Virgin Widow (45 page)

‘Which of the two? They were both equally intransigent!’

With a humourless little laugh, he struck a pose, hand fisted on hips and chin raised in arrogant pride, looking down his nose at me in remarkable imitation of Clarence at his most obnoxious. ‘Gloucester can have Anne Neville, but not her land.’ Then, resorting to his own dry comment, ‘In so many words, even after all Edward’s persuasions, Clarence swore to fight me through every Court in the land to keep it. Then he damned me to the everlasting fires of hell for my presumption.’

The child, of course. That was why Clarence had damned him. The imminent heir. Clarence would never forgive Richard for that. And now Isabel would suffer even more for her failure.

‘And Edward? What did he say in his royal wisdom?’ I did not bother to hide my weary disdain.

‘He would think about it. He would give the matter his full attention.’

‘He’s been thinking about it and giving it his full attention—or not!—for the last year.’ Disdain was transformed into waspish displeasure.

‘I’d rather you did not say that to him.’ Richard directed a measured glance in my direction.

‘Why not?’ And I just might if he caught me in my present mood.

‘Because sometimes it is necessary to employ a veneer of tact and respect to get what you want. A battering ram is not the only means of getting into a beleaguered castle.’

‘A cannon?’

‘That’s even worse. Force will not pay here.’

There was the difference between us. Richard had far more tolerance than I, and a fistful of guile. He would smile and give soft words, yet still holding firm to the rightness of his cause. I would leap in and ruffle the feathers of all concerned. With an arm around my shoulder, Richard pulled me to sit against him on a cushioned settle. We remained like that for some time. The day had cast long shadows.

‘And my mother?’ I asked finally.

‘The Countess is to remain where she is.’

‘I see.’ Not only long shadows. The day had brought no good news on any front.

‘By the by…’ Richard turned his head ‘…what was wrong with Isabel?’

I sighed, a little groan. ‘I’ll tell you later.’

A mess of bitter recrimination, of suspicion, greed and grief that could never be disentangled. None of us came out of it well, I decided.

‘I
F
I travel to Middleham, will you come with me?’

‘Do you want me with you?’ I asked with a good show of ingenuous innocence.

Richard grinned over the bread and meat on the platter between us. ‘I have no intention of leaving you alone here. I was merely being courteous—and giving you the chance to refuse.’

‘Were you now?’ I pushed the platter away after inspecting the beef. Not even Richard’s insistence that I take care of myself could persuade me to eat roast meat at the beginning of the day. His smile softened even as he watched with an eagle eye as I ate a wizened pippin from last year’s harvest, and my heart fluttered. Richard’s love for me, not always spoken but discernible in his eyes, his face, the slide of his fingers against mine, was as light and sumptuously enfolding as a sable cloak.

‘We’ll not be parted now.’ Richard’s face settled in sterner lines. ‘I recall how often your mother remained
alone when Warwick went travelling on the King’s business. Sometimes I thought she was more widow than wife even in those days. I’ll not have it so for us.’

It was an unfortunate reminder of affairs still undecided. ‘Will you go without knowing Edward’s decision?’ I asked. It was four weeks since the Council, a long month in which Edward had remained exasperatingly perverse. The Countess remained incarcerated at Beaulieu and, in spite of all my efforts, Isabel refused to see me.

‘He won’t make it any the quicker for my presence at his elbow.’ Richard cut into the beef with enthusiasm even as I shuddered. ‘I’ve made all the gestures I can, all the arguments I can. He’ll decide for himself, as and when he chooses. He is the King,’ Richard stated, as was always the answer. ‘He can take all the time he likes.’

Which effectively ended the discussion, and by tacit agreement we did not speak again of what could not be mended. Apart from one final barbed shot from me to Richard’s back as he left me to arrange the transport.

‘You should not have resigned the office of Great Chamberlain in Clarence’s favour, Richard.’ I could not resist, the memory too clear. ‘That was my father’s office and the King saw fit to give it to
you.
Edward has already agreed that Clarence should have the titles of Warwick and Salisbury from my father. What more does Clarence want? And don’t tell me
everything
!’ I
pounced, as I read his obvious reply. ‘I say you were too willing to compromise.
I
wouldn’t have done so. I would have wished him to the Devil first!’

It was impossible to forgive Clarence’s smug triumph when Richard made his offer to help smooth the diplomatic path. Nor was he slow in accepting it, and with not one ounce of gratitude as far as I could see. How could Richard tolerate it?

Richard looked back, as if contemplating the wisdom of a response when I was in my present mood, then shook his head.

‘I did it, and it is done.’

Not at one over the matter, but accepting a comfortable truce, we put it aside.

