The Red Rose of Anjou (32 page)

‘Margaret, I want no more killing, no more strife. York has a right to his opinions. He never wanted to take my place. He has said so.’

‘Said so,’ cried Margaret. ‘You would heed the word of a traitor.’

‘He is no traitor! Think of his conduct after St. Albans. He came to me, wounded as I was, and knelt before me. He could easily have killed me then.’

Margaret covered her face with her hands in exasperation.

Henry gently withdrew them. She looked into his face and saw a purpose there.

He will have to have his way, she thought; he is the King and now he is remembering it.

She listened to what he had to propose. He was going to call all the nobles to London; York, Warwick, Salisbury and with them lords like Northumberland, Egremont and Clifford who held grievances against them for the blood that was shed at St. Albans.

‘Do you want fighting in the streets of London?’

‘No,’ said Henry sternly. ‘That I shall forbid. These men are going to take each other’s hands in friendship. I shall command them to do so. I am the King.’

Margaret was astounded. She had never seen Henry look like that before.

###

Henry had realized that the path Margaret was taking would lead to civil war. She had made herself very unpopular and here were no cheers in the streets for her though they came readily enough for the Prince and Henry himself. But there was uneasy silence in the crowd when Margaret appeared. Henry feared that it could well develop into something very unpleasant and even Margaret’s life might be in danger.

He must put a stop to this conflict. He must bring about some understanding with the Yorkists. He believed in his heart that they did not want war any more than he did. It was only people who thought as Margaret did who were so thirsting for revenge that they would plunge the country into bloodshed to get it.

He decided in a desperate effort to make peace between them to summon all the leading nobles to Westminster. When they arrived they caused great consternation to the Londoners who wanted no battles fought on their precious territory. If the rival factions wanted to fight, they said, let them go somewhere else to do it.

The Yorkists were arriving in strength. Salisbury had with him five hundred men and he lodged with them in Fleet Street, and it was not long afterwards when the Duke of York came in to Baynard’s Castle with some four or five hundred.

Sir Geoffrey Boleyn, the Lord Mayor of London, was disturbed and ordered the city’s guards to watch over the property of the London merchants; he set patrols to march through the streets after dark and there was an air of tension throughout the city.

Margaret thought the King should never have attempted to call the nobles together; they would never agree; moreover the promises of the Yorkists she was sure could not be relied on. Secretly she did not want peace. She wanted revenge on York and she could not get that very easily unless there was war.

Then the loyal Lancastrians began to arrive. There were the young lords sporting their red roses led by three, all of whom had lost their fathers in the battle of St. Albans—Clifford, Egremont and Northumberland, every one of them seeking an eye for an eye. Bloodshed in their eyes could only satisfy for bloodshed.

The tension increased when Warwick, the hero of Calais, arrived in the city with six hundred trained soldiers.

Henry arranged a meeting which was to be presided over by Bishop Waynflete and Thomas Bourchier, the Archbishop of Canterbury.

The King had previously had a meeting with York, Salisbury and Warwick and was pleased to find how conciliatory they were. York insisted that civil war was the last thing he wanted. He had felt it necessary that the late Duke of Somerset should be removed from his post and it was for this reason that he had been marching to London when the affray at St. Albans had broken out. It was unfortunate that the King had been wounded and that Somerset had been killed. He was sorry too for those young lords whose fathers had been slain and could understand their grief and anger at their losses.

‘Perhaps it would be well if you showed that you truly regretted this affray,’ suggested Henry. ‘How would you feel about building a chapel at St. Albans...on the site of the battle. Masses could be said there for the souls of those men who had died there.’

The three men considered this and said they would be delighted to build a chapel for such purpose.

‘Then I think we are making some progress,’ said Henry delightedly. ‘But a little more may be demanded.’

‘What do you suggest, my lord?’ asked York.

