if you needed anything.”

I took breath. Ghislaine’s pale face surrounded by wisps of hair beaded with moisture, and her patched clothes stirred a memory. Hadn’t Blaybourne said that he was turned out of his home at the age of seven, no one willing to look after him?

I sat upright on my seat and patted the girl’s head. “We must get out of this sleet, child, or we shall both catch our death.” I looked over at the guard who had been left to watch me: “You, sir. What is your name?”

To my astonishment, he bowed. “Gerard, my lady, at your service.” After the rough treatment this past week, I had not thought anyone would be polite to me again. Gerard was a short, compact gentleman, of around five and twenty, with a spade-shaped beard and square hands.

“Master Gerard,” said I, rising. “If you would be so good as to follow me with the cart, I will show you where to put everything.” I turned to Ghislaine. “Do you know how to make a fire?”

“Yes, my lady,” she replied curtseying again. “And I can cook and sew.”

“That is well enough for now, child. Let us get out of this evil weather.”

There was but one room fit for habitation, and that was the solar. It was a large room, big enough for my furniture. But to get to it one was obliged to walk up a rickety staircase open to the elements, then heave open a door that was hanging off its hinges. Somehow, Master Gerard hoisted all of my possessions up those stairs without dropping anything and arranged the furniture at my direction.

I had my bed put against the inner wall and the carved chairs set on each side of the fireplace. I directed Gerard to put the hangings up to ward off the damp chill that pervaded the place.

Clearly, the Serpent hoped I would make a quick end of it here.

I resolved to disappoint her.

I told Ghislaine to make the fire, put the water on to boil, and arrange my down bedspreads, cushions, pillows, and gleaming gold cups while I unpacked my dresses from the coffer.

The door banged to and fro on its weakened hinge, letting in flurries of snow, as well as drafts of cold air.

“Good day to you, madam,” said a voice.

I turned. A young woman in a Benedictine habit was curtseying.

“Though it be so dark, you can scarce tell it be day,” she remarked. “I am Sister Avisa, of the Benedictine Order of Nuns at the convent of Ashridge, beyond the hamlet of Friesden, not four miles hence. We have come to make you welcome.”

She waved in a young man, who bore the royal arms of the leopards of Anjou and the lilies of France.

He knelt and handed up a letter from Edward, which announced the birth of his third daughter. The child was to be named Cecily in my honor.

I looked up to scrutinize the countenance of the messenger before me. But his expression revealed nothing.

I walked to the window to collect my thoughts. It was sleeting hard again, and everything dissolved into grey shadows as afternoon waned into evening. What was the meaning of this? The last time I’d seen Edward was just after I told everyone he was illegitimate. He’d been furious, and when he was furious, he could be terrifying. Since that day, he’d sent no message to me. The only communication had been that arrest warrant.

I read the letter again slowly. In Edward’s fine Italic hand, it told me I would be allowed to return to court, provided I made a public apology to the King and the Serpent and retracted my words.

Tears filled my eyes. I brushed them away and turned to Sister Avisa.

“I am greatly fatigued,” I told her. “Would you see to it that a suitable gift is sent for the child, and please tell my son I am retiring from the world?”

“Do you wish me to add anything else?”

“Tell him that I am retiring to my new home in the country that he was gracious enough to give me.”

Sister Avisa curtseyed silently and left.

I sank into my chair and covered my face with my hands.

I would not know Edward’s children well. I saw the two so-called Little Princes in the Tower—
Edward of Westminster
and his brother,
Richard of Shrewsbury, the Duke of York
—fewer times than I could count with the fingers of one hand.

A week later, my steward from Fotheringhay, my maid Jenet, and others of my household arrived with more of my things.

“But what will the King say?” I asked, as my people from Fotheringhay bowed and curtseyed before me. “He’ll not allow you to stay.”

“He’ll not cause me to go,” declared Jenet. “I was worried sick about you. You know how susceptible you are to the cold, and the weather has been evil. Look at the way you’re coughing, even now. ‘My place is with my lady,’ I said to myself. For no one else can make the cold tinctures that she needs.”

“And I am right glad to see you,” I replied, kissing her on the cheek. “And all of you are welcome,” I added, “if you wish to stay in this grim place.”

They assured me that they wished to stay with such a kind mistress and set about making needful repairs.

Slowly, life returned to normal.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for my nearest kin. Things had curdled to sourness betwixt my son and my nephew. Warwick had given up much of his life, as well as a portion of his considerable fortune, to support the House of York. And what had Edward done for him in return? Promoted the Serpent’s family at the expense of everyone else.

Now he made difficulties about the marriage between George and Bella. Edward’s opposition did not prevent Warwick from working behind the scenes to obtain a papal dispensation so that the marriage could proceed.

I gazed out at the gloomy skies that seemed to hover over this ruined castle. What would Edward do when George defied him and married Bella?

Chapter 58

June 1469 to September 1470

In June of 1469, three months after I was taken from my home in Fotheringhay, news came that George plotted to overthrow Edward.