My pregnancy was not so far advanced as to make travel uncomfortable or dangerous. Richard saw to my comfort with an insistence that would have wearied me if his presence had not filled me with joy. Some days when the heat pressed down I rode in a magnificently appointed travelling litter, but more often I joined him on horseback and we rode as we once had over the moors above Middleham when we were very young. He had acquired for me a little mare with a deceptively gentle demeanour, but a mind of her own, much like me, he announced after a tussle of will-power with the wily creature, except that I rarely even looked gentle.

We travelled slowly and with intent, making of it at my request a sort of pilgrimage. Peace lay softly on the land, unless one looked below the surface, hence our formidable escort, the banners and pennons of Gloucester unfurled. Beneath my own placid exterior too lurked distressing concerns that refused to be completely banished. I knew Richard had done all he could. So much praise I had heard for his eloquence and the force of his words at the Council, yet Clarence too had impressed. Even now Edward would be balancing the weight of one brother against the other. I shut the thoughts away, respecting Richard’s determined silence, only to find them lurching towards my continued estrangement from Isabel. Unreconciled, I could see no way forwards with my unhappy sister.

Westward from London to Bisham Priory we journeyed, where I stood before the tombs of my Neville grandparents. Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury, and Alice Montague. Their effigies looked up at the carved canopy, serene in their belief that the Nevilles would hold fast to their power and land for all time. No more! The Nevilles had been destroyed as a political force, my father’s Neville lands made forfeit.

Beside them, beneath a simple slab was where my father lay.

Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick.

I would make him a worthy memorial. I imagined it, in finest alabaster, carved by the finest of stonemasons.
He would wear the armour fashioned for him in Italy, his great sword and poignard, his head on the magnificent battle helm.

‘He deserves a memorial.’ Richard had accompanied me and stood at my side in silent support, uncannily percipient to my thoughts. ‘I remember him as a great leader of men, but also as a cousin of humour and great charm, with time for a young boy. I admired him and strove to be like him. He was too young to die.’

We did not speak of the treachery that killed him, hacked down on the battlefield. Or the fatal desire for power and supremacy that drove him to the ultimate destruction and dismantling of Neville power.

And then on westward again. This was not an easy journey for me, but I was compelled to make it. If I was silent and withdrawn, Richard allowed it to be so, understanding my pain. Since our marriage I had told him much of my life with Edward of Lancaster—even about the finches—although not all, with its cruelties and humiliations. Of being used so blatantly. I think Richard knew that and so allowed me my silence. At night he held me in his arms until I fell asleep.

Tewkesbury repelled me. Only duty drove me to walk through the churchyard and seek entry at the Abbey as I had once before. The monks had put all to rights and wildflowers bloomed innocently in the grass where
the blood had seeped. This time Richard left me at the door, and I was glad of it. What did he think of the moment here when he slew the Prince? I did not ask him, but I knew in my heart that he would do the same today and tomorrow if the King’s life was in danger.

I did not have to knock and demand entrance. The latch on the door opened to my hand and I walked slowly up the nave alone. The Abbey had been cleansed, all trace of desecration removed except for the defaced carvings that showed the scars of sword and mace. And there it was. The simple unmarked brass over the tomb in the centre of the choir as I had instructed.

What should be written there as a memorial for Edward of Lancaster? The metal gleamed coldly, drawing the eye with its blankness.

What to write to mark his passing?

Here lies Edward of Lancaster, Prince of Wales

The sole light of thy mother, the last hope of thy race

I doubted Margaret, still Edward’s prisoner, would ever recover from his loss. Of a certainty, the Lancastrian cause never would. Of the rest, I could not think. Not now, not yet. I abandoned the struggle.

I left a purse of gold with the monks.

Leaning against the church wall as evening fell, in
desultory conversation with his squire, Richard waited for me. I touched his arm. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For bringing me here.’

‘You had a ghost to lay, I think.’ With his thumb he rubbed at a groove that he must have seen dug deep between my brows.

‘Yes.’

‘And have you?’

‘I have.’

‘Then it was a journey worth making.’ Richard lifted my cloak from where it lay over his saddle and wrapped it round my shoulders. ‘Come—it’s too cold to be standing here. The monks will give us accommodation.’ He covered my hand with his, drawing it through his arm, and I felt the protection of it. Richard said no more and I pushed the past away where it belonged. It had no part in my life now and I would look forwards.

Middleham. My heart soared at the prospect, my spirits lifted with every mile. It drew me, a moth to a candle, except that this glowing beacon would bring no searing pain. I anticipated the warmth and the welcome there.

‘There! There it is.’ Tightening my hands on the reins, I pulled the mare to a halt on a little rise on our final descent from the range of hills. The weather was
closing in from the west, promising rain with heavy cloud swirling around us. A little wind had begun to tease with malevolent warning, but below us the massive towers and walls loomed from the murk, dominant and impressive in the valley. The protective moat was cast about like a glittering sleeve of grey metal. The stone might be cold and forbidding, overpoweringly grim in the overcast light, but nothing could dampen my pleasure. It spread through me, throbbing at neck and wrist, so that I could barely contain it. ‘Whatever happens, we shall have this.’

