The Maiden and the Unicorn (49 page)

Margery saw the Queen look up at her father, René, with savage triumph. It was as if having her enemy at her feet was like a flagon of sweet water to a thirsty man, and she was drinking all she could hold. Still she did not speak.

Warwick shifted angrily under Louis's hand so that he was now on both knees. It looked definitely as though the King was holding him down. A wad of linen held firmly over a flowing wound of anger. Unstaunched, all would be lost. Louis jerked his head at his brother Guienne, and the French Prince came forward and knelt beside Warwick, rendering him less conspicuous. It was a kind thought.

"Most noble Princess," Guienne contrived to make his voice suitably choked with emotion, "I entreat you once more to pardon my lord of Warwick."

The minutes sped by. The tension in the hall turned to impatience. Huddleston's hidden fingers began anew to draw roads and rivers upon the exposed skin of Margery's back. She swallowed. Eddies and whirls of feelings moved within her, the memory of his lovemaking blushing her skin. He thought himself sure of her, did he?

"Well?" demanded Louis in a high-pitched clipped tone.

For answer, Queen Margaret merely turned on her heel and rejoined her party. King René descended from his throne. His counsellors moved forward with him until a muttering semicircle of Angevins and Lancastrians clustered insect-like about the Queen.

Louis muttered something to Warwick, which translated sounded like "Get up!" Guienne waited for the Earl to make the first move.

"I can't!" snarled Warwick and Guienne rose gracefully and took one of his arms while King Louis held his other as if inviting him to rise. Painfully the Kingmaker tried to stand. It was obvious that one of his feet had gone numb and had they not held him as he set it upon the ground he would have toppled. Only those at the front were aware of the immense fury and frustration in the mighty Earl's face.

Margaret's son, who was not busy counselling his mother, watched, hard put to conceal his amusement. He was sucking in his cheeks in his struggle but the French King's scowl was sufficient to stifle him.

French counsellors moved forward to add support to their royal master. For as long as it takes a man to walk a hundred paces, the rest of the hall waited and then impatiently began to speak at once. The hubbub was noisy, speculative.

"This is insupportable. My father once had all these French on their knees to him. How dare she!" The Countess rose tightlipped and angry. Since her father had been one of those responsible for burning Jeanne d'Arc, she did have an argument. The Duchess, Jeanne of Laval, swiftly swept down the dais, set a detaining hand upon the Countess's wrist and murmured something calming. Margery opportunely shrugged away from her husband's touch.

Anne, despite her short height, was looking as dangerous as a newfangled cannon that had had its fuse lit. Margery could see she was hard put not to quit the hall. The inaction of everyone else overcame her reserve and, picking up her skirts, she calmly glided out across the tiled floor. The men about her father parted in astonishment as she went up to him and tucked her arm defiantly through his.

"Oh, by the Saints, there is a daughter to be proud of!" exclaimed Huddleston. Margery stiffened, hurt at the comparison. "Oh, come, do not take offence. You know that only his lawful child could do such a thing."

"Do you think it is easy—wanting to but not being able?"

"The thought occurred to you also?"

She was bereft of words at his disbelief. Before she could muster an answer, the Queen moved away from her advisers. The hall hushed instantly.

"Royal cousin," Margaret d'Anjou declared, facing King Louis, pointedly directing her answer at him. "This is a great decision for me to make and I should be foolish if I did not take time and advice to make up my mind. You understand, I am sure." Having made low curtseys to each of the Kings, she swept from the hall, her followers moving swiftly in a rustle of sarsenet and satin to form her wake.

Richard Huddleston stood looking after her, an uncharacteristic whistle on his lips. "An extraordinary woman!"

"Yes, indeed!" agreed Margery, selecting her words to cause him irritation. "Now my father may realise that it is Ned to whom he should bow the knee. It is too dangerous to bell a cat such as her."

