White Boar and the Red Dragon, The (34 page)

Sometimes, we entertain here, though not often, as neither Richard nor I like crowds of people in our home. We come here for its quiet. After years at court, which he hated and still hates, only going there when he has to, Richard prefers peace, like me.

Francis Lovell is a frequent visitor and Rob Percy, both old and very close friends of Richard’s. They all go off hunting and hawking for days at a time together. Little Ned longs to join them, but he’s such a delicate child he can only ride short distances without getting breathless with the effort. John has been promised that he will be allowed to go on the next hunting expedition. He is now ten years old and strong and vigorous. I cannot help comparing his blooming health with the frailty of my own poor little one. But Ned makes up for it by having an excellent mind like his father and enjoys books and quiet pursuits, thank goodness. But I see him looking at John sometimes with resentment in his eyes when he is playing some rough and tumble game, which Ned cannot join in. I suppose it is only natural for him to feel like this. All boys enjoy physical pursuits, and I know Ned would—if he could, but he is secure in our love, so I am sure feels no envy of the other boy in that respect.

Little Meg, George’s eldest child, who is seven, misses her mother greatly still, but she took to me straight away as her new mother, and we are very close. I do not think she misses my sister as much as her little brother Edward does, though, and has adapted to her new life here very well. He is often a sad little boy and will rarely talk about George and Isabel, though. I encourage this, as it will help him to grieve for them. What can a child of his age understand about why his father was put to death or his mother was taken to God so young? I try to be a mother to him also as much as I can, but there is a certain guardedness in him; he never opens fully to one. I suppose it is understandable. He remembers his parents well, though he is only five. He tends to fear Richard somewhat, which is a pity. Perhaps it is because he so rarely sees this very important uncle. I must encourage Richard to give him some special attention when he comes home from London. The child is not as quick or bright as my Ned either, so they do not have much in common, though he is quiet like Ned and prefers quiet pursuits too. They get along well on the whole and play together happily enough. The tutors say he is a slow learner and easily distracted. Maybe this is because of all the traumas he has endured in his young life?

Oh god, I pray that my Richard does come home—and soon! I do not think I could bear to live if the plague claims him!

Margaret, Dowager Duchess of Burgundy, July 1480 Greenwich Palace

My Dear Mother,

My joy at visiting my beloved England after twelve years is overshadowed by my anxiety and concern for Edward. Have you seen him lately? He looks truly terrible. Really ill. He laughs it off when I express my concern, but there is a lot troubling him, I can sense, as well as his obvious bodily ills. He is now very fat, and any exertion makes him breathless. He never has his hand away from the wine goblet. Yesterday afternoon, I noted him filling it ten times! That is not good. His face has an unhealthy, pasty colour, and at board, he eats far too much—though he assures me that he has cut out certain foods now, especially highly spiced ones, on Dr Hobbes’s orders, as his digestion is not what it was and they disagree with him. He has no energy at all, it seems, hardly takes any exercise—when before, as you know, he was forever out in the open air hunting or hawking—and was an excellent and enthusiastic tennis player! Now he just lolls around and hardly leaves the palace unless he has to, though I have persuaded him to take some short walks in the lovely palace gardens here with me each day. It is his favourite palace, after all, but he seems to have very little interest in it any more.

He admits to me that his mind is troubled too. I am not surprised. He says it is worry over the Scots troubles, which Richard has to go up north to take charge of. Edward has appointed him Lieutenant of the North. Edward keeps bewailing the fact that he is not sure he will be able to take charge himself and lead his soldiers into battle. He is patently unfit and he knows it! I believe he should do more to improve his health, but I see little evidence of effort on his part, as he seems depressed.

When we were alone, I asked him outright what depressed him so. He has a happy marriage with a woman he loves well—though I must admit I do not like her—she is too abrasive in manner, too arrogant, and can have a vicious tongue. He has many lovely children whom he loves dearly—and who love him. What could be troubling him so—apart from his health?

