Even as she looked at me, I could see why she hated me, as she must have hated everyone connected with the House of Warwick. Coldly she extended her hand. I knelt and took it. Her eyes assessed me, summing up every little detail of my appearance. I could feel those cold eyes attempting to pry into my mind.

"You may rise," she said at length.

I heard that when my father had first seen her she had been so determined to refuse his offer that she had kept him waiting for hours before she would receive him, and when she did she made him kneel for fifteen minutes before bidding him to rise. I could imagine how my proud father relished that. But he was a man to whom the project of the moment was of paramount importance and he would endure a great deal to succeed in his plans. How I wished they did not include me!

"Sit beside me," she commanded.

"I would speak with you." I obeyed in silence.

"Your father has told you of the great honour which awaits you."

"He has told me I am to be married, your grace." To the Prince of Wales," she said.

"You will be presented to him shortly. Your father and I have agreed to this marriage. You are indeed fortunate. I trust that we shall soon be back in England, in our rightful place. In the meantime you are to be betrothed. I have told your father that there will be no marriage until the kingdom is in King Henry's hands."

That was the best news I could have, and I hoped it took a long time, and my hopes that it would were high. Edward was not going to relinquish it easily. Richard would be beside him to hold it with him. Indeed, even with all my father's power, it was going to be a hard task to wrest the crown from Edward. And I was not to enter into this odious marriage until they did!

She clapped her hands suddenly and imperiously.

"Tell the prince that I wish to see him," she said to the woman who came hurrying to her.

My heart was beating fast. She did not like me. She hated this marriage. She was accepting it under duress because it was the price my father demanded for helping her husband to regain his crown and she would suppress her dislike of anything connected with Warwick to realise her greatest ambition. As for my father, he wanted revenge on Edward; he wanted to set up his own puppet. But how would he fare with such a woman as this? And, of course, he wanted to see his daughter on the throne, so I was to be used to bring about his desires. I must marry this prince whom I had never seen. I must provide heirs to the throne that my father might be satisfied and the future kings of England would have Warwick blood in their veins. I had never felt so humiliated. I was just a creature to be used to satisfy their ambitions. It was a sordid bargain, and I was at the centre of it.

He stood before me my future husband. He was of medium height and tolerably good-looking; his chin was weak and there was a slackness about his lips and a glint in his eyes as he studied me. I did not like his manner.

I suddenly realised that I was comparing him with Richard; and I faced the truth then that, up to this time, I had -cherished the thought that marriage with Richard was feasible. The brother of the king and Warwick's daughter. Yes, it could have been a possibility. Was I not as Isabel had reminded me one of the richest heiresses in the country?

I was afraid of this man. I tried to remember what I had heard of him and could not recall. Few people had talked of him; they had believed that his mother had left the country for ever. Edward of York appeared to be firmly on the throne and had heirs to follow him so why should people be interested in Henry's son?

"The Lady Anne Neville," said Queen Margaret.

"Lady Anne, the Prince of Wales."

He took my hand and I wondered if he were aware that I cringed. Perhaps he was, for he looked faintly amused.

I wanted to shout: I cannot marry you. I will not. There was a hint of derision, even of cruelty in his smile. I knew that I had been a fool to show my fear.

Angers is a beautiful city situated on the left bank of the River Maine just before it joins the Loire, but to me it will always be one of the places I most wish to forget.

My mother might try to soothe me with assurances that the ceremony which was about to be performed was not in itself a marriage. Queen Margaret herself had insisted that that should not be performed until her husband was firmly -on the throne of England. I kept reminding myself of that. On the other hand, betrothal was binding and was in some respects tantamount to a marriage.

The massive moated castle, with its seventeen towers, was like a prison to me. How often I thought of Middleham during those dark days! Oh, to be there ... to be young again ... getting to know Richard ... forming that friendship which, as far as I was concerned, would last through life!

But what was the use of dreaming of Middleham? I was at Angers where I was to be the sacrificial lamb offered to my father's ambitions.

And there I was at the altar. All present were required to swear on the relic of the True Cross to be faithful for ever to King Henry the Sixth. The betrothal ceremony followed and all the time I was thinking: I shall never be happy again.

When it was over, I was to be in the care of my future mother-in-law until that time when I should be truly married. I was glad there were those two events which must take place before that could be: my father must win the crown for King Henry and there must be a dispensation from the pope. I prayed fervently for the delay of both of them.

There were festivities to celebrate the. occasion. Let others celebrate! I could not do so.

This was not exactly marriage, I kept telling myself, though it was as binding as marriage. The difference was that there had to be a marriage service before we could live together as husband and wife. How I rejoiced in that! Perhaps, I thought, it will never come to pass. I had to tell myself that. It was my only consolation.

I was now to live with Queen Margaret. Under her protection, they said; but in truth I was a hostage. I was there to remind my father that it was his duty to restore Henry the Sixth to the throne and remove Edward whom he had put there.