"I should be careful what you say," hissed her husband, abruptly stepping back from her as if she had the plague. He glanced round swiftly to see if anyone had the English to comprehend her. "Not everyone shares your partisan opinions!" With an icy nod, he left her to join the group about her father.

Margery let out a slow breath. Next time she would make sure they all heard her.

* * *

Anne at least shared her opinion. "I wonder she did not expect Father to prostrate himself at her feet," she exclaimed some time later, flouncing into the chamber set aside for her. "How dared that woman embarrass him like that!" She unpinned her pearl cap and tossed it onto the back of the settle. "Where have you been, by the way? I sent pages to look for you."

"In the garden up within the ramparts. I am not sure whether it is merely for the use of royalty but there was no one around so I—"

"Avoiding your husband?"

"—trespassed," she finished. "Yes, something like that." Margery raised her head, abandoning the misbehaving link on Anne's platelet belt. It was necessary to turn the conversation. "How is our lord father? Is his pride still being massaged back into place by the French?"

"Yes, vigorously, but he was still glowering and morose when I came away. Mother kept saying not to mind and that made matters worse." She gloomily dumped herself on the windowseat beside Margery. "I begin to realise how much King Louis wants this alliance. I do not think he will let the Queen or Father out of here until they agree, which means that we are pilloried here as well." She gave Margery a shrewd look. "What is going wrong between you and Richard—and do not tell me I am too young to understand!"

"I... I will be honest with you. I have told the King of France that I wish to return to England and that I will try and become Ned's mistress and report back what he says to me."

"Margery!"

"No, it will not be like that. I will go to England and I will tell Ned to be resolute. I want to make sure this alliance, if it happens, comes to nothing. And I
have
to leave Master Huddleston. It is the only way I can think of doing it."

"I think you are a fool, Margery, and it is quite unnecessary. We all know Ned will be on his guard."

"Will he? He is very reckless sometimes. Remember when our father held him prisoner?"

"Yes, that's true, but surely even he would not be so stupid. What will Father think if you run away to Ned?"

"You may tell him what I told King Louis. Oh Anne, did you see the way that woman looked at our father? Such loathing. Suppose he does restore old King Harry. How long before she beheads him on some false charge?"

Anne closed her eyes painfully. "If I am forced into this marriage and the enterprise succeeds, I will be the future queen. You think she would destroy my father?"

"Of course she would." Margery flung herself on her knees before Anne and caught her hands. "Do you believe she will love you?"

"Oh, by Our Lady, of course not, but at least she cannot destroy me."

"Maybe not, but she can make your life barely endurable. They say she never allows the Prince to be away from her side. Do you imagine he will take your side against her? Oh Anne, I cannot stand by and let any of this happen. If Ned will not believe there is danger, perhaps Dickon will listen."

Anne tugged her hands away at the mention of the Duke of Gloucester, her face pained. "But there will be no alliance, you heard her."

"Do you think she would make it that easy for our father? Allow her a little pettiness, Anne, before she truly starts the bargaining."

"Oh, Margery, no. I was hoping my prayers were answered. I do so pray you are wrong."

"I hope so too." Margery crossed to the door and checked there were no eavesdroppers. "In the next few days, do not be surprised at anything. I am considering voicing my loyalty to Ned."

Anne's eyes narrowed. "But that is dangerous. Even if King Louis and Father believe you are willing to spy for them, what will the Lancastrians think? And surely Richard will prevent you going?"

"Oh, he suggested the idea. It is clear he means to throw his lot in with Lancaster. He thinks the Queen is a goddess. He will be very glad to be rid of me, I assure you."

"I cannot believe how terrible this all is. The Nevilles used to be so happy and united but look at us now."

"Blame our father. First he crowns Ned king, then he wants to make George king, then he considers putting old Harry back. He uses us as pawns, Anne. Does he ever ask us what we want? Does he care?"

"You blame him for your marriage to Huddleston but he did it for the best reasons."

"Oh yes, for the best. He sold me with some manors to gain a few men-at-arms. And he is selling you to found a Neville dynasty."

