Jean Plaidy - The Sun in Splendour

‘And if you discover ...’

‘My dear lady, if I discover treachery I will wipe it out. There is only one price that should be asked of a traitor. His life.’

The Queen nodded.

‘I fear for the King. He is so easy-going, so blind sometimes to danger. He does not like to hear ill of those for whom he has some regard.’

‘If he were presented with the accounts of infamy ...’

‘Even then ...’

‘Well, my lady, we shall see. I am leaving for Ireland shortly and I swear to you my first duty will be to rout out the traitors.’

‘I shall look forward to hearing from you, my lord.’

‘It would not surprise me if I soon have news for you. My lady, you are alert to danger, and we say this in no disloyalty to the King but I agree that he is apt to believe the best of people. This gives his enemies the chance they need. I am speaking too boldly.’

‘My lord, you could not speak too boldly where the King’s safety is in question.’

‘Desmond is a close friend of Warwick’s and, I suspect, my lord of Warwick is not quite the good friend the King believes him to be.’

‘I, too, am watchful of Warwick.’

‘It is good to know the King has you to look to his interests.’

‘You may rest assured I shall do that. And I shall hope to hear from you before long.’

Worcester was as good as his word. He had not been long in Ireland when there was news of an action in a court at Drogheda.

A merchant was accusing Desmond of extorting money and livery and worse still of joining with the natives in a treasonable action against the English.

‘I never trusted Desmond,’ said Elizabeth.

Edward laughed. ‘My dear, he has always been my good friend. You know what these Irish are. They look for trouble and if they can’t find it, they invent it.’

‘Is that really so?’

Her eyes were downcast; she was demure again. He must not think that she disagreed with him or bore any grudge against Desmond, for if he did, he would know it was because of that unfortunate remark and, as Jacquetta and she had decided, to have shown resentment about that would have suggested fear. Edward must not think for one moment that she doubted his satisfaction with their marriage.

Walk warily, Jacquetta had said. And Elizabeth’s temperament had well equipped her to do just that.

She said no more of Desmond to Edward, but she sent warm thanks to Worcester and waited for the next step.

It was not long before it came. Desmond had been tried on the charges brought against him at Drogheda and they had been proved to be true; he was therefore sentenced to death by the court. All they needed was the King’s sanction to his execution.

Edward was in a dilemma. Warwick had taught him that he must have no scruples when dealing with traitors. They must be ruthlessly destroyed. Hadn’t the battle cry always been: ‘Go for the leaders. Leave the common soldiers.’ It was the leaders who made trouble, the leaders who were to be feared. And now Desmond. He couldn’t believe it, but according to Worcester’s report Desmond had tried to rouse the Irish against English rule there and that was a direct attack on the King.

But Desmond had always been his friend. He liked Desmond. Had he been overfriendly with the Irish? He was Irish himself! But had he conspired with them? Even if he had Edward would find it hard to put his seal on the death warrant.

It was typical of Edward that he shelved the matter. He put the order out of sight and forgot about it. They could not execute Desmond without his seal and if he did nothing the matter might blow over. Then he could perhaps recall Desmond and sift the matter himself. In due course Desmond could settle on his estates and Worcester could take care of Ireland.

It might be true that Desmond was a traitor. Men did turn for the sake of gain. But it was hard to think of Desmond doing that and in any case, he could forget it. Ireland was far away.

Elizabeth had said nothing of Desmond. But she knew where the death warrant was. She also knew that all it needed was the King’s seal.

Edward had other matters with which to occupy himself for he was deeply shocked when he heard that Warwick had suggested to Clarence that he marry his eldest daughter Isabel.

This was one of the matters which he did discuss with Elizabeth.

‘What does Warwick mean, think you?’ he asked.

‘It means that my lord Warwick is an ambitious man,’ said Elizabeth.

‘That, my dear, is no news. I never knew any man with more ambition. Why have I not been consulted? What does it mean?’

‘That Warwick believes himself to be too high and mighty for consultation with the King to be necessary.’

‘By God, there shall be no marriage. I want Clarence to strengthen the Burgundy alliance. I want this match between my sister Margaret and Burgundy’s heir to go forward and I thought Clarence could have the Count’s daughter Mary.’

‘Of course she is only a child.’

‘Clarence is not old. He can wait, I daresay. But Clarence and Isabel Neville ... never! For one thing they are second cousins. They need a dispensation from the Pope. I’ll see they don’t get that.’

Edward was so incensed that he completely forgot the case of Lord Desmond.

But Elizabeth had not forgotten. She had promised herself revenge for that remark of his and she would not be content until his head was parted from his body.

She awoke one morning early. The King lay beside her sleeping. She looked at him critically. He had lost a little of those outstanding good looks he had had when she had first met him. There were slight pouches under the fine eyes and a tendency to corpulence. She shrugged her shoulders. He was still a handsome man but his looks were not important as long as he retained his power and she must keep her hold on him.

She slipped off the bed. On a small table lay the King’s ornaments which he had put there the previous night before disrobing.

She went to it and immediately found what she wanted: his signet ring.

His papers were in an adjoining chamber and she had made sure that the one she wanted was among them.