‘I think if there was financial recompense to those families who have suffered we might get them to agree to keep the peace. Certain sums are due to you—to you, my lord Warwick, for the governorship of Calais and to you, my lord Duke, for your services as Protector. Suppose these sums were diverted to the Duchess of Somerset, to young Clifford and Egremont and others who have suffered losses.’

York, Warwick and Salisbury said that they would like a little time to consider this.

‘Not too long,’ Henry warned them. ‘The people are restive and want a declaration of peace between you all as soon as it can be arranged.’

York laughed when he was alone with his friends.

‘The chapel...yes, we can do that,’ he said. ‘That is a small matter. The money...? Well, when were you last paid, Warwick?’

‘I never have received a groat.’

‘Nor have I. So let us most magnanimously offer to these families that which would most likely never have come to us. Let us have our wages diverted to them. They can wait for them...just as we did...and I doubt they ever see the colour of the money.’

Henry was delighted. ‘You see,’ he said to Margaret, ‘how simple it is when you make the right approach. People are at heart good, but they get carried away by their passions. If only they would pause and commune with God.’

With the Yorkists being so ready to agree to a peace there was nothing the Lancastrians could do but accept.

‘There shall be a thanksgiving service at St. Paul’s,’ announced Henry with gratification.

‘And do you believe these Yorkists?’ asked Margaret with scorn in her voice.

‘I believe they want peace. York is a good man. I know him well. He is a close kinsman, remember. He really wants what is best for this country.’

‘Not forgetting the House of York,’ added Margaret.

‘We all want to see our families well cared for.’

‘But fortunately all do not want to wear the crown.’

‘York does not think of that. He is a good man, I swear, Margaret.’

‘Oh, Henry, you are so easily deceived. And Warwick. He is the most dangerous of them all. He is the sly one. He has wormed his way into the people’s affections. They cheer him wherever he goes. They think he is wonderful because he performs piracy on the high seas.’

‘He attacks only the French who are making things uncomfortable for him in Calais.’

‘He should never be at Calais. He should be removed from that post. Henry, you could give it to young Somerset. It would show how sorry we are that his father was killed in our service.’

‘Somerset is too young for the task.’

‘How old is Warwick?’

‘He must be nearly thirty.’

‘Not so much older than Somerset.’

‘It is not only a question of age, my dear. Warwick has shown himself to be a great leader.’

‘He has shown himself to be a pirate. But I know the English love pirates.’

‘The English love law and order as do all sensible people. No, it would be wrong to take the governorship of Calais away from Warwick. The people would be angry. They idolize him in the south-east. They say when he rides up from Sandwich to London they run out to cheer him and throw flowers at him.’

‘All the more reason why he should be deprived of that post.’

‘But he has excelled in it, and you know how the people feel about de Brézé’s raid on Sandwich.’

It was dangerous ground. She had erred badly over that, they said. They blamed her, although she had never asked that the English mainland should be attacked.

However, with unaccustomed firmness Henry made it clear that the governorship of Calais should not be taken away from Warwick, and the citizens of London, who shortly before had been apprehensive, were delighted that there was to be a ceremony. The King had decided on the Feast of the Annunciation and it was to be a day of public thanksgiving. Enemies would enter the cathedral as friends—hand in hand—and they would all give thanks to God for this day.

There was a grand procession through the streets. The Duke of Somerset and the Earl of Salisbury—sworn enemies until this day—headed the procession; and behind them came the Duke of Exeter with Warwick. Henry followed in all his royal robes which he so hated to wear but he had his hair shirt underneath them and hoped that the discomfort would offset the extravagant splendour in the eyes of the Almighty. Behind the King was Margaret with the Duke of York. They held hands as they walked. She found it very hard to hide her disgust at the procedure. To walk thus with her greatest enemy, holding his hand when it was his head she wanted and that on a pike—was nauseating. She had almost refused to do it but remembering what had happened at Sandwich and the new mood of the King, she felt she could hardly refuse. But she was not York’s friend and never would be.

York however was pretending to be on terms of great friendship. Could he really want peace? Had he really given up his ambitions to wear the crown?