I motioned the messenger to leave and went to my
prie-dieu
for prayer and reflection. Wasn’t this what I wanted? But what about George? Would he have the backing of the magnates and the citizens of London? Or was this a ploy by Warwick to seize power?

I let the polished jet beads of my rosary slip through my fingers. George was in great danger, I was sure of it. As his mother, I must do everything in my power to protect him.

And so I hurried to Canterbury, where he was then staying, awaiting a favorable tide that would take him to Calais.

“My son,” I said. “Do not do this. It will ruin your life.”

“Edward is a bastard. You said so, yourself. Mother, I am the legitimate heir to the throne.”

“I know, my son. But I know also that Edward has been anointed king, and that he is popular with the people.”

“Warwick is more popular.”

George had a point there. The people were growing weary of the taxes Edward imposed on them, and there was unrest in the north.

I took a deep breath, then played my last card. “Warwick does not want you on the throne.”

George’s eyes narrowed. For a moment, he looked exactly like Edward. “How do you know that?”

“I feel it in my bones.”

“Then why is he supporting me?”

“He is using you.”

George turned away. “Go home, Mother, and leave me in peace. I have pledged my word to Warwick’s cause, and I’ll not go back on it.”

I argued with him for an hour or more, but there was nothing I could do to sway his judgment.

And so I returned to Berkhamsted.

At the beginning of July, George set sail for Calais with Warwick and his family. Shortly afterwards, the unrest in the north boiled over. Edward did nothing. Instead he took a boat to Fotheringhay and spent a week in my newly refurbished apartments. With the Serpent.

On the eleventh day of July 1469, in defiance of Edward’s wishes, George wed Warwick’s daughter Bella in the Church of Our Lady in Calais. Then, Warwick issued a proclamation calling on the king to remove the Woodvilles from their high offices. Warwick sailed for Kent, marched on the city of London, where he was welcomed with great acclaim, then went north.

On the twenty-sixth day of July 1469, Warwick scored a resounding victory at the Battle of Edgecote Moor.

Edward, who had been woolgathering in the middle of the country, now sought shelter in a little village called Olney. When news of Warwick’s victory broke, all the lords left him, saving only his distant cousin William Hastings, whose father had long served the House of York, and my youngest son, Richard, Duke of Gloucester.

On the second day of August 1469, Edward was captured and brought before Warwick and George.

On hearing this news, I fainted.

When I came to, I went to my
prie-dieu
and spent the rest of the day on my knees in prayer. For if Edward were now to be executed, I would be responsible. Little did I think that my bitter words would be used against him so quickly, and to such lethal effect.

The next morning, I sent a messenger to invite the nuns from house of Ashridge to join me at Berkhamsted Castle. Thus, I gradually fell into the habit of rising early to pray at matins, of having religious works read aloud while I dined, and of relaxing in the evening with my women over a glass or two of wine. The daily rhythm of prayer as well as the company of the good sisters helped me to keep my sanity.

For the news sent me spinning, like a top.

The Serpent got exactly what she deserved, forced to lodge in the Tower in scant state. Now she would know how it felt to come down in the world. Her mother’s arrest on a charge of witchcraft was only to be expected since it was well known she practiced the black arts. That is exactly how she trapped my son into that awful marriage. The capture and beheading of the Serpent’s father and one of her brothers was regrettable. But how else was one to get rid of the Woodvilles? They were everywhere, a blight on the White Rose of York.

Then I received a tear-stained letter from Cath in which she bewailed the passing of her fourth husband, Sir John Woodville:

My Johnny was so sweet,
wrote Cath,
and such a good husband to me. I cannot imagine what he did to deserve such a death. I hope, dear sister, your dislike of the Queen did not cause you to say things you might regret. You always were headstrong, you know.

I crumpled up the letter and tossed it in the fire. Then I took to my bed, Jenet fussing over me with her tonics and tinctures.

Yes, the Serpent had gone. But what about my sons? What was going to happen to Edward, George, Richard?

Despite his popularity, Warwick did not have the authority to rule. Without the support of the magnates, ruling England would prove impossible, and the majority of the magnates thought that this time Warwick had gone too far. By summer’s end, Warwick was losing his grip and the country was descending into anarchy. In London, angry mobs demanded the release of the king.

Edward was released from captivity and taken to York where his supporters and the magnates acclaimed him.

Early in October of 1469, Edward left York with his supporters and returned to London to the great joy of its citizens. One of his first acts was to give Richard, then only seventeen years old, full powers to secure the Welsh strongholds from rebel hands.

I smiled when I read a letter from my youngest son, in which he earnestly told me how he had successfully carried out the king’s instructions. I locked the letter away in a box I kept by my bed to read when my spirits became low.

Although Edward behaved courteously towards George and Warwick, it was plain to all that things were not going their way. By February of 1470, Warwick’s desperation with the situation had reached such a pitch, he incited a rising in Yorkshire and Lincolnshire. His plan was to distract Edward in this manner, then enlist the help of the French king in deposing him.