Virginia Henley (33 page)

“God wither Warwick’s hand if he dares raise it against me, the insufferable bastard!”

“Madame, from what my husband told me of Warwick, he dares!” answered Roseanna.

When her women began babbling with fear, the Queen held up her hand for silence. “As a precaution you will ready my household, and tomorrow we will take temporary sanctuary at Westminster.”

The doors burst open, and the deputy chamberlain hurried in. He bowed low. “Your Grace, there is rioting in the streets of London because it is rumored that the King has been taken prisoner.”

Fear showed on Elizabeth’s face. “What is being said in the streets?”

“It is rumored that Warwick will set up George as King, but the people will have none of it!”

“I told Edward to put those damned brothers of his in the Tower! They are so jealous of my family, they will stop at nothing to ensure our downfall.”

Roseanna urged, “Your Grace, you must go into sanctuary tonight. Tomorrow may be too late!”

The Queen’s face, pale as a rare pearl, went white. “My little girls,” she whispered, then said to Roseanna, “I have three little girls by Edward, three royal princesses I must get to safety.”

My half sisters,
realized Roseanna with a jolt.

“My sons, Montague! Holy Mother of God, get word to my sons Thomas and Richard Grey.” Then she had an afterthought. “My mother. Send for my mother, and I will take her with me into sanctuary. Hurry, hurry! Return with her within the hour,” instructed Elizabeth.

Her women scattered, some to the nurseries to ready the children, others to the Queen’s bedchamber to pack the clothing and linen needed for a stay in sanctuary. If it were of any duration, she would have her lying-in there, and that meant moving a great deal of baggage from Greenwich.

“Someone stay with me,” cried Elizabeth. Roseanna said quietly, “I will stay, Your Grace.”

Roseanna had been prepared to detest Elizabeth Woodville, and her first few moments with the brittle woman confirmed all her preconceived ideas about her. Yet there was something about the woman that Roseanna admired. Her towering ambition was not for herself alone but for her family. She had to be in her middle thirties, yet she kept an immaculate, youthful appearance that would attract a man of any age. At her age she had been willing to bear the King three daughters and apparently would go on bearing him children until she produced the desired male heir to the throne.

Roseanna’s thoughts strayed to the child that was more than likely already in her own womb. Would she fight as bravely for her child’s position in life as Elizabeth was doing for her children? The answer was a resounding yes.

The three little princesses were brought down by their nursemaids, and their baggage was piled by the door. The Queen’s women added her boxes; the stack of luggage
reached toward the ceiling. A message was sent to the Royal Bargemaster at the Lambeth Sheds to ready the King’s barge and anchor it in readiness at Greenwich Palace.

When it arrived, Elizabeth was urged to go aboard, but she insisted on waiting for her mother. Myriad servants began to transfer the Queen’s baggage to the barge, and the little girls were taken aboard. Lady Margery brought the Queen’s white furs and wrapped her in their splendor. Just as Roseanna was thinking she had never seen anything so exquisite in her life, Montague burst in and announced baldly, “Your Grace, your mother has been arrested for witchcraft!”

Elizabeth clutched her belly with both hands as if to protect the unborn child. She cried,
“Mon dieu, mon dieu!
If she comes to harm, I’ll tear Warwick to pieces with my own hands.”

Roseanna, annoyed that Montague had shouted the news to a woman in her condition, said to Lady Margery, “I think the physician should be sent for. We cannot wait longer. Send a message that the Queen goes into sanctuary at Westminster and that his services will be needed very shortly.”

With Roseanna on one side and Lady Margery on the other, Elizabeth Woodville, refusing their aid, walked regally from the palace. The servants were assembled with torches to light the quay where the Royal Barge stood waiting. It was painted gaily in the York colors of murrey and blue and was heavily gilded. On both sides was painted the device of a White Rose upon the Sun in Splendour; it had ten strong rowers. Roseanna shivered as the barge’s torches streamed their tails of sparks into
the barge passed Dowgate Hill, where Warwick’s townhouse, the Erba, stood, Elizabeth Woodville spat into the water, and she put a curse upon the kingmaker. They went under London Bridge and the other bridges before the barge slowed in its approach to the Palace Stairs of Westminster.

