BARNARD CASTLE, COUNTY DURHAM, AUTUMN 1465

WARWICK CASTLE, SPRING 1468

CALAIS CASTLE, 11 JULY 1469

CALAIS CASTLE, 12 JULY 1469

CALAIS CASTLE, SUMMER 1469

ENGLAND, AUTUMN 1469

WESTMINSTER PALACE, LONDON, CHRISTMAS 1469–70

WESTMINSTER PALACE, LONDON, JANUARY 1470

WARWICK CASTLE, MARCH 1470

DARTMOUTH, DEVON, APRIL 1470

THE RIVER SEINE, FRANCE, MAY 1470

ANGERS, FRANCE, JULY 1470

ANGERS CATHEDRAL, 25 JULY 1470

AMBOISE, FRANCE, WINTER 1470

PARIS, CHRISTMAS 1470

HARFLEUR, FRANCE, MARCH 1471

HARFLEUR, FRANCE, 12 APRIL 1471

CERNE ABBEY, WEYMOUTH, 15 APRIL 1471

TEWKESBURY, GLOUCESTERSHIRE, 4 MAY 1471

WORCESTER, MAY 1471

THE TOWER OF LONDON, 21 MAY 1471

L’ERBER, LONDON, AUTUMN 1471

WESTMINSTER PALACE, LONDON, CHRISTMAS 1471

L’ERBER, LONDON, FEBRUARY 1472

ST MARTIN’S, LONDON, FEBRUARY 1472

ST MARTIN’S, LONDON, APRIL 1472

ST MARTIN’S, LONDON, MAY 1472

LAMBETH PALACE, LONDON, SUMMER 1472

WINDSOR CASTLE, SEPTEMBER 1472

FOTHERINGHAY CASTLE, NORTHAMPTONSHIRE, AUTUMN 1472

WINDSOR CASTLE, CHRISTMAS 1472

MIDDLEHAM CASTLE, YORKSHIRE, SPRING 1473

MIDDLEHAM CASTLE, YORKSHIRE, JUNE 1473

FARLEIGH HUNGERFORD CASTLE, SOMERSET, 14 AUGUST 1473

BAYNARD’S CASTLE, LONDON, SUMMER 1473

MIDDLEHAM CASTLE, YORKSHIRE, JULY 1474

MIDDLEHAM CASTLE, YORKSHIRE, SPRING 1475

LONDON, SUMMER 1475

BAYNARD’S CASTLE, LONDON, SEPTEMBER 1475

MIDDLEHAM CASTLE, YORKSHIRE, SUMMER 1476

WESTMINSTER PALACE, LONDON, AUTUMN 1476

WESTMINSTER PALACE, LONDON, CHRISTMAS DAY 1476

WESTMINSTER PALACE, LONDON, JANUARY 1477

BAYNARD’S CASTLE, LONDON, JANUARY 1477

LONDON, APRIL 1477

BAYNARD’S CASTLE, LONDON, MAY 1477

MIDDLEHAM CASTLE, YORKSHIRE, SUMMER 1477

MIDDLEHAM CASTLE, YORKSHIRE, AUTUMN 1477

WESTMINSTER PALACE, LONDON, CHRISTMAS 1477

WESTMINSTER PALACE, LONDON, JANUARY 1478

BAYNARD’S CASTLE, LONDON, FEBRUARY 1478

BAYNARD’S CASTLE, LONDON, MARCH 1478

MIDDLEHAM CASTLE, YORKSHIRE, SUMMER 1482

WESTMINSTER PALACE, LONDON, WINTER 1482–3

MIDDLEHAM CASTLE, YORKSHIRE, APRIL 1483

MIDDLEHAM CASTLE, YORKSHIRE, MAY 1483

MIDDLEHAM CASTLE, YORKSHIRE, JUNE 1483

BAYNARD’S CASTLE, LONDON, JUNE 1483

THE TOWER OF LONDON, JULY 1483

A ROYAL PROGRESS, SUMMER 1483

MIDDLEHAM CASTLE, YORKSHIRE, OCTOBER 1483

MIDDLEHAM CASTLE, YORKSHIRE, WINTER 1483

WESTMINSTER PALACE, LONDON, NOVEMBER 1483

GREENWICH PALACE, LONDON, MARCH 1484

NOTTINGHAM CASTLE, MARCH 1484

NOTTINGHAM CASTLE, SUMMER 1484

WESTMINSTER PALACE, LONDON, WINTER 1484

WESTMINSTER PALACE, LONDON, JANUARY 1485

WESTMINSTER PALACE, LONDON, MARCH 1485


THE TOWER OF LONDON, MAY 1465

She is breathtaking: the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. At once I understand why the king stopped his army at the first sight of her, and married her within weeks. She has a smile that grows slowly and then shines, like an angel’s smile. I have seen statues that would look stodgy beside her, I have seen painted Madonnas whose features would be coarse beside her pale luminous loveliness. I rise up from my curtsey to stare at her as if she were an exquisite icon; I cannot look away. Under my scrutiny her face warms, she blushes, she smiles at me, and I cannot help but beam in reply. She laughs at that, as if she finds my open adoration amusing, and then I see my mother’s furious glance and I scuttle to her side where my sister Isabel is scowling. ‘You were staring like an idiot,’ she hisses. ‘Embarrassing us all. What would Father say?’

