Succession (35 page)

No one spoke.

‘But I will write a letter,’ she said.

The late Duke of York, of extreme malice long hid under colours … has on an untrue pretence feigned a title to my lord’s crown, royal estate and pre-eminence, contrary to his allegiance and several solemn oaths freely sworn by him, and fully proposed to have deposed him of his regality … [his associates] have promulgated several untrue [rumours] that we intend to … rob and despoil you of your goods and property [but] we desire that you know for certain that none of you shall be robbed, despoiled nor wronged by any person [in our company].

[The aldermen] … promised a certain sum of money to the queen and the Duke of Somerset, suggesting that he should come to the city with only limited numbers. Consequently certain spearmen and men-at-arms were sent by the duke to enter the city before he came: of these some were slain, some sore hurt and the rest put to flight. Immediately after, the commons, for the salvation of the city, took the keys of the gates where they should have entered, and courageously kept and defended it from their enemies …

Thereafter King Harry, with Margaret his queen and the northern men returned homeward towards the north, against which northern men as they went homeward, did harms innumerable, taking men’s carts, horses and beasts, and robbing the people [so that] men in the shires through which they passed had almost no beasts left to till their land …

 

An English Chronicle

 

And this was the downfall of King Henry and his queen, for if they had entered London they would have had all at their mercy.

Annales Rerum Anglicarum

 

Less than an hour [after the king and queen left] … reports circulated that the Earl of March with 40,000 Welsh [was on his way] …

Newsletter from London, 22 February 1461

 

The Earl of Warwick met with the Earl of March beside Oxford … and he sorrowed sore for his father and for his brother the Earl of Rutland, and for the two battles which had been so costly. But then the Earl of Warwick informed him of the love and favour that the commons had for him, and that they wanted him to take the crown of England, and so his heart was somewhat made glad and comforted. But he was sorry that he was so poor, for he had no money.

So on the 26th day of February Edward Earl of March came to London out of Wales and the Earl of Warwick with him and 40,000 men with them both, and they entered the city of London …

 

Then came tidings of the coming of the Earl of March to London and all the city thanked God and said: Let us walk in a new vineyard and make a gay garden in the month of March with the fair white rose of the Earl of March.

 

Gregory’s Chronicle

 

On Thursday 26th February the Earl of March and the Earl of Warwick came to London with a great power and on the Sunday afterwards all the host mustered in St John’s field … Then it was demanded of the people whether Harry were worthy to reign still and the people cried ‘Nay! Nay! Nay!’ Then they were asked if they would have the Earl of March as king and they cried ‘Yea! Yea! Yea!’ Certain captains then went to the Earl of March’s place at Baynard’s Castle and told him that the people had chosen him as king. He thanked them and by the advice of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishop of Exeter and the Earl of Warwick … he consented to take it upon him. On Tuesday 3rd March he caused it to be proclaimed that all manner of people should meet him on the morrow at St Paul’s at 9 o’clock and this they did. Thither came the Earl of March with the lords in goodly array and there went on procession through the town singing the litany. After the procession the Bishop of Exeter delivered a sermon, declared the Earl of March’s right and title to the crown and demanded of the people whether they would have him as their king as their right demanded, and the people cried ‘Yea! Yea! Yea!’ Then all the people were asked to go with him to Westminster to see him take his oath.

London Chronicle

 

When he came to Westminster Hall he alighted and went in and so up to the Chancery, where he was sworn before the Archbishop of Canterbury, the
chancellor of England and the lords, that he should truly and justly keep the realm and maintain its laws as a true and just king. Then they put royal robes on him and the cap of estate, and he went and sat in the chair as king.

London Chronicle

 

Edward of York was at that time nineteen years old.

John Benet’s Chronicle

 

I could see the throne, a light coating of dust on the crest, a cold gleam on one corner.

This is it
, I thought,
this is it, for which my father lived and died.
It seemed to grow luminous and shimmer in my eyes. A trick of the light, surely; great curtains of light were coming through the windows, streaming with dust.

It was not to be, Father, it was not to be
, I told him, as if his dust too were streaming in with the light. Less than five months ago he had lain his hand on this same throne and turned to face the assembled lords. Less than nine weeks ago, he was killed.

Now, when I put my fingers lightly on the rounded edge, before taking firmer hold, I swear I felt his fingers descend with mine. And the hard surface grew warm.

And so I sat on it, as he never sat. And was deafened by the roar of approval from the crowd, as he must have been deafened by the silence.

To all the people which there in great number were assembled were declared his title and claim to the crown of England, whereupon it was again demanded of the commons if they would admit and take the said earl as their prince and sovereign lord, which all with one voice cried ‘Yea! Yea!’ Which agreement concluded he entered into Westminster church in solemn procession and there as king offered and after took homages of all the nobles there present.

Hall’s Chronicle

 

Thereafter he went through the palace to Westminster church, where the abbot and a procession awaited him in the church porch with St Edward’s sceptre,
which he grasped, and so he went into the church, offered with great solemnity at the high altar and at St Edward’s shrine, before coming down into the chair where he sat in the seat while ‘Te Deum’ was solemnly sung …

London Chronicle

 

[Then] he returned by water to London and was lodged in the bishop’s palace … and on the morrow he was proclaimed king by the name of King Edward IV throughout the city.

Hall’s Chronicle

 

And so Edward, oldest son of the Duke of York, took possession of the realm of England at Westminster.

Brut Chronicle

 

It remains to be seen how King Henry, his son, the queen and other lords will bear this, as it is said that the new king will shortly leave here to go after them.