It was a miracle that the Queen and her little girls reached sanctuary, for before midnight that same night Westminster was swarming with Warwick’s men-at-arms in their scarlet livery emblazoned with the Golden Bear and Ragged Staff. Guards were at every entrance and exit to the Queen’s apartments; none were allowed in, and none were allowed out.

Roseanna discovered that information could be gleaned from the guards on the door; they could not resist taunting the vile Woodville bitch and her women. She learned that Elizabeth’s mother, Jacquette, was in the Tower, but that Elizabeth’s sons from her first marriage, Thomas and Richard Grey, had gone into hiding and could not be found.

One week melted into the next. The Queen spent her time bathing, dressing, having her hair styled, adorning herself with jewels, playing with her children, and listening to her ladies’ endless gossip. Roseanna had never seen such magnificent gowns in her life. The styles at the Queen’s Court were entirely different from what they were in the North. The sleeves of gowns were very important here and were slashed to show the brilliant color of the material underneath. The bodices were cut so low, they were considered indecent outside the Court; bosoms were bared almost to the nipple.

One fashion that Roseanna did not care for was that of plucking a lady’s hair. When the Queen and her ladies
bathed, she saw that the hair between their legs had been denuded. When it started to grow back, hours were spent plucking it out. They all laughed at Roseanna for her quaint, old-fashioned notions; Roseanna, having such black hair, had a triangle of glossy curls between her legs.

The weeks in sanctuary passed in an odd way for Roseanna. The days sped past, filled to overflowing by the large household of women, their needs, their talk, their gossip. Yet the nights were endless for her, long, lonely nights in which she clung to her memories of her husband. How she missed him! Not just his lovemaking, although her body ached for the release only he could give her. She also missed his strength, she missed his companionship, she missed their fights, and yes, most of all she missed his love. She knew now that she loved him in return. What a fool she had been to throw away the splendor that was theirs for scum like Sir Bryan! Would Roger ever forgive her? She was unsure and trembled at the thought of his terrible wrath.

It was almost a month before anyone from the outside was allowed into sanctuary, and then it was the Queen’s priest. Elizabeth looked at him coldly and said without demur, “I would have preferred a doctor over a damned priest!”

Roseanna suggested that the priest bring a nun who was skilled in midwifery on his next visit. He went off assuring them that he would try his best.

The next day’s events were unforgettable. The guards outside the door reported with gloating satisfaction that Warwick had taken the Queen’s father and her brother John in Coventry and beheaded them. He had done this because Rivers was the King’s chief military officer and held the title of Constable of England.

Elizabeth screamed until she shook, and suddenly she clutched her belly in agony. She went into a false labor and was bleeding. Her women got her to bed, but still she screamed and poured venomous curses upon Warwick’s head. The more she screamed, the more she bled.

Roseanna was very worried. She had never attended a woman’s birthing before, though she had helped many mares to foal. Firmly she took the Queen’s hands in hers and commanded, “Talk to me! Elizabeth, stop this screaming and talk to me!”

Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat as she tried to stifle her screams; then she began to talk. “There were twelve of us. My mother is a silly Frenchwoman who let her heart rule her head. To everyone’s horror she married a lowly squire. We were impoverished. I had six sisters and five brothers. They married me to Sir John Grey of Lancaster while I was still a child. Before I knew it, I had two little sons. When my husband died, his family took everything and left me a poor widow with two children and no prospects whatsoever. The only thing the Woodvilles had were good looks and ambition.

“Oh, I know I have a reputation for being a scheming bitch, a whore of Babylon, but those years taught me a lesson. I became as hard as a mason’s block. I was beautiful, so my mother and sisters scraped together enough money to make me a fine gown, and I threw myself at the King. The country said I bewitched him, that I was different from his other mistresses. Well, they were right there. I had enough brains to know that if I became his mistress he’d never marry me. I was determined that if he wanted to get between my legs, he’d pay for the privilege.

