Queen of Trial and Sorrow (6 page)

“I don’t think I know how to captivate,” I sighed.

“Of course you do,” he said, rolling me over and thrusting a leg between mine.  “You captivated me with little enough trouble.” 

We spent the rest of that afternoon in bed.  He made love to me as if worshiping at a shrine. 

“Won’t your courtiers be shocked?” I asked him.

“They are used to my shocking ways,” he replied, and ducked beneath the covers to trail sweet kisses from breast to belly. 

The abbey bells began to toll, calling the monks to Vespers.  The light in the room was beginning to fade.  He was busying himself nibbling my fingers and kissing the veins that throbbed on the inside of my wrist when his stomach made a horrible noise.  The supper hour was long past.

“I’ll order food brought to us,” he said, flipping the covers back.

I loved to see him naked.  He was magnificent.  Broad shoulders, upper torso packed with muscle, slender waist, flat abdomen, legs like sturdy English oaks.  I marveled at the sheer beauty and strength in the curving line of his back, the muscles rippling and bunching under his skin as he moved. 

Accustomed to a bachelor establishment, he had almost made it to the door before turning back to cover himself with a bedrobe.  Yanking the door open, he said to those outside: “Send to the kitchen.  I’ll have a bull, horns and scrotum included.  The queen will make do with a calf.”

……….

After I heard Mass the next morning, my father and brother came to the chambers set aside for my use.  Anthony had come south in the king’s train and had known nothing of our marriage until snippets of conversation and speculation concerning the council meeting leaked through the abbey walls to be freely discussed and dissected by a gossip-loving court.  I felt thoroughly embarrassed that I had spent the previous day in bed while they were anxious to see me. 

“You have risen high, Bess,” my father said.  “But now you must walk a very narrow and circumscribed path.”

“At least I do not walk it alone.” I was thinking of Edward but my father mistook me.

“You can always count on family, my dear child.” 

“I never imagined… I never even dreamed…” Anthony seemed to have forgotten how to finish a sentence.  He was looking at me wonderingly, as if I’d grown two heads. 

“I expect we’ll all get used to it in time.”

“Are you happy, Bess?”

Only Anthony would wonder about my happiness.  Only Anthony would think it mattered.  “I am content at the moment.” I wondered why I was so reluctant to admit that I was deliriously happy.  Perhaps even then I suspected my life would not be free of trial and sorrow.  Also perhaps, I didn’t aim for happiness, only stability for my sons and myself.

“That is the best we can hope for. 
Behold, and see if there is any sorrow like unto my sorrow…
Contentment is a more durable coin than happiness. And it is time the king was wed.  He is old enough to have sired a brace of heirs, instead of squandering his precious seed with low women.”

I gave his hand a little squeeze, a gesture of consolation.  He was coming to realize that there was much to be admired about Edward, but he deplored his unwholesome lifestyle as much as I did. 

Anthony was the last of the family to be won over by Edward.  He could see no virtue in switching allegiances under any circumstances, and virtue was the single guiding principle of Anthony’s life.  Choices were very simple for a man of his nature.  There was right and there was wrong; the division was usually very clear, and there was never, ever, a valid excuse to cross the line.  It was not an easy thing for him to repudiate Henry and accept Edward in his place.  But nowadays he was quoting his beloved Petrarch:
It is more honorable to be raised to a throne than to be born to one.  Fortune bestows one, merit obtains the other.

Father was called away, so I took the opportunity to walk outside with Anthony.  Reading was a Cluniac foundation, very worldly and wealthy, and accustomed to housing royalty.  The eyes of everyone we passed, whether courtier, monk or layman, lingered on me; there was a flare of surprise before the gaze was lowered, the head bent in acknowledgement of my royal status. 

“Did his Grace happen to mention the row with Warwick?” he asked as we walked in the cloisters.  In the center of a sward of neatly clipped grass was a fountain, an arrangement of fish with water spouting from their mouths.  Sparrows hopped about on the rim of the basin, pecking at the water, until a crow swooped down and they all fluttered away.