Hooves on the road from York in the valley below us, off to our right, took our attention, caused us to halt and our escort to form a defence, but the newcomers were insufficient to suggest an attack, a little party riding fast to intercept us. As we rode forwards down the slope to meet them, they came abreast and reined in, with at least one familiar face.

‘Your Grace.’ In acknowledgement of Richard, breathless, Chester Herald removed his hat and beat at the dust in his tabard where the bright red and blue and the golden lions of England were overlaid and dimmed.

‘What is it?’ Richard pushed his horse forwards, instantly alert.

‘I’ve been following you—or not, it seems, your Grace. The Devil’s own journey. We thought you’d gone straight to York.’ The Herald grimaced as he unlatched and took a document from his satchel.
‘From his Majesty, to be delivered to you with all speed.’ He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and grinned. ‘I trust you’ll invite us all on to Middleham, your Grace. We wouldn’t refuse ale before the return journey.’

‘Of course.’ But Richard was preoccupied, backing his horse into a little space, where I instantly followed. He removed his gauntlets, opened the sealed letter. I watched as he read it.

‘Well? Is it important? Shall I die of suspense?’

‘It would take more than that to bring you low!’ I sat and glared, until he took pity on me. ‘It’s Edward’s decision.’

‘And?’

At which, when he would have pushed the document into my hands, the promised squall hit us with devastating force. The heavens opened, to drench us in seconds.

‘Tell me,’ I still insisted as I pulled the deep hood over my face and veil, tucking my cloak beneath my legs to protect my garments. The sleeves of Richard’s brigandine were already darkening with the wet.

‘Not here, Anne. You’re already soaked to the skin.’ He slipped the document into the breast of the jacket, then raising his hand to signal to the escort to proceed, but I would not move. Not the most sensible of decisions, perhaps, but I needed to know
now
when all had been in dispute for so many months.

‘What does the King say?’

‘Come on!’ Leaning across, he would have grasped my reins and dragged me forwards if I had not edged the mare sideways and round to face him.

‘Richard! The longer you procrastinate, the wetter we shall get.’

Since the deluge chose to abate as quickly as it had arrived, Richard yielded, but not without a struggle. ‘You’re as stubborn as the animal you are sitting on! Well, then…Of all your mother’s lands, which would you choose to have for your own, of them all?’

Lifting my eyes to look around me, it took me no time at all to decide. I knew little of the southern lands, they held no memories for me. The castle at Warwick would provide a splendid home, but…As for Tewkesbury…The little shiver that roughened my skin had nothing to do with my clammy skirts. I would have no regrets if I never set foot there again. Isabel—and Clarence—could have Tewkesbury with my blessing, as long as I could have…

‘I would have this country,’ I announced, a sweep of my arm to encompass the mist-shrouded hills. ‘It’s what I love more than any other. The country that my mother loved.’

‘Then you’ve got what you wanted.’ Now I allowed Richard to take my reins to pull me back in the direction of our impatient escort. But there was no triumph in him, merely a direct gaze that held mine,
a little thoughtful. ‘The Countess’s inheritance is partitioned. Clarence, in Isabel’s name, is to get all the lands in the midlands and the south. He will get Warwick Castle. Do you mind?’

‘No. And I? What do I get?’

‘You, my love, all the lands in the north, and the marcher lordships in Wales.’

I let the news seep into my consciousness, accepting the relief of it. I was no longer a penniless woman, lacking any form of livelihood, dependent on others for charity into my distant old age. Richard had restored me to a woman of wealth and consequence, and not merely by taking me in marriage. I could not find it in my heart to begrudge Isabel’s share of the land. I had Middleham.

‘It is as it should be,’ I stated at last. ‘Edward has done right by us after all. But, by the Virgin! I thought Clarence would get it. I truly did.’

‘So did I,’ Richard admitted candidly, but with a hint of smugness.

‘Do you think the child swung the balance?’ I pressed my hand to my belly, again feeling the pain at Isabel’s lack and the distance between us that was not merely one of miles.

‘It may be so.’

We turned our horses’ heads in the direction of the castle and rode together, until I could remain silent no longer.

‘Are
you
satisfied, Richard? Did you hope for more?’

‘Satisfied?’ My lord frowned over his thoughts. I doubted he would ever be satisfied as long as he had breath in his body. I had come to accept that he was as ambitious as any man I had ever met, from a family that could rival the Nevilles in a lust for land and power. But his words were not uncomfortable for me. ‘My duties for Edward are in the north. And I too have a fondness for Middleham. The King has been fair and chosen well.’