"Naturally he would. He is a good father."

"He will see that they are brought up as befits their birth," I said, "and that they are well provided for."

She nodded.

"Yes, I am glad they are here. I thought I should resent them, but I find I do not. I see them as what they are ... little children ... Richard's children and responsibility, and that makes them mine. But there is one thing ..." I said and she looked at me expectantly.

Tell me, Anne." she said.

"When I look at them, I think that Edward looks a little frail."

"He is young yet."

"I think those two were lusty from birth. They have so much energy. John jumps all the time as though he finds it difficult to stand still, and Katharine seems to be constantly repressing her high spirits. They make Edward seem delicate."

"He is young. He will grow out of it."

"Oh yes, of course." I said, allowing fears to be set aside.

"He will."

The expected summons had come and Richard, with his men at arms and archers, set forth on the march south. I stood with the children, watching him go, feeling sad and full of fear. There is a great drawback about being happy and contented with life, for a person like myself lives in constant fear of losing that blissful state. But so must every loving wife feel when she sees her husband leaving for the wars.

I felt a burning anger. It was unnecessary. It was not as though we were being attacked. I thought of all those men going into battle to bring suffering and misery to people who had done them no harm whom they did not even know.

Those were long and anxious days which followed. We were waiting all the time for news, both longing for and dreading it. Those hot days of June were hard to live through.

"What is happening in France?" was the often unspoken question on everyone's lips.

The months passed. June. July. August.

I remember that September well. We had heard only fragments of news. We had one or two visitors at the castle and though they had not been able to tell us much news, we did gather that there had been no fighting in France, that King Edward and Louis had been in conference together and we should soon have news of the Treaty of Picquigny.

I was immensely relieved. But what did it mean? Edward had sailed with his magnificent army, accompanied by his brothers and their followers to join forces with the Duke of Burgundy against Louis. And there had been no fighting!

The tension was lifted a little. I felt I could wait for Richard to return.

It was September when he came. He was quiet, brooding ... and I knew that he was disturbed.

He told me about it, how the king had acted in an unprecedented manner. It was the first time I had known him critical of his brother. Of course, he had disapproved of Edward's way of living, his insatiable sexual appetite, his marriage which had caused such disasters, but previously he had always hastened to his defence. Now he was indeed dismayed and disillusioned.

"We went to France," he said.

"We had the finest English army ever taken to those shores. Henry the Fifth would have been proud of it."

"Yet there was no fighting?"

"My sister Margaret of Burgundy met us. She gave us a welcome. Alas, if only we could have relied on her husband. He is not called Charles the Rash for nothing. He was not prepared. He had marched off some time before to besiege a city against which he had a grievance, and so lost most of the forces he had on this senseless exercise. Not that that need have deterred us completely. We had this magnificent army."

"So it was decided not to fight the French?"

"Louis is sly and very clever. He knew full well that he could not stand against us. His real enemy, of course, is Burgundy. What he did suggest was a meeting between himself and Edward; and when this took place he offered Edward terms for peace which my brother could not refuse."

"But that is wonderful! It has stopped the war."

"Anne, those men were brought out to fight. They had been promised the spoils of war. They had left their homes, their work, their families, to fight for the king, to bring glory to England. This contrived peace, these bribes from Louis would bring them no benefits. They would go home empty-handed."

"But sound and well in body."

"They were looking for adventure and gain. Don't you see? That had been promised them. They had been taken from their homes merely to give a show of might to Louis."

"But there is peace!"

"Burgundy is incensed."

"Well, he was not ready for war, was he?"

"But don't you see? Edward has become friendly with his old enemy, the King of France."

"And stopped a war."

"I believe this was what Edward had in mind all the time. He did not tell me."

"Would you expect him to?"

Richard looked at me steadily and said: "Yes." And then I saw the pain in his eyes, the humiliation, and what was hurting him most was to be at odds with his brother.

"Tell me about the treaty," I said.

"It is to be a truce between the kings for seven years."

"Seven years!" I cried.

"Without a war!"

Trade comes into it. There is to be an abolition of tolls and tariffs charged on goods passing from either country, and that is to be for twelve years. And there are two clauses which mean most to Edward. His eldest daughter, Elizabeth, is to marry Charles the Dauphin; and if Elizabeth should die before the marriage, her sister Mary will take her place. But what delights my brother most is that Louis is to pay him a pension of 50,000 gold crowns each year. The first instalment has already been received by him."

"Then surely," I said, "he has achieved much with his magnificent army?"

The army went over to fight and the men are disgruntled. They are murmuring among themselves. What gain is it to them if the king gets his pensions and his daughter is to marry the Dauphin of France?"

"It is peace," I insisted.