It was all done in a few moments.

She had sealed the death warrant.

She hid it in a drawer and went back to the bed.

The King was still sleeping. She lay there watching him. Then she moved closer to him and he put out an arm and held her close to him.

He had no notion that she had left the bed.

The Queen was pregnant once more.

There was no question of her fertility. This time, said the King, it must be a boy.

News came that Lord Desmond had been executed – more than that, Worcester had seen fit to kill his two younger sons with him. This had shocked many people because the boys were still in the schoolroom and it was hard to see how they could have been implicated in their father’s treason. There was a story that one of the boys had a sore place on his neck and he had pathetically asked the executioner to be careful of it when cutting off his head. This story was repeated and people were beginning to hate the Earl of Worcester and to say that he had learned his cruelty in Italy and it would have been better if he had stayed there and never brought his wicked ways to England.

Edward was distressed that Desmond had been executed and was especially so when he heard what had happened to the boys.

‘Worcester is too harsh,’ he told Elizabeth.

She did not agree nor disagree; she just sat with her eyes downcast.

‘I did not give my signature to the death warrant,’ he said.

‘He is dead now,’ was all Elizabeth answered.

And so he deserved to be, she was thinking. How dared he advise the King that it would be a good thing for the country to rid himself of his Queen.

He had paid dearly for that remark. And so must all pay who tried to harm Elizabeth Woodville.

The King shrugged the matter aside. Whatever he did now Desmond was dead. At least he had not been forced to make a decision.

At the end of the year Elizabeth gave birth to another child. Once more it was a girl and they called her Cecily.

Three girls in a row was disconcerting when each time they had believed there would be a boy. But the King loved his children and to the astonishment of everyone he continued to be devoted to his wife. He was perhaps straying more to other women but he always went back to her and he did not appear to regret his marriage in any way; and cool, aloof, more regal than any of royal birth, Elizabeth held sway.

Warwick was growing impatient. He had endured enough. He had seen the Woodvilles rise from their humble station to become the most powerful family in the land. The King had insulted him by marrying this upstart widow while he, Warwick, was actually in the process of arranging a match for him with the French King.

Nothing could have been calculated to wound him more. Yet with superhuman control he had buried his resentments. He had attended the Queen; he had not reproached the King.

But what he would endure no longer was the power of the Woodvilles.

Almost immediately after the marriage he had sounded the King’s brothers. Richard was a young idealist and Warwick quickly realised that there could be no shifting him from loyalty to his brother. It was different with Clarence. Clarence was shifty, envious, grasping and it would not be difficult to make him change his allegiance; on the other hand he would be an untrustworthy ally, ready to turn his coat according to which way the wind blew. But even a momentary betrayal of his brother would be worthwhile.

He had tempted Clarence by offering him marriage with his elder daughter. His two girls, even dividing the vast Warwick estates between them, would be the richest in the kingdom.

Clarence thought of what marriage with Isabel would mean and he liked what he saw. Moreover he liked Isabel. Neither of the Warwick girls was as physically strong as their father would have liked them to be, but they were attractive, both of them. Anne and Richard of Gloucester were close friends; and George and Isabel had always had a fondness for each other. The girls were worthy brides for the two dukes, and before the Woodville marriage Edward would have agreed with the Earl on this. Now he was trying to stop Isabel and George marrying. That should not be so. Warwick had decided on the match.

Moreover the King wanted marriage between his sister Margaret and Charles Count of Charolais, the eldest son and heir of the Duke of Burgundy. This of course was the last thing Louis King of France wanted because he did not want a firm alliance between England and Burgundy. Louis had been Warwick’s friend and if Warwick took action against Edward, it was from Louis that he could look for help.

He had not let Edward know that he was doing all he could to prevent the Burgundy marriage. Indeed he had ceased to confide in Edward and although he kept up a show of friendship, it was nothing more than a façade. Warwick had finished with Edward. He would never forgive him for his ingratitude, and was determined that one day Edward was going to be filled with regret; he was going to see the great mistake he had made in thwarting Warwick, humiliating him, and setting up the family of Woodville to outrival that of Neville. Edward would have to learn that Warwick was still a power in the land.

In the meantime the great Duke of Burgundy had died and Charles of Charolais had become the Duke. Edward declared that there was no reason why the marriage should be delayed and the Earl of Warwick should conduct his sister on the first part of her journey to France.

Still keeping his own counsel Warwick agreed and on a June day he set out for Flanders. There had been a ceremony at St Pauls and Margaret seated on the same horse with Warwick rode through the city of London.

The people were pleased, believing this was a sign that Warwick and the King were as good friends as ever. They did not know that even as he rode to the coast with Margaret Warwick’s head was teeming with plans to take the crown from Edward.

Margaret said a farewell to Warwick at Margate and crossed the sea to Sluys where she was greeted by the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy and a splendid company.

The Duke met her and they were married at a place called Damme. After the ceremony the celebrations were so grand that those who partook in them declared that they had only been rivalled at the Court of King Arthur. The bride and the bridegroom appeared to be well pleased with each other and the only incident which marred the occasion was when they were nearly burned to death in their bridal bed in the castle near Bruges.