Queen of Trial and Sorrow (24 page)

“I, however, have not forgotten the Countess of Warwick, although I wish I could.  She is an unnecessary and burdensome encumbrance.  As a matter of fact, I received a letter from her recently, exhorting me to remember that she is a blameless widow, with no one but me to defend her rights, and to keep my brothers from fighting over her possessions as if she had suddenly fallen off the face of the earth.”

“Another with a good point,” I said, clenching my jaw on a yawn.  I felt sorry for the countess, but not enough to extend myself on her behalf.

“That’s the trouble: Everyone has a point.  Are you tired?”

“Not especially, no,” I replied, hoping he would stay with me, not wanting to think that another might be waiting for him.  My ladies would attend me to bed; if he wished to stay he would dismiss them himself.  He would say something like:  ‘You can safely leave the queen in my hands,’ and give me a look that would fill my veins with liquid fire. 

“Shall I have one of your ladies send for a hot posset to help you sleep?” he asked considerately.

“Yes, that would be nice,” I said, knowing that he wouldn’t stay, and that he wouldn’t sleep alone.

……….

The king had begun the rebuilding of the banqueting hall at Eltham larger, lighter, more modern, and had entered into discussions with his architect to rebuild the Chapel of St. George at Windsor to make it a more fitting home for the Knights of the Garter, as well as a final resting place for himself and for me. 

So Christmas of that momentous year was celebrated at Westminster and was one of the most joyous in my memory, not for any particular event but simply because we had spent the previous Christmas apart and in adversity.  Although the king still had much pressing business to attend to, he wanted both to observe the Holy Season with all the solemn pomp and joyful festivity of previous years, and to demonstrate to his subjects that he was in secure possession of his throne.

Thus, wagons laden with all manner of provender, beasts both on the hoof and fresh-killed and many varieties of fowl, among them some rare delicacies for the delectation of our guests, made their way along the roads between the city and Westminster, where they were unloaded and stuffed into pantries and cellars.  Along with them came entertainers of various disciplines, hoping to pass the rigorous standards of the chief steward and be permitted the high accolade of performing before the royal family and the court.  And last of all came those who had been invited to share Christmas with their sovereign lord and lady, the men who had remained faithful even when it must have seemed we had lost all, had fought for us and given their sons and brothers to death for us.

The celebrations began on Christmas Eve with a gathering in the Painted Chamber such as had never been seen even in former years.  The Duke and Duchess of Clarence were there, George drinking heavily to combat his insecurities and consequently too heartily loud, Isabel covertly watching her husband but otherwise content to remain in the background.  The Duke of Gloucester also put in an appearance, though such affairs were not to his liking; he too watched Clarence darkly and toyed with his dagger.  Come from their castle of Wingfield for a rare visit were the king’s sister, Elizabeth, and her husband, the Duke of Suffolk, who were well content to reign over their corner of East Anglia and took only a perfunctory interest in the affairs of her brother. Elizabeth had brought her brood of three along to visit their royal cousins.  Like me, she had a babe in arms and one in the belly.  And finally there was Anne, Duchess of Exeter, escorted by her handsome lover, Sir Thomas St. Leger.  Absent as usual was the Duchess of York, who, embracing a more rigid piety in her later years, frowned upon the secular aspects of the Holy Season.  

My sister Katherine and the Duke of Buckingham were now wed, but so contemptuous was he of his wife that he categorically refused to consummate their marriage.  He contrived to spend his time between his cousins of Gloucester and Clarence and patently ignored his wife’s family.  His addresses to me were only just the right side of courtesy, though they tended to be a deal more respectful when the king was present.

Edward danced with Bessie who received all the plaudits.  She danced with almost every man in the hall, saving the churchmen, face flushed, eyes bright with excitement, until she and her sisters and her Suffolk cousins were rounded up by their nurses and carried off to bed. 

On Christmas Day the king and I wore our crowns as we walked through Old Palace Yard to the abbey under the bare-branched chestnut trees so that we could be seen by any of our subjects who cared to brave the winter cold to watch.  Later in the White Chamber there was music while we sat in state, receiving the addresses of various visitors, followed by an elaborate feast at which no expense was spared, and finally a wondrous disguising with three stages on wheels that rolled through the hall in turn depicting the whole story of the Nativity.  There was Mary on an ass, looking as gravid as the Duchess of Suffolk and I, and the ass was real and stood quietly as Joseph held it by the headstall and made pretense of walking.  The painted backdrop was of dun-colored hills and with a single four-pointed star in the dark blue sky.  Next came the shepherds and now the hills were green and the sheep were painted also.  Sharing that stage were the three kings, bearded and magnificently costumed and hung about with gold.  The camels weren’t real but wonderfully contrived nonetheless.  For the final scene the carpenters had been at work to fashion a rickety looking stable in which all the participants were gathered, the ass tethered, Mary with a slimmer silhouette cradling a baby who alone among the players had not learned his part, for he was wailing in a most earthy manner.