I frowned, fully aware that my husband had glossed things over.  “No, he didn’t.” 

He leaned nearer and lowered his voice.  “Lord Hastings’ brother is one of the king’s gentlemen and a friend of mine.  I heard all about it from him.  After the council meeting Warwick stormed into the king’s chamber without announcement and accused his Grace of making a fool of him.  His Grace replied that if fool he was he’d done it to himself.”

“Why is Warwick so stubborn?  The king has never favored the French match.”

“He wanted the king wed to the Lady Bona to ensure a lasting peace with France.  There is a feeling among some of the councilors that Louis is leading him by the nose. Anyway, Warwick accused the king of base ingratitude.  After all he’d done for him he deserved better, and the king, who was very calm, replied that he’d had his reward: so many offices and preferments had gone his way that he’d lost count.  Not to mention the gifts to his brothers:
John is now Earl of Northumberland and George is chancellor.”

We passed under an arch, leading away from the cloisters.  Fewer people were around.  I withdrew my hand from Anthony’s wrist and tucked it into his arm, as I used to do when we were strolling through the gardens at Grafton.

“But nothing will ever be enough for him because all he really wants is power and that, his Grace said, he will not grant. Then Warwick said the unforgivable. He said: ‘Do you forget that I made you king?’  That’s when Edward lost his temper.  He’s really a very even-tempered man, Bess, so his intimates say.”

“Do you think there is any justice in the claim?”

“It was a perfect partnership, I think.  Edward had the military victories, and Warwick’s was the political acumen that recognized an opportunity and seized it.  But that’s when the quarrel really became heated.  They were toe to toe.  Warwick didn’t give an inch.  He looked like a boar about to charge.  The king asked, shouted: where would they have been if he had gone down in defeat at Mortimer’s Cross or Towton as Warwick had at St. Albans?  And then he said his twelve year-old brother could have done a better job of commanding that battle than Warwick had!” 

That was the battle that had made me a widow.  Oddly, my husband was the only man of note to be killed on the winning side.

“Dear God…” I said.  I didn’t know what else to say. 

“Warwick was silenced but only for a moment, and then he asked: And where would they be if he and his brother hadn’t swept the north clean of their enemies?  And the king told him to get out.”

I was appalled, hardly able to believe a subject would speak so to his king, and what sort of king would allow it?  They said of Edward that he was easy-going and it was meant as a compliment, but if this exchange with Warwick was an example, I saw it as a flaw – worse, a fatal weakness.  In my experience failing to correct or punish offenders was to invite further trespasses. 

I was further shocked to learn that Edward had made the first move the day following their quarrel, not apologizing exactly, but regretting that they had both said things they oughtn’t and perhaps didn’t mean.  The heat of the moment… Frayed tempers… They must expect occasionally to disagree… But surely, the house of York and the house of Neville were so closely entwined as to be indivisible.  He had promised to support George Neville’s candidature to the archbishopric of York, when the present incumbent was called to God, which couldn’t be much longer.  As a peace offering, it was sweet and Warwick had accepted it, Anthony believed, without feeling at all pacified.

I finally asked the question that was foremost in my mind.  “What does Warwick say of me?”

My brother shrugged.  In looks he and I were very similar, the same silver-gilt hair, the same features, and the same slim and elegant frame.  “You know, Bess, when you ask such a question you must first consider the worst possible answer and be sure you can live with it.”

I gave his arm a squeeze.  “Tell me the truth, Anthony,” I insisted.  “You must always tell me the truth, especially now.  You are one of the few people I can count on.”

“Very well,” he said reluctantly.  “He says what they all say: that we’re low born; you aren’t good enough.  He asks does she bring a treaty, wide estates, a bag of gold at least.” He gave me a quick glance, and added sympathetically: “You must have expected it.  Look how many noble daughters and sisters he passed over when he chose you.”