She could not believe it.

The whole thing was a farce.

It pleased Henry, though. Poor simple soul, he believed these people when they said there should be peace. He used himself as a pattern and seemed to think that everyone had the same motives, and was as direct and honest as himself. Poor foolish Henry! How he needed a woman to look after him. And this new mood was faintly alarming.

So they went into the cathedral and the service began.

Afterwards there were bonfires in the streets and the people danced merrily round them. Troubles were all over, they believed. The enemies were now friends. Recompense had been made to those who had suffered.

It was called Love Day. The day when the wearers of the red and white roses became friends.

THE KING-MAKER

Henry was delighted to receive Jasper Tudor, the Earl of Pembroke, who was in good spirits. His brother Edmund, Earl of Richmond – a title, like that of Jasper, owed to the goodwill of the King, for if he had not recognized them they would have no titles and very few possessions – was unable to attend.

He had not been well of late. If he had he would have hastened to tell the King of his good fortune. His wife, Margaret Beaufort, whom the King had so obligingly arranged for him to marry, was pregnant and there was great joy in the family.

‘It is wonderful news,’ cried Henry, always delighted in other people’s good fortune. ‘And how is Margaret?’

‘Margaret is well and so much looking forward to the event.’

‘She is a little young to bear a child.’

‘She is not quite fourteen,’ said Jasper. ‘Young, yes, but she is mature enough. They are very happy together and this child will bless their union. My father, I and our sister are full of delight. We hope for a boy, of course.’

‘I understand that but I doubt not you will be grateful for whatever the Lord sends you.’

‘Indeed yes. Margaret is young. It is good that she has proved so soon that she is fruitful.’

When Jasper had left, Henry told the Queen the good news. Margaret could understand their delight in the coming of a child. She herself had waited a long time and now her boy was the joy of her life. She was a little irritated by the Tudors though because some of the titles Henry had bestowed on them had been taken from her. The Pembroke estates in particular had at first been assigned to her and she had not at all liked giving them up for Jasper. Having had little in her youth and been the daughter of a man who was constantly in debt she cherished her possessions with something like fanaticism. Still, the Lancastrian cause needed men like the Tudors. All their blessings came from Henry, their benefactor as well as their half-brother, and so she did not openly show her resentment over the Pembroke estates, but welcomed the Tudors whenever they came to Court. She showed an interest in their affairs, and now rejoiced with Henry in their good fortune.

I trust all will go well with Margaret,’ said Henry, ‘She is really nothing but a child herself

‘She will be all right,’ said Margaret lightly. Other people’s difficulties were always light-weight in her opinion.

Henry said: I have asked to have news of the birth as soon as it happens.’

‘Well, we shall expect messengers from Wales with the good news.’

It was a grey November day when the messengers came. They clearly did not bring good news.

When Henry heard they had arrived he was filled with apprehension. It was not yet time for the birth, for he had understood it was to be in January.

It was Owen Tudor himself who came. Bad news indeed.

‘My dear Owen,’ cried the King, ‘what is it? Not Margaret? Oh, I feared she was too young.’

‘Margaret is sick with sorrow, my lord.’ Owen seemed unable to go on.

‘My dear Owen,’ began the King, ‘she is young...There will be more.’

Owen shook his head. ‘It is my son, your half-brother...Edmund.’

‘Edmund? What of Edmund?’

‘He is dead, my lord.’

‘Dead? Edmund? But how...? Killed...? Murdered?’

‘Nay, my lord. It was some malady. It attacked him suddenly and...’

‘But he is so young.’

‘Twenty-six, my lord.’ Owen turned away. He was remembering the day Katherine had told him that she was going to have a child and how their delight had mingled with their apprehension when they had arranged for the reluctant priest to marry them. It was all long ago...twenty-six years... those happy days which he often looked back to. He remembered so much of them...the quietness of life at Hadham; the peace of the gardens...the happiness of obscurity. What fools they had been—what idyllic fools, to think that a Queen could ever be left in peace.