"Margery, listen, are you so sure that Richard does not care for you? I find no ill in him. He has been very kind."

"You are his future queen. He is an adventurer and openly admits it. I tell you, I can take no more of being baited, bedded and scolded." Tears of rage sparkled in her eyes. Anne opened her arms and cradled her as if Margery was the younger sister.

"Promise me, Anne, that you will trust me, however I behave."

"Have I not always?"

"Yes, you alone. I do not deserve such a noble sister." She sat back on her heels, grateful. "If I manage to set foot in England, I will seek out Dickon."

Anne smiled wearily. "Yes." Her tone was resigned. "Yes, but I think it will be too late."

* * *

Warwick's comments on Margaret d'Anjou as they sat in their chamber at private supper would have made a monkish chronicler blush and were certainly not to be repeated. He was too angry to put a rein on his tongue even in front of his unmarried daughter, despite the Countess's disapproval. If the Queen had not made up her mind in his favour within two days, he declared, then he was returning to Honfleur and everyone at Angers could go to Hell.

Next day, a dripping Saturday when the gargoyles dribbled incessantly into the moat, the Earl kept to his rooms but his martyred sulks were broken by the arrival of a charming, apologetic nobleman who stood grinning sheepishly on the threshold of the Nevilles' apartments.

Warwick rose frowning.

"Here I am at last, Dick," exclaimed John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, advancing into the room and tossing the droplets off his cloak like a great sheepdog. He flung his arms around the astonished Earl and gave him a crushing hug. "I have just heard what happened yesterday and it is probably all my fault, but I shall make amends, I promise. Madam, your servant, and my sweet lady niece, Anne, is it not? You have grown since last I saw you."

One could argue that he was just saying what was polite, thought Margery, but his easy charm was hard to withstand. Within minutes he had a cup of rose wine in his hand and was standing talking to her father by the hearth as if they were old campaigners. Of course if one thought about it, they were, but on opposite sides. And long ago, he had married one of her father's many sisters which made him a sort of uncle.

By the end of the afternoon, Oxford's breezy optimism had blown around all the crevices of Angers. It had been Jasper Tudor whom he had singled out first and Warwick found that he had yet another caller.

"Listen to that wonderful Welsh accent,
look you,"
murmured Anne as Jasper Tudor, Earl of Pembroke, made himself at home upon the settle.

"Little wonder that his father Owen managed to bed Henry V's widow," whispered Margery. "With those looks too, I will warrant. How strange that he has never married. Ankarette told me he is desperately in love with a wild Welsh shepherdess."

"Truly?" Anne regarded him with fresh eyes.

By supper time, their father had entertained several more Lancastrian lords and afterwards King Louis himself and his brother came. Warwick even laughed at one of Guienne's jokes—and they were as rare as hens' teeth—before the three of them disappeared downstairs arm in arm.

The women were sleepy and bored by the time the Earl returned.

"I think she's coming to heel," he declared.

* * *

The news was announced at a reception before dinner next day. The French were smirking jubilantly as the Prince and Anne Neville were formally introduced, each frigid with etiquette. The boy was polite but looked caught in that uncomfortable hiatus between the youthful wish not to draw attention to himself and the growing confidence of who he was and what he deserved. His face had started to strengthen into manliness, but his spasms of confidence sounded gauche.

Margery found it hard to not pass judgment. Her earlier observation that he never seemed to say anything without exchanging glances with his mother was confirmed. What the Prince needed was to taste a man's world for a while, away from Queen Margaret's intimidating control.

The banquet loosened the belts of formality somewhat and the air began to reek with premature celebration. How many Englishmen would have to die to satisfy these players? Men said that nigh on thirty thousand had been slain at Towton Field, the bloodiest of the battles between York and Lancaster. Just thinking about it nauseated Margery and her humour was not improved when she was led reluctantly to kneel before Queen Margaret. She had just seen her husband set his lips upon the Bitch's hand, his smile boiling with so much charm that her palm itched to slap him.