“Yes, I know… ”

“All the ladies here have green skin,” he said, attempting to cozen me with humor.  “Most unbecoming.” 

We crossed the close where a gaggle of geese were plucking at the grass and a couple of cats with their tails in the air appeared to be awaiting their chance for a feathery dinner, unnoticed by the two novices who had the geese in charge and were instead playing knucklebone.

It was a sunny morning, the air full of the darting flight of swifts and martins, and the breeze carried a hint of autumn chills to come.  The abbey bells began to toll the office of Tierce   Soft-footed monks in their black linen robes moved like a procession of phantoms between the buildings, making their way to the church.  I took a deep breath of air spiced by wood smoke and the tang of hops from the brothers’ brewhouse.  It was time to prepare for the ordeal.

“Anthony,” I said, turning to him.  “I want to be a good queen, but I’m not sure I know how.”

He stopped and raised my hand to his lips.  “I’m proud of you,” he said.  “Many would have taken the easy way and surrendered.  Many did.
 
The bible says: a virtuous woman, her price is above rubies.  Never doubt that you are worthy to be queen.  If the king thinks so, who can argue with him?”

“Warwick,” I said.

……….

I chose to wear my ivory and rose silk wedding gown.  A gauzy veil topped my fashionably short hennin. 

“Breathtaking,” said Edward when he saw me dressed.  “You will break every heart in the place.”  

He was full of advice and encouraging words, but all of it was forgotten when Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick entered my chambers.  I knew, even before I met him, that he was ready to hate me because I had ruined his plans, and no matter if I turned out to be a living saint his hatred would never abate.  Furthermore, I was ‘low-born’ reason in itself to dislike me.  He did not trouble to hide his feelings: his manner was as coldly remote as he could make it, his courtesy a mere jerk of head.  In spite of what the king had said, I did not offer him my hand.  I lacked the confidence, being afraid he would somehow turn it into an insult.

“Madam,” he said, gracelessly.  And: “My lord,” I responded.  We were like two antagonists sizing each other up, before he backed away.  Even his nose looked affronted, as if detecting a bad odor.

Warwick was the greatest landowner in the kingdom and able to bring a wealth of resources to his royal cousin’s service.  It was said that he couldn’t ride thirty miles in any direction without coming upon one of his manors or castles.  When he rode abroad it was with two hundred retainers wearing scarlet livery with the Bear and Ragged Staff badge sewn on the shoulder.  On top of his own and his wife’s inherited riches, he had also received generous grants from Edward, lucrative and influential offices and estates forfeited by the supporters of Lancaster and could hope for more of the same in the future. 

I found him unimpressive; nothing about him suggested I was in the presence of a legend.  He was a little under medium height, somewhat bow-legged and beginning to thicken about the middle.  Everything one needed to know about him, however, was writ clearly in his face.  There in the hawk-like nose, the darting restless brown eyes peering beneath a jutting brow, the strong, square jaw, was the arrogance of a man who knew his own worth, the haughtiness, the shrewdness, the ambition, the determination to succeed no matter the cost.   

I hoped for better things from my other escort, the king’s fifteen year-old brother George, Duke of Clarence, but here again I was disappointed.  He was bidding fair to become as handsome as Edward but there was no strength in his face, only evidence of his weaknesses.  His eyes were the same sparkling blue but lacked any warmth or humor, reflecting only a prideful and self-absorbed intelligence; his lips were full and rosy, yet with a pronounced pout when immobile.  Nothing came more readily to those features or imposed itself more comfortably on them than a sulky expression.   Although there was some superficial resemblance in the face, his narrow shoulders and slender limbs suggested that he would never attain either his brother’s height or his powerful build.  I had the odd notion that he was made from all Edward’s leftover parts.

Unlike Warwick, he swept off his cap, and his bow was so extravagant that I wondered if he was mocking me.  Bright eyes swept me from head to foot as he straightened.  “Your Grace.  My dear sister-in-law.” His arm swept out, encompassing the room.  “Are you quite comfortable here?  Have you everything you want?”