The king steps forwards and kisses my mother warmly on both cheeks. ‘Have you heard from my dear friend, your lord?’ he asks her.

‘Working well in your service,’ she says promptly, for Father is missing tonight’s banquet and all the celebrations, as he is meeting with the King of France himself and the Duke of Burgundy, meeting with them as an equal, to make peace with these mighty men of Christendom now that the sleeping king has been defeated and we are the new rulers of England. My father is a great man; he is representing this new king and all of England.

The king, the new king – our king – does a funny mock-bow to Isabel and pats my cheek. He has known us since we were little girls too small to come to such banquets and he was a boy in our father’s keeping. Meanwhile my mother looks about her as if we were at home in Calais Castle, seeking to find fault with something the servants have done. I know that she is longing to see anything that she can report later to my father as evidence that this most beautiful queen is unfit for her position. By the sour expression on her face I guess that she has found nothing.

Nobody likes this queen; I should not admire her. It shouldn’t matter to us that she smiles warmly at Isabel and me, that she rises from her great chair to come forwards and clasp my mother’s hands. We are all determined not to like her. My father had a good marriage planned for this king, a great match with a princess of France. My father worked at this, prepared the ground, drafted the marriage contract, persuaded people who hate the French that this would be a good thing for the country, would safeguard Calais, might even get Bordeaux back into our keeping, but then Edward, the new king, the heart-stoppingly handsome and glamorous new king, our darling Edward – like a younger brother to my father and a glorious uncle to us – said as simply as if he was ordering his dinner that he was married already and nothing could be done about it. Married already? Yes, and to Her.

He did very wrong to act without my father’s advice; everyone knows that. It is the first time he has done so in the long triumphant campaign that took the House of York from shame, when they had to beg the forgiveness of the sleeping king and the bad queen, to victory and the throne of England. My father has been at Edward’s side, advising and guiding him, dictating his every move. My father has always judged what is best for him. The king, even though he is king now, is a young man who owes my father everything. He would not have his throne if it were not for my father taking up his cause, teaching him how to lead an army, fighting his battles for him. My father risked his own life, first for Edward’s father, and then for Edward himself, and then, just when the sleeping king and the bad queen had run away, and Edward was crowned king, and everything should have been wonderful forever, he went off and secretly married Her.

She is to lead us into dinner, and the ladies arrange themselves carefully behind her; there is a set order and it is extremely important that you make sure to be in the right place. I am very nearly nine years old, quite old enough to understand this, and I have been taught the orders of precedence since I was a little girl in the schoolroom. Since She is to be crowned tomorrow, she goes first. From now on she will always be first in England. She will walk in front of my mother for the rest of her life, and that’s another thing that my mother doesn’t much like. Next should come the king’s mother but she is not here. She has declared her absolute enmity to the beautiful Elizabeth Woodville, and sworn that she will not witness the coronation of a commoner. Everyone knows of this rift in the royal family and the king’s sisters fall into line without the supervision of their mother. They look quite lost without the beautiful Duchess Cecily leading the way, and the king loses his confident smile for just a moment when he sees the space where his mother should be. I don’t know how he dares to go against the duchess. She is just as terrifying as my mother, she is my father’s aunt, and nobody disobeys either of them. All I can think is that the king must be very much in love with the new queen to defy his mother. He must really, really love her.

The queen’s mother is here though; no chance that she would miss such a moment of triumph. She steps into her place with her army of sons and daughters behind her, her handsome husband, Sir Richard Woodville, at her side. He is Baron Rivers, and everyone whispers the joke that the rivers are rising. Truly, there are an unbelievable number of them. Elizabeth is the oldest daughter and behind her mother come the seven sisters and five brothers. I stare at the handsome young man John Woodville, beside his new wife, looking like a boy escorting his grandmother. He has been bundled into marriage with the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, my great-aunt Catherine Neville. This is an outrage; my father himself says so. My lady great-aunt Catherine is ancient, a priceless ruin, nearly seventy years old; few people have ever seen a living woman so old, and John Woodville is a young man of twenty. My mother says this is how it is going to be from now on: if you put the daughter of a woman little more than a witch on the throne of England you will see some dark doings. If you crown a gannet then she will gobble up everything.