But he is evasive and flippant and laughs off my concern. He will not confide to me what is really troubling him inwardly. But I have a good idea what it is. When I mentioned George, his face blanched whiter than ever, and he turned his head away. He will not discuss his reasons for having him executed with me—says it will upset me more, as he knows I was so close to George and I still mourn him deeply. And I think Edward does too, though he will not admit it. He just said, ‘It was necessary at the time, what I did. I had to do it. There was no other way.’ And that is all I get out of him. Do you know any more about the reasons he took this ultimate, terrible decision? I know you loved George dearly too—he was the apple of your eye, in spite of his many failings.

I hear from Edward that you are thinking of entering the contemplative life and going into a nunnery.

Why, Mother, why ever should you do that? Isn’t your present life of strict piety enough? It can’t be George’s sad end only, I believe. Terrible things have happened to you in life; you have been through many ordeals and lost many relatives and other people whom you loved. Does it all prey on your mind now? I feel you have been too much alone at Fotheringhay and must have dwelt on these things overmuch already. What you need is more company, not less. I am convinced of that! Still, you must have good reasons and I would dearly like to know them. I realise you would never come to court for company, as you hate the obvious licentiousness of the place. There are others who do too. Richard and Anne, his wife, have admitted they cannot wait to get out again whenever they come to court. They bemoan the fact that Edward has deteriorated, not only bodily, but in character—and put it all down to the pernicious influence of the Woodvilles—particularly the queen.

Edward was such a strong man, both in character, personality, and in body. It is sad to see what he has become. How are the mighty fallen! I still love him, I admit, almost against my will. At first, I hated him when I heard what he had done to George, but the hate all melted away when I met him again. One thing he has not lost, and that is his charm—the power to make people like him and side with him! I wish that you and he were not still estranged over the death of George. Please try to forgive him, Mother. He is contrite to a degree over it—I can see this. That does not excuse what he did, whatever his reasons, but he and Richard are your only living sons now and you should try to make your peace with him, I feel. I do not forgive him and never will in my heart, but I can still bear love to him as my brother.

It makes me sad that I am only here in England on a short visit and must return to Burgundy as soon as may be. So I will not have time to come up to Northamptonshire to visit you. Please forgive me for this. If you were at Baynard’s Castle, it would have been easy for us to meet while I am in England.

Please write to me soon. I look forward to hearing from you.

Your loving daughter,

Margaret,

Dowager Duchess of Burgundy

Woking Old Hall, Surrey, Late November 1481

My Dear Henry,

I am sorry I have not written to you for a time. I expect you wondered what had happened to my regular letters of encouragement.

Well, I now need encouragement myself, for my good husband, Henry Stafford, who has long been ailing from the serious wounds he got at Tewkesbury, which never really healed in spite of the best doctors’ help I could get for him, has finally succumbed and he sadly died a fortnight ago. I have been very busy arranging his funeral and interment, as you will understand.

I am utterly bereft, as he was a kindly and upright man and always treated me well.

I am now alone and facing a prospect I do not relish. The king, who does not trust me, understandably I suppose, is insisting on me remarrying and to Lord Stanley, a brutish, insensitive bull of a man. And one with half my intelligence, I am sure! He is one of King Edward’s chief advisers, and I know why the king wants the marriage—he hopes Stanley can keep me in check! I feel very bitter and angry, as Edward has handed over the entire management of my vast estates to Stanley also. How dare he! As if to imply that I am not perfectly capable of overseeing and managing them myself—which I have always done very efficiently. He has only to ask any of my tenants or servants for verification of this, and they will tell him what a hard taskmistress I can be! But the real reason he has done this is because he wishes to punish me for being a Lancastrian and not supporting him. It is sheer spite! He wishes to humiliate me, that is it—but I am not easily bowed. In this man’s world, I have always had to fight to get my own way and survive as a woman, in spite of being wealthy. I have learnt a lot about precisely how to do that!