"Many of the nobles were against it. Louis invited those whom he considered important enough to his chateau He entertained them lavishly and gave them bribes until he had most of them on his side. Louis is shrewd. He is wily. He knew that he could offer a great deal and still it would not amount to what he would have lost by fighting against an army such as Edward had managed to put in the field." He laughed bitterly.

"He was concerned about me. He knew that I deplored the whole matter. He asked me to dine with him. His flattery was sickening. What do you think he offered me? Not money. That would be too blatant... too undignified to one in my position. He offered me some fine plate and horses. I declined them. I said to him quite frankly that no amount of plate or fine horses would make me a party to this treaty."

"And what said Louis to that?"

"Louis is all suave politeness. He looked a little sad, but put on an air of understanding and implied that our differences of opinion made no difference to our friendship."

"Which is true, of course."

"He will hate me for ever."

"Oh, Richard, I am so sorry about this, but I cannot but rejoice to have you with me."

He said he, too, was glad to be home, but he wished it had been from a more honourable venture.

He stayed at Middleham for some time after that. I wondered whether Edward would do something to bring their relationship back to the old footing. But there was no summons and I wondered how deep was the rift between the two brothers.

While he was with Louis, Edward must have made a bargain with him regarding Queen Margaret, for shortly afterwards she was allowed to return to France. I heard later that her father gave the Chateau de Reaitee as her home. It was near Angers, that place where I had been betrothed to her son. Poor Margaret! I was sure she would pass her days in utter melancholy.

The king, his magnificent army intact, returned to England. He must have been feeling very pleased with himself. As far as I was concerned, I thought he had managed a very clever stroke of statesmanship, to have brought about peace without fighting, as well as making arrangements for trading and having acquired a pension.

But there were many who did not see it as I did Richard for one.

But during the next months he seemed to forget his disappointment.

The northern marches claimed his attention and that was where his heart was. He was happy to be away from the court; he loved to ride with the children and to watch our little one grow. There were times when he was called away to various parts of the northern territories, but he was never away for long and when he returned there were always happy reunions.

I was glad of my mother's company. We often spoke of our regret that Isabel was so far away. She wrote to us from time to time, as we did to her, and we would anxiously await news of little Margaret and Edward.

We heard that she was once more pregnant. I felt envious. I yearned to have another child. I continued to worry about my Edward's health, particularly as his half-brother and -sister seemed to grow every day. Edward was so small and thin; he tired far more easily than John who with his sister made such a healthy pair that they continually drew my attention to Edward's frailty.

Isabel wrote that she had not been well. That irritating cough had come back, as it did periodically. Perhaps she would be better when the baby was born. George was eager to have another boy, but to her it was of little importance: all she wanted was a healthy child.

"The queen has been most gracious," she wrote.

"She seems determined to be friendly. She has sent Ankarette Twynyho back to me. She said that Ankarette was so good with children and for ladies in my condition, so she would thank me for lending her and would send her back to be with me at such a time. I am pleased to have Ankarette with me. She is full of gossip and regales me with talk of the court and Madam Elizabeth herself who, it seems, is more regal than the king ever was. Ankarette says the Woodvilles run the court and the queen is always seeking higher and higher places even for the most insignificant members of her clan."

My mother said: "The queen is very clever. Any woman who has managed to keep Edward all these years must be. I know how she does it, of course. It is by closing her eyes to his many amours. I do not think I could have done that if I had been in her place and I thank God I was never called upon to do it in mine. I was lucky in my marriage."

"My father was lucky, too. Where would he have been without you?"

"Your father would have been a great man. It just happened that the wealth and titles I brought to him helped him to get what he wanted a little earlier."

"And brought him to his end," I said sadly.

"Yes, that is true. But most men of influence end up either on the battlefield or the block."

"Would it not be better to have no influence and die peacefully in bed after having lived a long life?"

"I feel sure they would not agree with you, Anne. And what a morbid subject! Do you think we should make some garments for Isabel's baby? I should like to try that new embroidery stitch I learned the other day."

So we stitched and we talked and we often spoke of Isabel.

We were stunned when the news came. I helped my mother to her bed. I had never seen her so stricken.

Isabel was dead. She had died after her little boy was born and he soon followed his mother to the grave.

I could not believe it. Isabel ... dead! There were so many memories of her. She had been so much a part of my childhood. She was too young to die.

My mother wept in silence at night. By day she was withdrawn. I had never seen a face so sad as hers.

As for myself, I was equally desolate. It was inconceivable. Never to see Isabel again! Never to receive a letter from her.

I thought of those little ones: Margaret and Edward. Poor motherless children. And George? He had loved her, I believe, in his way, although I could not believe he would ever love anyone but himself, I

had never heard that he was unfaithful. At least he was not like the king in that respect.

How hard it was to believe that Isabel was dead, and for a long time afterwards I would find myself thinking: I will write and tell Isabel that.

Death was in the air. Isabel had died in December just before Christmas a sad time to die and in January there was another death.