Newsletter from London, 4 March 1461

 

And after the king rode north with all his lords to subdue his subjects and avenge his father’s death.

Brut Chronicle

 

I do not want you to go,’ Margaret said. There was a tight feeling in her chest and throat because of all the words she could not say. Henry said nothing, but made a slight adjustment to the timepiece he had been devising from a series of weights and measures.

They had covered this ground before. The new king had immediately begun to send out commissions everywhere in the land. It was said that he would muster the biggest army that had ever been raised. He had promised to stamp out the threat from the north, the false king and his traitorous queen, who had sold Berwick to the Scots and allied themselves with that nation and with the French; both of them ancient enemies of England. He had promised that this would be the last battle: no more would the land be torn apart by war. Everyone who supported King Edward was promised rich rewards in the new Golden Age that would begin; everyone who didn’t would be automatically attainted.

It was no longer possible to avoid this war.

The people loved their new king. He was nineteen and had never lost a battle. He looked like their image of what a king should be: a towering giant with tawny hair; a great laugh that sounded most frequently on the battlefield.

But her husband was not going to fight for him. His father and brother had died fighting for King Henry; he could hardly fight for the opposing side now.

They had discussed this, and come as close to an argument as they had ever been. What would happen if King Henry lost? No one
seriously seemed to think that he could win – even with the Scots behind him. And then what?

What about me?
she wanted to say.
What happens to me if you are killed or attainted? How will I ever get my son back then?

She had already lost so many people in this conflict. Her father, for one, if you went back that far. Her husband Edmund – still she could hardly say his name. Her uncle, the Duke of Somerset. And two fathers-in-law. She had cried, suddenly and fiercely, for Owen Tudor, as she had not cried for the Duke of Buckingham.

And also, of course, she had lost her son.

No one knew what had happened to Jasper, who still had custody of him. He had fled after the battle in which his father had been executed. It was impossible to get news, unsafe to travel or to send messengers anywhere in the country.

She wanted to say all of this, promising herself that she would not cry, but she could not trust herself. All she could manage to say was, ‘I don’t want you to go.’

And Henry listened attentively, just as if she had not said it before, moving tiny weights along a wire, saying nothing. He was not considering her. No one ever considered her.

Then he said, ‘It is in Euclid, you know, the balance of equilibrium, the relationship between weight and force.’

She did not understand him. He said, ‘I can no longer weigh my own life against this conflict. It will not balance.’

That was it, then. She was defeated by geometry. She turned sharply and left the room.

Later she realized that what she should have said was that she did not want to lose him. It was true, in fact: she had grown accustomed to his patient, conscientious presence; even to the silences between them. She had discovered that she liked being married.

She would miss him.

But she didn’t say any of this. He concentrated on his plans for the new mill, she on the draining of a dyke.

She was inclined to blame her mother, who had taken it upon
herself to visit. Her own husband had joined King Henry and fought at the Battle of St Albans, despite his age. She had made many pointed comments, about
those who sat on the fence
, or who
kept themselves safe at the expense of others.

Margaret had managed somehow to bite her tongue. There was so much that she could say to her mother, even though it was not strictly relevant: about why she had given her up, for instance, when she had kept all her other children, why she had not fought harder to keep her. Had she ever longed to see her, to hold her, as she herself longed to see her own son?

But she knew the answers, of course. She was the only one of her mother’s children to be the daughter of a duke; her mother had not given her up entirely, they had continued to spend time together, and so on.

She knew the answers, and so there was no point asking the questions. But there was so much she did not know. Had her mother ever loved her father? How and why did her father die?

She could have asked, of course, but she would not get any answers. She thought of all the words that went unspoken in the world, throughout time: what happened to them, where did they go? What would happen if they were all spoken? How different would the world be then?

In private she prayed earnestly as usual, yet always with a hollow sensation – had she not prayed earnestly for Edmund, and for their son? She had discovered in herself a dull resentment against this God who never listened to her; who had allowed Edmund to be killed, her son to be taken away.

She discovered this in herself and it dismayed her – what God would listen to her now? Still, she went through the form of prayer, increasing her devotions if anything, and the frequency of her fasts. Her eyes reddened, her skin grew papery and dry.

She prepared a balm for Henry, because armour would surely set off the virulent outbreaks in his skin. In the bottom of the phial she dropped a tiny charm – a St Christopher – and she stitched a cross to his shirt. The night before he left she lay awake, wondering if he
would come to her finally, actually hungering for him; she would cling to him through the night.

She could hear him moving restlessly around his room, but he did not come into hers. It was like a small death.

She fell asleep just before dawn, but on waking with a cold sickness in her, reflected that he would not come, of course. He would not run the risk of leaving her with child when he might not return. He would not put her through what she had been through with Edmund.

It came to her that no one had ever considered her in that way before, put her first or even taken her into account. Not since Betsy. But that was a thought she couldn’t think. She made herself get up, though her limbs felt heavy.

It was a still, frozen day. Though it was March, winter still had its bone-hard grip on the land. The clouds were banked heavily, full of snow.

She gave him his gifts, which he received gravely, and said he was sure he would be invincible now. Then uncharacteristically he made a little joke, about how he had put on so much weight he might not fit into his armour, and she tried to smile. Then she was watching at the window as he set off with a few attendants, just as she had watched Edmund so many times. He turned to wave and smile at her, his face illuminated by the snow.

On the 13th day of March our new king, Edward, took his journey north and the Duke of Norfolk with him and the Earl of Warwick and Lord Fauconberg with many knights, squires and commons to the number of 200,000 men.

Gregory’s Chronicle