Rather unexpectedly Warwick had decided not to offer any reprimand and long lecture on the harm that had been done. That was wise of Warwick. Edward would have been ready for him and Warwick would have learned once and for all that the King was no longer his to command. Warwick stayed silent, and when presented to Elizabeth showed all the respect that Edward, or even Elizabeth, could have asked.

Warwick had given his anger time to simmer down and it was no longer at boiling point and therefore dangerous. It was there, as deep and strong as ever, but under control. He could see what had happened and blamed himself for not realising it was coming. Edward was on the point of breaking away and would do so on this delicate matter of his marriage. The weakening chain must be repaired quickly and an appropriate moment chosen to slip on the leading-reins.

In the meantime he would show Edward that he accepted Elizabeth as Queen and would do his best to repair any damage that had been done to relations with France. He would try not to show how bitterly he resented having been made to look foolish in the eyes of the King of France who by this clandestine marriage had proved that he, Warwick, was not in the King’s confidence.

‘I made him. I put him on the throne. He would be nothing without me.’ So he had ranted to his Countess.

To Edward he smiled affably and discussed the arrangements for the Queen’s coronation.

First Edward wanted to present her to the nobles of the land and he would do that in Reading Abbey.

‘It is meet and fitting,’ he said, ‘that Clarence should lead her in. As heir presumptive to the throne it is his place to do that.’

Edward was smiling complacently. He was certain that soon there would be an heir to push Clarence aside. Both he and Elizabeth had proved – as he had told his mother – that they were not likely to be barren.

Warwick smiled grimly to himself. He could imagine Clarence’s feelings. That boy had ambitions. He had half hoped that Edward would never marry and then his own great ambition would be realised.

Not you, thought Warwick. I would prefer Richard – a good serious boy, loyal to his brother. I could mould him. But Clarence ... no, too vain. Too much superficial charm that is soon shown to be worthless. Clarence is no good. But that woman and Edward will have a brood of children I doubt not, for Edward will go to the making of them with an enthusiasm he has for little else. So Clarence was to lead her in. His mother was furious, but he had to do it. He had to obey the King rather than his mother. It was an amusing situation. They’ll not endure it, he thought. Warwick is seething. So are some of the others. They are setting up together against the Woodvilles already.

And here was the Queen. There was no doubt of her beauty. It was breath-taking. She was the sort of woman who was naturally regal. She was tall and therefore looked well beside Edward. He dwarfed most women. Her glorious hair fell about her shoulders and down to her knees and on her head was a crown of gems the points of which were formed in the shape of fleur-de-lys. She held her head high but her heavy lids were drawn down over her eyes and she looked at no one. Her gown was of blue, that colour which suited her above all others, and it was decorated with stripes of gold brocade; the sleeves were tight and the bodice close-fitting; and there was an ermine border about the skirt. Her shoes were very pointed and she picked her way daintily but with sure-footed resolution towards the nobles who were waiting to do homage to her.

Everyone’s eyes were on Warwick. He knelt before her. He took her hand and kissed it.

Clarence was disappointed. He was hoping for trouble.

Warwick could not have behaved more agreeably if the bride had been of his choice. No one would guess from his attitude how deeply the resentment was smouldering within him.


Just over a year after the secret marriage Elizabeth was crowned in Westminster Abbey.

It was Whitsunday and Elizabeth had been staying at Eltham Palace. Edward was keeping Court at the Palace of the Tower where he awaited the arrival of the Queen. As she came into London the mayor and the city leaders in all their colourful uniforms met her at Shooters Hill in order to form part of the procession which conducted her through Southwark to the Tower.

Edward was so proud of her, and he was delighted, too, that Warwick had after the first shock accepted her. If it occurred to him that Warwick might not be quite so reconciled as he appeared to be, Edward dismissed the thought. He hated trouble and all through his life he had pretended it did not exist, until the last minute when it had to be faced. Then he faced it with a nonchalance which was characteristic of him. He believed he could overcome every difficulty with his charm and grace – and often he did.

Elizabeth was carried from the Tower to the Abbey in her litter and the Londoners came out to marvel at her beauty and to look at the King whom they so much admired; and they thought the marriage was so romantic and just what they would have expected of their handsome King.

Edward was delighted that the Count of St Pol, the brother of Jacquetta, had accepted the invitation to attend the coronation because he gave a certain standing to the bride and reminded the people that although her father was a humble knight, her mother came from the noble House of Luxembourg. As for the Count who had vowed he never wanted to see his sister again, he was completely reconciled; his sister’s daughter having become Queen of England completely expiated her sin in marrying beneath her.

And after the coronation there was the grand banquet in Westminster Hall where the King sat beside his Queen and showed by his demeanour his immense satisfaction with the proceedings.

Jacquetta looked on with the utmost satisfaction. Who would have believed she could have brought Elizabeth to this?

It was wonderful. Already her daughter was bringing good fortune to the family. She and Elizabeth discussed at length the grand marriages there should be for the members of the family. There, close to the King, sat her daughter Catherine, now the Duchess of Buckingham, elevated through her marriage to the Duke into one of the richest and most important families in the land. So should it be for the others.

