Margaret’s spirits were uplifted. She had had to subdue her pride to agree to friendship with Warwick but she knew that she had to catch at anything that might help her regain the throne for her son. Warwick could do that. He was the one man in England who could. It was really a miraculous piece of good fortune that he had quarrelled with Edward. Yolande was right. She would have been a fool to let that pass just because of her stubborn pride.

And how good it was to ride in a procession again like a royal Queen. And Edward beside her. Growing up handsome, brave, a son to be proud of. Nearly eighteen years old now. Old enough to take the crown.

She had heard with some surprise that Warwick’s elder daughter Isabel had married Clarence. Clever Warwick. He had somehow won Clarence to his side and no doubt the bribe of Warwick’s vast wealth had worked with the young Duke. He was a traitor to his brother. It seemed to her the world was full of traitors.

It pointed to one factor. Events were moving. The period of stagnation was clearly coming to an end and no matter what had brought it about that was something for which she must rejoice.

The King of France rode beside her into Angers. She noticed that the people did not cheer vociferously. Louis lacked that appeal which she accepted grudgingly belonged to Edward of York. The Valois were not handsome as the Plantagenets had been. Appearances were important. She herself was still a beautiful woman in spite of the ravages of time and events. She noticed approving eyes on her dear son and that warmed her heart a little.

Louis was aware of it too for he commented on the Prince’s royal appearance.

‘A great joy to you, my lady,’ he said.

‘My only one for a long time,’ replied Margaret.

‘And what a blessing. He will soon be marrying I doubt not and then you will have your grandchildren.’

She was wary. This conversation was leading somewhere. The Spider King was not known to waste words in idle chatter.

‘I believe the young Duke of Clarence is very happy in his marriage. Warwick’s girls are beauties...moreover they are the richest heiresses in England.’

‘That may be so and I wish Clarence joy of his marriage. I’ll swear his brother does not feel the same pleasure in it as my lord Warwick appears to.’

‘Ha!’ Louis gave his short bark which was meant to be a laugh. ‘Edward has been acting with great foolishness. That is not the way to hold a crown...especially when a man has no right to it. Warwick put it on his head and Warwick will take it off when the time comes...and put it where it belongs.’

‘If justice prevails that is assuredly what will take place,’ she said.

‘And princes should marry young. The sooner they begin to produce heirs the better. Warwick has a charming young daughter. What a prize...a beautiful healthy young girl and a half share in the greatest estates in England.’

‘I cannot believe, my lord, that you suggest that the Prince of Wales should marry Warwick’s daughter.’

‘It seems to me...and to others...an admirable solution to the problem of the Prince’s marriage.’

‘My lord, it is quite out of the question.’

‘Oh surely not.’

‘I have forgiven the Earl of Warwick his treatment of me and the King. It has cost me a great deal to do that. To allow my son to marry his daughter is something I will not consider...not for one moment...’

Louis bowed his head and was silent. Indeed he was not one to waste words.

At Angers the Countess of Warwick was waiting with her young daughter. Anne Beauchamp was a pleasant creature. Poor woman, thought Margaret, married to a man like Warwick. What life had she had! But her real interest was for the girl. Comely, yes, rather delicately formed and dainty, of good manners and some beauty. If she had been the daughter of the King of France or the Duke of Burgundy instead of a mere Earl—and an old enemy at that—Margaret would have considered the girl a possible match.

There were fetes and entertainments at Angers. Warwick submitted with as much patience as he could muster. So did Margaret. The Earl had a promise of help from Louis but he did not want to move until the time was ripe. His friends were amassing forces in England; his most important scheme was to land when Edward was in the North for Warwick had arranged with his brother-in-law Lord Fitzhugh to send out rumours of a rising in the North which would take Edward up there with an army. If he could land in the South, free Henry from the Tower and set him up as King, he would have an immediate advantage; Warwick’s brother John had deliberately not joined with him for the reason that he could be more useful seeming to remain loyal to Edward, and when Edward was lured to the North John would at the right moment desert him and declare for Henry and Warwick would then be in a position to defeat Edward.

It was a clever plan and Warwick’s strategy had always been more successful than his actual physical warfare.

He needed everything to fall into place. Margaret was a stubborn woman; he wished he could do without her. When he looked back he could see that had Henry had a different Queen he might not be in the Tower today.

But Margaret would not agree to a union between Edward and Anne. Meanwhile the two young people had met and clearly liked each other. Edward said he thought she was a delightful girl, not in the least bit like her father. There was no trace of arrogance about her.

‘Nor should there be,’ snapped Margaret. ‘Who is she but the daughter of an upstart Earl who got his titles through his wife?’

‘And became so powerful that he decided who should sit on the throne of England,’ Edward reminded her.

Edward was beginning to have ideas of his own; and she could see that he liked the idea of marrying Anne Neville rather than having some foreign princess foisted on him.

René urged Margaret to agree to the marriage. She must accept the fact that Warwick was important to her. This was the best opportunity she had ever had. It was like a miracle that Warwick should have changed sides.

Yolande and her stepmother joined their voices to René’s. Perhaps if they had not so earnestly tried to persuade her she might have agreed earlier.

