Jean Plaidy - The Sun in Splendour

Never mind; she was so beautiful and she had given the King all those handsome children and he clearly loved her dearly even though he was not the most faithful of husbands.

Cheer then for the return of Edward, the strong man, the King they preferred to poor mad Henry. They fervently hoped Edward and the Earl of Warwick would settle their quarrels.

At Baynard’s Castle the Duchess of York was in residence. When she saw her son the tears streamed down her cheeks and she fell upon him kissing his face and his hands. There was little sign of Proud Cis at that moment.

‘My dearest boy,’ she called him, forgetting the dignity owed to the King even though dignity was something she had always been so insistent on. ‘Oh a thousand welcomes ... This is the happiest day of my life. You are here with us ... and the people want you ...’

He let her talk. Then he kissed her tenderly and said: ‘Elizabeth and the children have come to stay here. I shall leave them in your care.’

For a few seconds the two women looked at each other. Proud Cis who could not like her son’s marriage to this commoner and Elizabeth Woodville who knew that Edward’s mother would have done everything possible to stop the marriage.

The Duchess’s eyes softened. Elizabeth Woodville was an exceptionally beautiful woman and she could not but be moved to see her standing there beside her own handsome Edward. Surely a more good-looking pair could not be found in the whole of England.

And Elizabeth had done her duty. Edward still wanted to keep her after all these years so there must be something special about her. And she had produced those lovely children – and now a Prince of Wales.

The Duchess went forward. She could not expect a Queen to kneel to her, but she held out her hand and Elizabeth took it.

‘Welcome to Baynards, my dear,’ she said. ‘It makes me happy to have you here ... you and my grandchildren.’

Edward put an arm round her and the Queen; he held them tightly against him.

‘Thank God you are back,’ said the Duchess.

‘Yes, I am back. But there is work to do. I shall not stay here long now. But at least I shall know that you are together. Look after each other, my dear loved ones.’

Edward stayed at Baynard’s Castle for a day and a night. Then taking Henry with him, he rode out to Barnet.

So Warwick was dead. Killed in battle and against the one whom he had taught to command armies. Edward was sad.

He should be rejoicing, of course. Warwick was his enemy ... No, he could never accept him as such. They were fighting against each other but it never should have been. He should have talked to me. We should have reasoned together, thought Edward. It was either him or Elizabeth for it was my marriage that turned him from me. He was never the same after that. The sore had been opened and it had continued to fester although Warwick had pretended that it had healed. Warwick wanted to be supreme. He was supreme in his way. He had learned so much in a life dedicated to the getting of power. It was power Warwick had wanted. Not a crown as so many men did. But power. He wanted to be the one who set up kings and brought them down. He had been, for that was exactly what he had done.

But no more, my one-time friend and erstwhile enemy. No more.

It was foolish of him to feel thus. He should be rejoicing. He must tell no one of his true feelings ... not even Elizabeth. Certainly not Elizabeth. She would think him soft and foolish. He was not soft. None could be more ruthless when the occasion demanded, but Warwick ... Warwick had been his friend, his ideal, his god. He could not stop thinking of the early days when he had been a young boy. He listened to Warwick; he tried to be like Warwick. He was Warwick’s. That was why Warwick had made him King.

But boys grow up. They have wills of their own. They change, Warwick. You hated the Woodvilles but the Woodvilles are Elizabeth’s family, Warwick; it is natural that she should wish to advance them. You saw them becoming more powerful than the Nevilles ... so you turned against me who had made them so.

And now it has come to this. Dead ... No more to harass me as once you helped me. Dead, dear friend and enemy.

He went to see the dead body. It was harrowing. Once so proud, once invincible ... but we are all vulnerable. There comes a time in our lives when death beckons and kings and even kingmakers must obey.

His body would have to be on show for a while so that there should be no rumours that he still lived. He would have his enemies but legends and in particular living legends were always the hardest to overcome.

He looked so vulnerable stripped of his fine armour. Soldiers had robbed him of it. His own guards had found them engaged in that when they rode up to save his life, for Edward had been eager to save him. He would have forgiven him, as he had forgiven Clarence, and he believed that they could have been friends again.

But they had come too late. He was already dead, and there was nothing that could be done but take the corpse to St Paul’s Cathedral and there let it lie for those two days that all who wished might assure themselves that Warwick was dead.

‘Let him be buried with all honour and respect with his parents and brother Thomas in Bisham Abbey,’ said Edward.

So all knew that the great Kingmaker had died in deadly combat with the man whom he had made King.

It was the passing of an era.

So he was back in London with Elizabeth and his family – the triumphant victor. He had brought Henry with him and had now installed him in the Wakefield Tower. Poor trusting Henry who seemed happy to be back within those constricting walls. Edward had felt a little shamefaced when poor Henry had expressed his trust in him. Henry was an encumbrance but to have him removed would make him an even greater threat. Moreover there was still the young Prince Edward. If Henry were gone people would only transfer their loyalty to him. While those two lived Edward would always have to be watchful.