Isabel had gone to my mother. How I longed to be with them! Here I was among strangers.

My father meanwhile, with the Duke of Clarence, had set out for England to keep his promise.

By the grace of the King of France, Queen Margaret was allowed to keep her little court at Amboise where I should be until the marriage. I had said goodbye to my mother and Isabel, which was a terrible wrench for us all, but everything had been arranged and agreed by my father who was now with Clarence making his way to the coast in preparation for the onslaught on England.

I had never felt so lost and alone. Everything familiar was gone and in place of my gentle mother who loved me was this fierce woman who, in spite of her truce with my father, hated everything connected with him.

Amboise is beautiful perhaps one of the most beautiful small towns of France and the chateau is one of the country's most impressive. I shuddered as we approached. To me it looked like a fortress standing on its rocky eminence. It must have held many prisoners and I wondered how many of them had lain forgotten for ever in its gloomy oubliettes. The feelings of those prisoners as they entered that place must have been similar to my own. It was an ancient place. I remembered hearing that Julius Caesar had been here and had made the caves famous because he had used them to store grain, and ever after they were called Caesar's granaries. When one is on the brink of disaster such inconsequential thoughts will come into the mind.

The grey walls, green with moss, looked impregnable, and as we went under the arch towards the castellated walls, a terrible feeling of dread came over me.

The days that followed were some of the most unhappy in my life. More were to come as I grew older, but then I was prepared for evil; and had grown a protective shell of stoicism. At that stage I suppose life had been too easy for me ... until that terrible day when we had taken ship to France. Always my mother and Isabel had been with me. Now I was parted from them, to be in hostile company a hostage while my father redeemed his promise.

When I heard that the Prince of Wales was not leaving for England I was dismayed, but relieved when I discovered that he was not living with his mother. He was going on a mission, with Louis' blessing, to raise men for the armies which would be needed to defeat Edward. I had thought at first that I would have to endure his presence and that had alarmed me. It was amazing what pleasure even the smallest relief could give me.

I tried to find out all I could about this man who was to be my husband. It was not easy, for the queen's attendants regarded me with the same suspicion as Margaret did. They were very much in awe of her, which did not surprise me.

There was one thing I heard about him which filled me with apprehension, and made me feel that I had summed up his character correctly.

"The prince is a real warrior," I was told by one of the women who could not resist the opportunity to tell me.

"It was after the battle of St. Albans. Two of the enemy were captured ... both men of high rank. They were brought before the queen because the king was too feeble at that time to take his place. So there were these two ... proud gentlemen ... Yorkists who had been fighting against the king and queen. It was his mother's wish that the prince should be with her in place of the king at such times, and she turned to him and said: "What shall be their sentence?" The prince was only eight years old, but his mother thought he would have to grow up quickly and he did not disappoint her.

"They must be sentenced to death," he said.

"By what means?" the queen asked him. And what do you think the prince said?"

"I do not know. Tell me."

"He cried, "Cut off their heads!" There! And him only eight. His mother said that, as he had passed sentence, he must watch it carried out."

"And... did he?"

That he did, my lady. He sat there clasping his hands and smiling as the blood spurted out."

I shuddered. And this was the man they had chosen to be my husband!

Looking back, I do not know how I managed to live through those days. I dreamed of the wildest means of escape running away, joining gypsies, casting aside everything I had ever known ... anything to be free. I was terrified of this marriage. I waited in trepidation each day for the return of the Prince of Wales and for news of what was happening in England. My father would land: he had been well supported by the King of France; he had men and money. Could he overcome Edward? And when he did? I should be married then in very truth to this young man who, in my mind, was fast becoming a monster.

I could not bear it. I felt frustrated and so vulnerable. If only I could have talked to Isabel... explained to my mother ... pleaded with my father.

But in my heart I knew that none of these could avail me in any way... except give a grain of comfort to share my fears and sorrow. I was doomed.

I found a secluded corner in the grounds where no one went very much. A seat was cut into the thick stone of the castle. Overgrown shrubs surrounded it. I could be almost sure of a little solitude there and went there often to brood and ask myself if there was anything I could possibly do to avoid my fate.

I was sitting there one afternoon, and the hopelessness of my position swept over me afresh. My father could not fail to succeed. Very soon would come the news of his victory; then this sad frustrated life would change ... to something worse.

I could not bear it. The desperation of my plight swept over me and I began to weep silently. I sat very still and allowed the tears to trickle down my cheeks.

Then suddenly I heard a rustle in the bushes and, to my horror, I saw the queen approaching. She stood for a moment glaring at me.

"Why do you weep?" she asked.

I could not answer. I could only cover my face with my hands while the sobs shook my body.

There was silence. I guessed how she would despise me. She would be asking herself: what is this bride we have to take for my son? What sort of queen will she be? What sort of mother for the heirs of England?

In that moment I did not care what she thought. I just sat there, holding my hands to my face, finding some small comfort in giving vent to my grief.