As the stages rolled past the high table, I clapped my hands with the rest and the king smiled and inclined his head to show his pleasure.   

There was another procession on New Year’s Day, and another on Twelfth Day, although on the latter occasion I did not wear my crown, as the child in my womb was burden enough.  Afterward we sat in state again and later there was a banquet to which the mayor and aldermen and many leading citizens of London were invited.

The king distributed gifts liberally: a pair of jeweled cups for Clarence; a book he had ordered from Flanders for Gloucester who did not read enough, another for Earl Rivers who couldn’t get enough to read; one of the new-fangled handguns for Suffolk, jewels or bolts of rich cloth for the ladies, new doublets for my older sons and brothers.  And when these articles had been bestowed and appreciated, Edward demanded a gift for himself. He asked his brothers to exchange the kiss of peace.  Clarence declared himself happy to do so.  Gloucester submitted with all the distaste of a youth obliged to kiss the puckered mouth of a raddled dowager.

The two dukes took part in many of the celebrations, and the court watched them with avid interest and the king with concern, but they conducted themselves with praiseworthy decorum and the Holy Season passed without incident.

……….

Richard and Anne were wed in a very private ceremony with only a couple of the groom’s trusted men to act as witnesses.  There was always a question about the validity of the marriage, for they were close cousins and didn’t trouble to wait for the required dispensation, as I learned from Edward.

“I’m surprised the Lady Anne allowed it,” I said.  “It means she can be repudiated at any time and for any reason.”  Were they in such a hurry because they feared for her safety?  After what he had already attempted against her, who could predict what Clarence might do next?

“He tricked her,” Edward chuckled.

“He tricked her?”

“Very cleverly.”

“How so?”

“He showed her a dispensation.”

“A fake?”

“Valid.” He looked up from the bundle of memoranda and warrants to which he was appending his initials.  The occasional note written in a margin in his own hand was a warning to clerks that any documents that came before the royal eyes were spared more than a cursory glance. 

“She can’t read Latin, but she could see that it was an official document and bore both their names.  At the bottom was Sixtus’s signature and the seal of the Holy See.  Of course, she wouldn’t want to risk offending him by suggesting its authenticity be verified by a disinterested party, now would she?”

“I don’t understand.”

“No?  Let me clarify.  Anne’s paternal grandfather was my mother’s brother, so they are cousins within the first degree of consanguinity.  Also, they are both descended from sons of the prolific Edward III making them cousins in the fourth degree.  Dispensations for both degrees are required, but Richard only obtained a dispensation allowing their marriage within the
fourth
degree, which was more easily obtainable, and cheaper, and that is what he showed Anne.  The document dispensing with their first degree kinship has not yet arrived.”

“But that’s despicable!” I said, outraged on behalf of the little Neville pawn.  She wouldn’t have enquired too closely.  A wife had to put herself in her husband’s hands, to trust him to do what was right for them both, and Gloucester seemed a man of such brisk efficiency that she would be easily persuaded that he had everything in hand. 

“My dear, morality and legality are the servants of political necessity,” my husband said brutally.

I remembered my own wedding, the little chapel in the woods, that golden September day.  The banns had not been cried at Gloucester’s wedding either and no crowd had gathered outside the church to escort the bridal couple home.  The Clarences’ wedding had not been exactly a secret affair, but it had to be kept secret from the king who would have put a stop to it.  Odd, how none of the brothers had had a conventional wedding.

It wasn’t until much, much later that I discovered the full depth of Gloucester’s duplicity.  The marriage contract, which would normally have been negotiated between Richard and Anne’s guardian, or her nearest male kin, with a good deal of hard bargaining, had been drawn up by Gloucester’s lawyers.  Unknown to Anne, a clause was inserted to the effect that if the marriage was to be declared invalid at a later date, or if they should divorce, whatever estates Anne had received through inheritance were to remain
his
. 

So they were married quietly in June and the marriage, because of the absent dispensation, was invalid.  Ironic, isn’t it, in light of later events?

That year it was a sad Christmas.  The babe I had given birth to in the spring, our little daughter Margaret was taken from us on the first Monday of Advent.  It was not unexpected but a mother cannot help but mourn the loss of her young.  Until then we had been lucky, Edward and I.  So many women suffer miscarriages and stillbirths, or lose their children to disease while they are still infants.  We still had three daughters and our son, all robust, but another boy was essential. 
One is good, two better, three better yet, four perfect,
Edward was fond of saying.
 
Perhaps he was motivated in his thinking by the fact that he was one of four brothers who had lived to maturity.  I thought brothers were fine as long as they were loyal to one another.