The King of France talked to her too. She told him that there had been a suggestion that Edward marry the daughter of Edward the Fourth. ‘Elizabeth of York is a baby about four or five years old,’ Louis reminded her. ‘She is too young, and would you marry your son to the daughter of your greatest enemy?’

‘You are asking me to do just that.’

‘So you regard Warwick as a greater enemy than the man who took the crown from your husband?’

‘It was Warwick who took it.’

‘All the more reason why you should rejoice that he has become your friend.’

She told herself that it was because her beloved son Edward liked the girl that she gave in. But it was not really that. She knew that her only hope of defeating Edward and putting Henry back on the throne was through Warwick.

So, just as she had agreed to make a pact of friendship with Warwick she now agreed that there should be a betrothal between his daughter and her son.


* * *

What intoxication to contemplate the future! Warwick was almost ready to strike. He was succeeding as he had known he would. Louis had promised him forty-six thousand crowns and two thousand French archers. Jasper Tudor had arrived in France; Jasper had never wavered in his loyalty to the Lancastrian cause and now that Warwick was with them his hopes were high. He had men whom he could trust waiting in Wales to fight for King Henry.

There were many conferences in which Warwick laid his plans before Margaret. She would never like him, of course; but she had to admire him. She often thought during those days of how differently everything might have turned out if he had been for them and not against them.

‘The Prince of Wales shall be the Regent,’ he had said. ‘For he is of an age to govern and I doubt very much that the King will be well enough to do so after such a long incarceration.’

That suited Margaret. She would be at his side. She would guide him. Oh how happy she would be to see her darling son preparing to govern his Kingdom!

Clarence would have his reward for turning against his brother. He should have all his brother’s lands. Clarence was not sure that this was enough reward. He had had his eyes on the crown. But there was time. Who knew what the outcome of this would be and there might be a few battles to be fought.

As for Margaret she should have the care of the Prince’s betrothed. She should teach Anne her ways and what would be expected of her as wife to the Prince of Wales. Margaret was delighted. She could not help but like the gentle Anne, and every day she was less against the match than she had previously been. She had made it clear that the marriage should not take place until Henry was on the throne, and to this Warwick had agreed.

Warwick left and sailed for Devonshire with Clarence, Jasper Tudor and the Earl of Oxford while Margaret settled down to wait. That was mid-September and it was not until October that the news came.

She could scarcely believe it. It had happened. She called the Prince to her; she embraced him with fervour.

‘He has done it,’ she said. ‘God be thanked, Warwick has put Henry back on the throne.’


* * *

It had all gone according to plan. Edward had foolishly allowed himself to be lured to the North to quell the rising in answer to the call for help from John Neville.

No sooner was he there when Warwick landed. John Neville then called to his men and told them that they were now going to bring back the true King. In fact his brother was already engaged in doing this. They were tired of the growing arrogance of the Woodvilles and the new nobility which the Queen was creating. All those who agreed with him could follow him south to join the armies of the great Warwick. Warwick’s name acted like magic.

‘In the morning.’ said Neville, ‘we will take the King.’

Edward had some faithful servants and one of them immediately hurried to tell him what had happened. Edward was sitting at dinner when the servant arrived and realizing his position decided that there was only one course open to him and that was flight.

‘If we stay we shall be captured...and murdered I doubt not,’ he said. ‘Warwick will know better than to try to make a captive of me. We must get away...but only for a while.’

There were some eight hundred of them including Hastings and his young brother Richard. They rode to the coast and reached Lynn where they found ships to take them to Holland.

‘Better to live to fight another day,’ said Edward. ‘I would never have believed this of Warwick.’

‘A curse on him,’ cried Richard. ‘The traitor.’

‘Nay, brother,’ said Edward. ‘He was a good friend to me. That is why I know he will be a good enemy. Our ways parted. He wanted to go on leading me and I am out of leading strings. I always liked Warwick. Methinks I always will.’


* * *

Henry blinked at the men who stood before him. He thought he recognized them from the past. Was one Archbishop George Neville and the other Bishop Waynflete?

The two men stared at him in shocked silence. His hair was unkempt, his face and hands dirty. His clothes hung on him. ‘He looked,’ said the Archbishop afterwards to his brother the Earl, ‘like a sack of wool...a shadow...and he was as mute as a crowned calf. He had no notion of why we had come. He was bemused and after a while we heard him murmuring "Forsooth and forsooth."‘

‘My lord,’ said the Archbishop, ‘we have come to take you from this place. Your loyal subject the Earl of Warwick...’

Henry looked more bewildered. There was so much explaining to do. They must take him from the Tower, wash him, clothe him in garments suited to his rank and feed him.

They brought him quietly from the Tower and took him away by barge so that none of his subjects might see the wreck he had become.

When Warwick saw him he was horrified.

‘How dared they treat a King so!’ he cried.

He had forgotten that until recently he had been one of those responsible for Henry’s captivity.

That was over now. Henry was going to be King. Edward had flown. His wife would be joining him and so would his son. He would be amazed to see the Prince—as handsome and fine an heir as ever was seen.