Thwarted Queen (47 page)

At once, Bishop Stillington was on his feet, his face creased with concern. “Madam, I am more sorry that I can say to bring you such news.”

I waved him back to his seat. “What you have told me is very shocking. Edward told me nothing of this―”

I broke off as I remembered something Edward had said. What was it? I grasped at a thread of memory. It had been around the time Warwick and I had been negotiating his marriage with Bona of Savoy. Yes, he’d asked if his bride-to-be had silver hair and violet eyes.

Richard returned to his seat. “Tell us how this happened, when it took place and how you know about it.”

“After the death of her husband, Lady Eleanor went to the King to ask him to return her manors. Her father-in-law, Lord Sudeley, had settled two manors on her at the time of her marriage, but after his son’s death he wanted one of them back. However, his lordship did not complete the required documents to transfer the title. At that point, King Edward seized her lands, because the Butlers were Lancastrians who had fought against him. Lady Eleanor was forced to move in with her father-in-law.

“Shortly afterwards, she made her way to the Palace of Windsor to plead her case before the king. He was enchanted by her beauty. Lady Eleanor, however, rebuffed his advances, saying that she would not lie with him unless he married her.”

“When did the marriage take place?” asked Richard.

“April of 1462.”

I looked at the bishop. When did Easter Sunday fall that year? For it was customary for the Church to ban marriages during the Lenten season.

“How do you know this?” asked Richard.

“I was the officiating priest.”

I grasped the handles of my chair and rose. “How could this have happened without my knowledge?”

The bishop went off into a coughing fit.

Richard filled his wine cup and motioned for him to continue.

“I married them in a private ceremony at a Carmelite house in Oxford. There were no witnesses.”

I sank into my sear. “Are you saying that her lady mother did not know of this?”

The bishop nodded.

Richard leaned forward in his chair. “Why was the marriage kept so secret?”

The bishop bowed his head. “Lady Eleanor was deeply spiritual. She was beautiful both inside and out. She felt she’d sinned by agreeing to a clandestine marriage with Lord Edward. She was greatly distressed to find herself expecting a child shortly after the marriage took place. She went into seclusion at the Augustinian priory of Wigmore, where she gave birth to a son.”

“A son!” exclaimed Richard.

“Yes, my lord. A son named Edward after his father. The child was known as Edward of Wigmore.”

“Why did no one say anything?” demanded Richard.

“Lady Eleanor made Lord Edward take a vow of silence. She felt she had wronged her family, wronged her mother, wronged you, my lady,” he turned towards me. “She had great respect and love for both her mother and you,” he bowed to me. “She did not want power for herself, and she disliked court life. She doubted her ability to be Lord Edward’s queen. She wanted only safety and security for herself and her son.”

“But if she had come to court as Edward’s acknowledged lady and queen, the whole tone of the court would have been different,” I said. What would have happened? Would Edward have been as greedy and debauched, lazy, and irresponsible? Maybe not. For I always thought that the Serpent’s greed and selfishness brought out the worst in him.

Richard glanced at me, motioning for the bishop to continue.

“Lord Edward tried to change Lady Eleanor’s mind, but he could not wait forever.”

“And then another Lancastrian widow came along,” I put in.

“Indeed,” said the bishop. “When Lady Eleanor heard of Lord Edward’s marriage to Dame Grey, she was heart-sick. But after her hesitations, she did not feel it right to put forward her own claim. She entered the Carmelite priory at Ludlow.”

“Is she alive?” I asked.

“No. She was buried on the thirtieth of June 1468. Truly, I believe, she died of a broken heart.”

“What of her son?” asked Richard.

“The child did not survive her.”

I rose and walked to the window to hide tears. How different everything could have been.

The bishop coughed. “Of course,” he added, “this does have implications.”

I turned.

“Since Lord Edward was previously married, his marriage to Dame Grey was unlawful,” said Bishop Stillington. “And so the children of that union are not legitimate, thus have no claim to the throne of England.”

I glared. Had Edward let me ruin my reputation rather than admit he was a bigamist? Had he been laughing behind his hand while I struggled with the Serpent? What about all those freezing winters spent in a residence that did not have glazed windows? Or my years of remorse following my outburst?

I had gone through all that humiliation so that Edward could keep his secret. He must have kept it well, for the Serpent could not have known.

The bishop rose and made a deep bow to Richard. “You, my lord,” he said, “are the rightful King of England.”

Richard’s face went quiet.

I looked up. Richard was the most sensitive of my children, the one with the finest mind. He could read Latin fluently and was exceedingly familiar with the laws of the land, having acted as Edward’s Justiciar for the past twelve years. He would be a superb king, for he was just and would use his knowledge of the law to protect his people. But he was so modest, so unlike Edward and George.

“I did not look for this,” said Richard eventually.

“No you did not,” I replied. “But it is yours by right. You know you can do it, for what is kingship if not administering justice to all people?”

Chapter 67

Early June 1483

Richard immediately went about securing his claim to the throne. He didn’t have much time, for the coronation of Edward’s bastard son had been set for Saint John’s Day, less than one month away.