Very soon the Woodvilles should be the leading family in the country, outdoing even the Nevilles.

Perhaps the most satisfied woman in the country that day, apart from the bride, was the bride’s mother. It was a very different case with the bridegroom’s mother.

She had refused to attend the ceremony. She, Proud Cis, who at Fotheringay when her husband had been Protector of the Land had lived in the state of a Queen, with a receiving room where she gave audiences and where she had enforced royal etiquette on all those who came into contact with her – must now stand by and watch the low-born daughter of a chamberlain’s son take precedence over her!

No, Proud Cis would not accept Elizabeth Woodville as Queen.


Edward, however, was delighted with life. He was still in love with Elizabeth. There had already been minor infidelities it was true but they did not seem to matter. Elizabeth never asked about them. He wondered if she heard rumours for he had been rather indiscreet with a certain lady of the Court. Their affair had lasted a week before he was longing for the cool, aloof charms of Elizabeth.

He had discovered that he did not want his relationship with his Queen impaired in any way and he had suffered a qualm or so of uneasiness; but if she knew, and he thought she might, for those cool hooded eyes missed little, she gave no sign. When he muttered some excuses about his absences, she waved them aside.

‘I know full well that you will always have matters which take you from my side. I never forget that you are the King.’

He loved her more than ever. No reproaches! She just gave him cool calm understanding.

Her mother was often with her. He liked Jacquetta. There had always been a special friendship between them since she had been so helpful at the time of the marriage. People might say that it was her witchcraft which had made him so determined to get Elizabeth that he married her. He didn’t care. If witches were like Jacquetta then he could do with them in the kingdom.

There was good news of Henry the King who had been captured in the North. He had been in hiding for some time, living in fear of capture, resting at times in monasteries so Edward had heard. A life which Henry must have found most suitable. Warwick had met him when he was brought to London by his captors and so that all should realise the depth to which he had sunk they had bound his legs under his horse with leather thongs while he was conducted to the Tower. There he was handed to his keeper.

Edward rejoiced, not only that Henry was his captive but because Warwick’s actions showed that he was still the same strong and firm supporter of the Yorkist King.

They would all be relieved, of course, if Henry died, but they must not hurry him to death or he would become a martyr. Henry was perfect martyr material with all that piety. In the North some of them believed he was actually a saint. Moreover if he were to die there was still his son.

‘Let matters rest as they are,’ Warwick had said, and he added, looking steadily at Edward: ‘They have a way of working out for what is right.’

Warwick’s mind was busy. He had stepped back into his role of chief adviser; he had made a pretence of accepting the Queen. But in truth he hated the Queen. Not because in marrying her Edward had humiliated him in a manner such a proud nobleman would never accept, but he could see that the Woodville family would become more and more important with every passing year. The leading family was the Nevilles –made so by him. And why should it not be so? Who had put the King on the throne? Should not the Kingmaker gather a little for his own family?

And if they were going to be ousted by the upstart Woodvilles this could not be tolerated.

Elizabeth and that diabolical mother of hers were putting their heads together and enriching and empowering their family by the old well tried method – which was the best in any case – of marrying into the greatest families. And they were doing very well.

Anthony was already married to the daughter of Lord Scales and had that title. Anne Woodville had become Lady Essex having married the Earl; Catherine had married the Duke of Buckingham; Mary was the wife of the Earl of Pembroke; Eleanor was married to Lord Grey of Ruthin, Earl of Kent, and the youngest, Martha, was the wife of Sir John Bromley.

Warwick seethed with rage when he thought of Elizabeth’s efforts so far. Those were the Queen’s sisters, already exerting a Woodville influence in the greatest and most powerful families in the country.

This is something I will not tolerate, he thought. It is a decided threat to the Nevilles. We are the leading family. I have upheld and made the King. I will not be supplanted by these upstarts. Not only will they ruin the country, but they will ruin me.

Moreover the Queen had brothers.

Elizabeth was at this time considering her brothers. She was delighted with her sisters’ marriages. Her mother was right. That meeting under the great oak had been inspired. From that all their blessings had begun to flow.

She was at this time concerned about her brother John who was now nineteen years old. She wanted the best possible for him. The girls had all married well but the boys were even more important.

When Jacquetta made the suggestion to her Elizabeth could scarcely believe it for the suggested bride was the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk. True she was one of the richest women in the country, but she was almost eighty. Jacquetta, however, was serious.

When Elizabeth broached the subject to Edward he burst into laughter. He thought it was a joke. But Elizabeth was not given to joking on sacred matters.

‘I really mean it,’ she said. ‘John will take care of the old Duchess’s estates.’

‘Oh he’ll take good care of them, I doubt not,’ said Edward.

‘Edward, my brother should be married. Please grant me this. I want it to be.’

He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed the heavy lids. He had still not discovered what this extraordinary power she had over him really meant. Perhaps he loved her; it was strange, for he had played at love so many times, but again that might be why he was bewildered by the real thing when he encountered it. In any case he was fiercely glad that he had married her. And if she wanted the old lady of Norfolk for her brother, she should have her.