I believe the king has also instructed Stanley to do all in his power to stop me communicating with you and to forbid me to meet with any of your supporters. He is obviously convinced I am forever hatching plots against him. Maybe I am—or not—but he has no proof anyway and will not get any of my men to say a word against me. They are too loyal—and paid too well—not to keep silence on what I do and say!

Do not worry. Even if the usual avenues of communication are cut off by the king’s efforts, I will find other ways to get letters to you—and to your Uncle Jasper—who now has a large number of your supporters gathered in Brittany ready to follow him if any chance comes to further your cause. There are also many secret supporters of yours here, in England and in Wales. I am often in communication with their leaders, who keep themselves in readiness for an uprising, when the time comes.

And I feel the time is fast approaching which I have always assured you of! The king is in poor health.

The news spread like wildfire that he had to give up his idea of leading his armies into battle against the Scots! Apparently, he managed to travel as far as Nottingham to join Duke Richard in October, after several months of putting off the expedition, to everyone’s puzzlement—and the great annoyance of his leaders.

But, when he arrived there, he was so exhausted and ill he had to hand over the whole command to Duke Richard and retire in humiliation back to London after a good rest! His life of excess and debauchery is no doubt catching up with him at last! He is only thirty-seven, but looks fifty. He is vastly overweight and drinks so heavily I should think he is never sober! He is on the downward slope, as far as his health is concerned.

Maybe he has a hidden mortal illness, though he is still quite young in actual years? Who knows, maybe he will die soon?

And if he does, what then, you may ask? Well, his young son Edward, Prince of Wales, who is but ten years of age, is the heir apparent. He has spent his childhood away from court at Ludlow Castle, on the Welsh borders, being brought up mainly in the care of the queen’s brother, Sir Anthony Woodville, Lord Rivers, as his mentor and guardian. He is still but a child and far too young for some years yet to be king! There would probably have to be a Protectorship. And who would be his Protector—and Protector of the Realm? That is debatable. But it would probably be between the Duke of Gloucester and the queen’s brother. She herself, even if she wanted to, could not undertake this most important position with the new young king still in his minority. She would be barred by reason of her sex. It would have to be a man. As I pointed out, somewhat bitterly before, women are not deemed capable of important tasks, particularly in administration, even if they have proved themselves—as I have—very capable! And there has to be an adult in charge of the realm. There is an old saying, ‘Woe unto the land where a child is king!’ That has happened twice already this century and was partly to blame for this endless fighting for supremacy which has gone on since. I anticipate a great deal more strife if all this happens.

I know I am speculating, perhaps far into the future. But somehow I feel it will not be long before all this comes to pass!

And then the stage may be set for the Lancastrian cause to re-emerge—with you as its figurehead! Your supporters, here and in Brittany, would not be slow to see the window of opportunity.

King Edward’s shaky truce with France could also collapse at any time!
Lo
uis is in poor health too, having had two strokes recently. When he dies, the truce of 1475 will die with him—and the enormous amount of gold Edward gets every year from France! He has been tempted to aid Duke Maximilian, who married the Duchess Mary of Burgundy. The duke has been fighting a losing battle against France for Burgundy’s sovereignty and begged for Edward’s help. But I expect Edward cannot bear to risk losing all that precious gold! So he has refused help and his own sister Margaret may be in danger if Burgundy is over-run by French occupying troops—as seems likely. The king is very avaricious and obviously cares more for money than human life.

That is a common sin amongst men, I am afraid, in all walks of life!

Well, my dear son, I have given you much to think about. Ponder well my speculations on the possible near future, and write to me when you can.

Your loving mother,

Margaret, Countess of Richmond

Richard, Edinburgh Castle, 4 August 1482

My Dear Edward,

Well, here I am, occupying Edinburgh, and it has all been surprisingly easy! Considering it is their capital, I had expected a fight with the Scots to capture it.

I can hardly believe that we have more or less just walked into this city and taken it over, lock, stock, and barrel, with little or no resistance whatsoever from King James’s men!