On the fifth day of June, my son moved from Baynard’s Castle to his own town house at Crosby Place in Bishopsgate, allowing him secret meetings with those of the king’s council who supported him, while continuing to hold open meetings either at my residence or at Westminster. During the open meetings, my son took control of daily matters of the government, permitting my grandson’s coronation to go ahead.

But things did not proceed smoothly. For some unaccountable reason, Hastings saw fit to go over to the Woodvilles. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised, for Hastings was an unsavory character who’d led Edward into the depths of debauchery. Naturally, it was Hastings who’d suggested the boating outing that resulted in Edward’s death. Folk said that they even shared mistresses.

On the ninth of June, Richard discovered Hastings plotting with the Serpent to remove him as Lord Protector. Up until that point, Richard hadn’t disturbed the Serpent’s sanctuary. But it was now imperative that Richard gain custody of Prince Edward’s younger brother, the Duke of York, before the Serpent could do further damage. To do this, Richard hit upon the clever idea of bringing forward the date of the coronation by two days to June 22, giving reason to place the young Duke of York in the Tower with his brother, the new king. If the king’s brother were not allowed to appear at his coronation, even the Serpent would be embarrassed.

On the tenth of June, Richard wrote to the great northern magnates and the civic council in York, telling them of the Woodville plots and asking for arms and men.

On the eleventh of June, he ordered the executions of Rivers, Grey, and others of their affinity, ensuring that the Woodvilles did not regain power.

On the thirteenth of June, he divided the council. The open meeting met in Westminster and was ordered to finalize plans for the coronation. Richard’s secret meeting took place in the Tower. During that, he publicly accused Hastings of treason and had him executed on the spot, without a trial.

Folk will wonder why he did this. After all, Hastings was a nobleman, and the law said he had to be tried by his peers. But Hastings was a dangerous enemy, the Serpent’s henchman, and spy.

On the sixteenth of June, Archbishop Bourchier went with many others to the sanctuary to confront the Serpent. They conveyed my son’s request that nine-year-old Richard, Duke of York, be removed to the Tower. The Serpent expressed some reservations about her sons’ safety. However, our kinsman Bourchier was able to calm her fears, and she handed over her youngest son.

I breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing the news. The Woodvilles were being stripped of their power, and all seemed much easier than I’d dared hope.

On that day, my son took up residence in the royal lodgings at the Tower. Shortly afterwards, the two boys were moved to the inner apartments. They were never seen again.

Chapter 68

June, 1483

It was now time for Richard to explain things to the good people of London.

“My son,” I said, “You must tell them of my sin. How else can you claim the throne? If you don’t explain that Edward was illegitimate, they will think you are usurping it.”

“But, Mother, it would ruin your reputation, and for a lady of your years―”

“It is imperative that you get the Serpent out of the way,” I said, interrupting. “And the only way to do that is to claim the throne of England for yourself. But you must get the backing of the Londoners. You cannot expect them to give you the throne, for they think it belongs to your nephew, whom they call
Edward V
.”

There was a long pause. Richard got up and went to the window so that I couldn’t see his face. But I could tell he was struggling mightily, for he twisted his ring and fiddled with his dagger.

Finally he turned around. “If you’re sure, Mother?”

I glanced down. This was not going to be easy. Women who erred were not treated kindly, and I was not looking forward to the effect these revelations would have. But I had to crush the Serpent. I lifted my chin. “I am sure.”

But Richard procrastinated and allowed the coronation arrangements for my grandson to continue. He did not show his hand until Sunday, June 22, the day of the presumed coronation. Naturally, the Londoners were buzzing with anticipation.

Doctor Ralph Shaw of Cambridge University preached a sermon at Saint Paul’s Cross in which he told everyone that Edward IV was illegitimate. Naturally, I was not present, and so I had to hear about it from members of my household. I thought that telling the truth about my sins would help my son Richard become king. But my informants told me something surprising. When Doctor Shaw made these allegations, the crowd became silent. When their murmurs eventually started up, it became apparent they didn’t believe him.

Now it was my turn to be surprised. Why wouldn’t folk believe it, especially as it happened to be true? I was not prepared for this. According to my informants—and I had many—people didn’t believe that someone as pious as I could have sinned so greatly.

It was true that I heard Mass several times a day, and that I was a Benedictine abbess. But I never thought of myself as more saintly than others. If only they knew! I was pious
because
I had sinned so greatly.

I was dismayed: Everyone knew the Londoners had to be on your side if you were to govern England effectively. What was going to happen to Richard?

“They didn’t believe you.” I exclaimed. “Why not?”

Richard sighed. In the pearly light of an early summer evening, he looked grey and drawn. “I don’t know,” he replied sinking into one of my chairs. “What should I do now?”

I folded my arms. “Edward was always popular with the Londoners. It was the source of his power.

“Where does that put me, Mother?”

“They will know you in good time, my son. Meanwhile, you must develop a new strategy. It seems you are going to have to drop the story of Edward’s illegitimacy, it is doing you more harm than good.”

“What can I say?”

“Tell them the story of Lady Eleanor,” I replied. “If they have difficulty in believing a pious old woman could produce an illegitimate son, they will have a much easier time believing that Edward was a bigamist. After all, they knew what he was like with women.”