My mother had died in the summer while Parliament was working to resolve the quarrel between the two brothers. Again it was not unexpected and yet when it happened I found myself unprepared for it.  My mother had been my mainstay, always there with invaluable help and advice at every important junction of my life.  It was she who had taught me the protocols of being queen and the uses of power and patronage.  Praise God, I had a loving husband and wonderful children, but I no longer had a bosom upon which to lay my head and weep the tears that no one else must see.  I was unable to be with her at the end but my sisters Anne and Margaret were, as well as Anthony and Lionel.  I hoped they were a comfort to her.

One good thing: the king ordered his brothers to accompany him to Shene and there, utilizing the diplomatic skills he had learned while dealing with Louis of France, the craftiest monarch in Europe, along with a good deal of plain bullying and coaxing, he negotiated a partition of the Countess of Warwick’s lands that did not give Gloucester the half he wanted and yet did not satisfy Clarence either as he did not get the whole.  This was not accomplished in one session; it took many hours over several days before agreement was finally reached.

As a reward for his cooperation Edward invested Clarence with the titles Earl of Warwick and Salisbury.  The agreement would have to be ratified by parliament, but the end was in sight.  The quarrel could not be shaken off easily; the two brothers remained bitter toward each other.

……….

In the spring, my little son and I, along with some royal commissioners and judges, went to Hereford to punish offences against the king’s peace.  So lawless had the marches become since the death of the Herberts at Warwick’s hands, and there were none of sufficient authority to exercise control, that the king decided it was time our son took up his permanent residence in the hope that the presence of the heir, representing royal authority and a blessed hope of the future, would have a pacifying effect on that troubled area. 

I went with him to Ludlow in the sheep-dotted hills of Shropshire.  I had petitioned the king to have my brother Earl Rivers appointed his governor, and to my great relief and joy he acquiesced, which gave the Wydevilles the opportunity to establish a power base in the region and distribute the patronage that devolved upon the prince.  Sir Thomas Vaughan became his chamberlain and Doctor John Alcock, Bishop of Worcester his tutor.  The learned bishop was also head of the council, whose three-fold mandate was to care for the prince’s person, to administer his estates and to rule and impose order in the marches.  These men, and many others, were responsible for the day to day care of the prince, but were supervised from afar by the Dukes of Clarence and Gloucester, Lord Hastings and by me.  I had a hand and a voice in my son’s upbringing.

It gave me considerable pleasure to watch my Ned exploring the castle that had been his father’s boyhood home.  Hand in hand we wandered through the range of buildings.  I could see the young Edward everywhere I looked, spontaneous and exuberant, before the world of care had crashed in on him.  This is the chamber your royal father slept in, I told our son of the Pendover Tower, and he claimed it at once for his bedchamber.  And here is the schoolroom.  I could see the impudent boy my husband had been, hose down around his ankles, sprawled across a desk, while a tutor laid on the punishment prescribed by the duke for his young sons.  And while the birch rod was being applied with vigor, he would study his fingernails, or yawn, or hum to himself, not as an exercise in self-discipline but to further annoy his tutor.  You might say he had a problem with authority. 

I could not climb a stair without thinking of him and his brother Rutland pounding up and down, on their way to the tiltyard where they took their knightly exercises, or to the hall to wolf down a dinner bound to encompass the duke’s recommendations about which foods should be served to best aid his sons’ digestion and growth.  A stickler for detail was his father, the older Edward complained, blithely unaware that it was a trait he had inherited.  The instructions given to our son’s servants for his spiritual, physical and moral welfare were exhaustive and left little room for misconstruction.

Ned rode out seated before his Uncle Anthony to explore his new domain.  They fished in the waters of the two rivers and flew the hawks at waterfowl in the marshes around Wigmore Castle.  I did not accompany them on these excursions.  July was hot and still.  No breeze sighed over the crenellations or stirred the trees by the river.  All the open windows let in were flies. I was feeling as fat as a pudding.  I often lay on my bed all day unable to find the energy even to do any needlework.  A maid stood beside me stirring the air with a fan.  It was pleasure enough for me to see my darling boy come home flushed with joy and talking nonstop about their adventures.

The king came to join us for a few days and told me we must prepare to leave to allow our son to begin his work as Prince of Wales.  Our little Ned was not yet three years old, and it was hard to part with him, knowing I wouldn’t see him again for months, even though he was settled and happy in his new home and in Anthony’s care. 

Even as I was saying farewell to one son, I was preparing to greet another.  In the abbey at Shrewsbury, in mid-August I made my husband’s heart glad by giving birth to another lusty boy. 

“We will name him Richard,” Edward said when he came to see me, “for two of his uncles, his half-brother and both his grandfathers.”

“This one I can keep close?”

He beamed down at me.  “Always.”