But in the meantime victory. Warwick was dead and although he could not rejoice wholeheartedly none could doubt this was in his favour.

He savoured those few days in Baynard’s Castle with Elizabeth. He was glad of her coolness and the irresistible urge to break it down was possibly what had kept his passion so alive. He might go with others but he would always return to her. She was unique. Moreover she was the mother of the royal children. Sometimes he had uneasy thoughts of Eleanor Butler and that ceremony through which he had gone. But Eleanor was dead now and that was all in the past. But he had discovered that she had been alive at the time of that secret ceremony at Grafton. And if that ceremony were binding then what of Elizabeth and the children?

Oh it was long since forgotten and if anyone started to probe into that woe betide them.

So he put it out of his mind and savoured these few days of respite for it was pleasant to be shut in with this happy family atmosphere even if it were only temporary. Elizabeth had quickly filled the nursery with people whom she considered necessary to the Prince’s rank. There was a widow named Avice Wells who was nurse to the Prince; and there was Elizabeth Darcy who was mistress of the little Prince’s nursery. That was not enough and Elizabeth persuaded Edward that their little son should have a chamberlain.

That had amused Edward.

‘At his age, my dear. Why should a baby not a year old need a chamberlain?’

‘To carry him in ceremonies ... for the people must get to know their Prince. And they must be aware at once, Edward, of the importance of the Prince.’

So to please her he had appointed one of his own best servants, Thomas Vaughan, to attend the Prince at all times.

Young Edward lay contentedly in his cradle unaware of all the fuss that was going on around him.

Into this happy domestic scene the news burst. Edward had been waiting for it and now that it had come immediate action was imperative.

Margaret of Anjou and her son Edward, calling himself Prince of Wales, had landed at Weymouth.

Anne was waiting in the small religious house outside Tewkesbury, well aware that the battle was raging between the troops of Edward of York and those who had rallied to the banner of King Henry. She knew that her father had been slain at Barnet and in her heart she felt there was little hope of victory without him.

She wanted nothing more than an end to this war. They had betrothed her to the Prince and she believed that they might live in some sort of harmony together. She was not forceful like Margaret and would not attempt to impose her will on anyone. She often thought of Richard of Gloucester and this odd turn of fate which had set them on different sides. Richard would be beside his brother whatever happened; and she of course had to be on her father’s.

Yet I care nothing for their wars, she thought.

How different was Margaret. A pleasant relationship had grown up between them which was strange because they were so different – she so docile, Margaret so fierce. Poor Margaret! It had been a fearful blow to her when she had heard that Warwick was dead. She was rather frightening in her rages, when she cursed everything and everyone in sight.

And now she had gone off with the troops to fight against Edward, and that other Edward, Anne’s betrothed, was with her. Anne herself was bewildered. To wish them success would be to wish Richard defeat and in her heart she could not do that. She did not know what to pray for, what to hope for; she felt lost and bewildered.

At this moment the battle was raging and at any time she might know the result.

She went to the top of the house and looked out on the road. She sat there for a long time ... waiting.

Then at last she saw them coming ... a bedraggled party ... and riding with them was Margaret and she knew that tragedy had struck.

Margaret was overwhelmed by her grief. This was the end. It was painful to see a proud woman so bereft of everything but her sorrow.

Her son was dead ... killed in battle, and she would never be the same again. Much of the fire had gone from her and she had become an old woman.

Anne tried to comfort her, but there was no comfort for Margaret.

‘All that youth ... all that beauty ... gone ... gone,’ she mourned. ‘They murdered him. They could have left me my son. We are lost. There can be nothing more. They have my husband in the Tower ... they have killed my son. All my hope was in him ... I have lost my beautiful boy and you my child have lost your husband.’

Anne did not know what to do. She tried to soothe Margaret; she took her to a quiet room and somehow induced her to lie upon a bed. Poor Margaret lay still for a while staring up blankly into misery.

But she could not remain passive for long. She rose. She began to call curses on everyone, but most of all on the man she called the Usurper. ‘Edward who calls himself King ... he has murdered my beautiful son and may his soul rot in hell.’

It was foolish to give way to her anger for there were those to carry an account of her curses to Edward. He was usually lenient to his enemies but she made him uneasy with her curses; and the death of the Prince had brought about new complications which were occupying his thoughts. Henry had been safe while Edward lived for to have removed Henry would have been of no avail while his son was there to step into his shoes. But now there was no Lancastrian heir. There was only a half-imbecile recluse between Edward and safety.

All the same Margaret must be silenced. Fortunately the people had always hated her and without her son and her husband she would be no danger at all.

While he was considering these matters news came to him of an insurrection which had broken out in the North. He started to march north but had only got as far as Coventry when he heard that the Bastard Falconbridge had landed in England and was marching on London. This man was an illegitimate son of William Neville Baron of Falconbridge whom Warwick had made Captain of his navy, the duty of which was to cruise about the Channel and intercept any ships which Edward might be sending to France. This was far more serious than any rising in the North and Edward immediately turned and began to march south.