“Warwick forbade the marriage, and though Edward was King of England, he was afraid of Warwick in those
days. So afraid that he married me in secret because of that bastard, that creeping louse, that devil’s spawn!” She rocked back and forth. “My poor little brother John. Only twenty years old! So filled with ambition, he willingly married that eighty-year-old harridan, the Duchess of Norfolk. My God, My God, that he should die before her is unbearable!”

Roseanna sponged Elizabeth’s drawn face and suffered her contractions along with her. She had never known that giving birth could be so horrific. A knot of fear was growing inside her, for she knew that in a few months she would face the same ordeal. Elizabeth was in her midthirties, and in labor without her makeup and finery she looked every minute of it. Roseanna knew she had the reputation of the whore of Babylon, but here, now, in this place she was just a woman having a difficult birth. Her heart was wrung with compassion. The labor dragged into a second day and then a third, and then the slow bleeding suddenly burst into a hemorrhage. The linen was so bloodsoaked that the bed looked as if it were surrounded by bowls of liver. Then Elizabeth began to vomit into her beautiful silver-gilt hair.

Whether the vomiting propelled the child forth or whether the arrival of a midwife-nun brought the heir to the realm into the world was never quite clear. But Roseanna’s relief was so great that she almost lost consciousness when the holy woman took over and stanched the bleeding. Elizabeth Woodville might look delicate, but she was as strong as an ox. Roseanna felt a chill for Elizabeth’s enemies, for she was a survivor. If King Edward regained his throne, Elizabeth would smite down those who had harmed her and hers.

Elizabeth’s powers of recuperation were almost miraculous.
In two weeks she was up out of bed having fittings for all her gowns to be altered to show off her new slimness. The midwife-nun had brought the longed-for news that Warwick had flown too high and would have to restore King Edward. He had summoned a Parliament to meet at York to put the King’s brother George upon the throne, but the people would have none of him. They rioted all over the country and on the London Streets to show that the imprisonment of the King would not be tolerated.

Warwick was wise enough to realize that there would be another outbreak of savage war unless he restored Edward. He postponed the Parliament, then sent the nobles a writ of supersedeas canceling it on the excuse that England was being threatened by invasion from France and Scotland.

The King’s brother Richard, along with Hastings and Ravenspur, had rescued Edward from Middleham and taken him in triumph to York. Edward immediately stripped Warwick of his high military office and gave it to his loyal brother Richard; he also made him the new constable of England—a heavy responsibility for a boy who had just had his eighteenth birthday.

The King and his loyal nobles were coming to Westminster to free the Queen from sanctuary and to see the newborn heir to the throne.

Elizabeth was frantic. Her hair had been without the special paste that changed its color from gray to silver-gilt. Roseanna knew how important it was to Elizabeth that she retain her youthful appearance in the King’s eyes. She had been through so much, and though the fine lines left by her suffering could not be erased, there was something that could be done about her gray hair.

Roseanna persuaded the nun to loan her the nun’s habit and slipped quietly from the imprisoning rooms of their sanctuary to the bustling London streets, where throngs were gathering to welcome the King. She found an apothecary shop, bought the necessary ingredients for the Queen’s hair dye, and hurried back to Westminster.

When she returned she found that the guards at the doors had been replaced by loyal King’s men and that there had been no real need for the disguise. She rushed her purchases into the skilled hands of Lady Margery,
who had already washed the Queen’s hair to ready it for the paste. Before Roseanna had time to change her garb, the King strode into the apartments and boomed in his large voice to bid them bring forth his son. His little daughters recognized him immediately and shrieked their delight to see their soft-hearted father again. Edward raised his eyebrows at what Roseanna was wearing, but he made no comment. Instead he grasped her hands. “What a pleasure to see all my children together! Rosebud, how can I ever repay you for saving Elizabeth?”