Elizabeth had thought about a match with John Grey and Jacquetta had agreed with the Queen that it would be a good one. John Grey was young, good-looking and very much in love with the beautiful Elizabeth.

So they were married and she spent several years at Bradgate. She grew to love the place which was about two miles from Groby castle and only four from Leicester. There her two boys were born and, as she had taken quite a liking to the quiet life, the marriage turned out to be quite a happy one. She would ride in the beautiful grounds enjoying the pleasaunces and the fish ponds and the well-kept gardens. It was thrilling to ride over the bridge across the moat and look up at the two towers and the battlements with their quoins and corbels; and to say to herself: This beautiful place belongs to us ... It will be my son’s in time and Groby castle as well.

She had thought at that time that she had done well on her marriage.

All went smoothly until the fighting started. More battles were fought again. Northampton and then Wakefield where the Duke of York had met his death after which his head, adorned by a paper crown, had been stuck up on the walls of the city of York. How Margaret had rejoiced then. Poor Margaret, she should have learned that she was one of those women whom Fate loved to mock. Her triumphs were short-lived and her defeats were very often of her own making.

The brilliant tactics of the Earl of Warwick turned the tables after the Yorkist defeat at St Albans, which was a fateful battle for her for in it her husband had perished and everything had changed. The wife with two boys whose future had seemed secure – or as secure as anything could be in this changing world – had become the widow.

Even then she would have been rich and able to care for her boys. How foolish Margaret could be! The Lancastrians had won the battle of St Albans for her and it was that sly strategist Warwick who had turned it into victory for York by simply taking London and setting up Edward of York as king. The Londoners had always been Yorkists. They were only interested in trading, and the good stable government offered by Edward of York – with the Kingmaker behind him – was what they wanted. They had done with mad Henry; they hated Margaret who was tactless and foreign and had never made any attempt to understand them.

And so Margaret and Henry had become fugitives and Edward of York was King; and because John Grey had fought for the Lancastrians his possessions were confiscated and his widow was forced to fall back on her parents with her two fatherless boys.

And so the months passed and there was no sign of the people’s wavering from their adherence to the new King. They liked Edward. He had a charm which Henry had lacked; he was taller than everyone around him which a king should be; he was more handsome than any of his courtiers; wherever he went the women smiled on him. He had a host of mistresses and, although several marriages had been arranged for him, so far he had remained a bachelor. There were some in the country who feared his way of living was not chaste but the majority of the people laughed at his amorous adventurings and it was said that a smile from him could win even the flintiest heart.

He made his progresses through the country and wherever he went he was welcome. The country was prospering from a peaceful period. Henry was somewhere in the north – in exile or in hiding and Margaret, it was said, had gone to France to seek help.

Let her stay there, said the people. Let Edward continue to reign over them.

It so happened that at this time the King came to Northamptonshire. He very much enjoyed the chase and it seemed certain, said Jacquetta, that he would be hunting in Whittlebury Forest.

‘That,’ commented Elizabeth, ‘is very near us. We can be sure, however, that he will not be calling at Grafton. We are in disgrace.’

‘Ours will not be one of the houses honoured by the King, I grant you. But ...’

Elizabeth looked sharply at her mother. She could see an idea forming in her mind. She was touching the serpent on her brooch as she often did when she was brooding thus.

‘Well?’ asked Elizabeth gently.

‘I think, my dear, that you should try to see the King.’

‘He would never see me. The widow of a Lancastrian and one who served the red rose as John did. Think how many white roses he must have plucked before their time.’

‘I know, I know ... but feuds don’t go on for ever and they say that the King has a forgiving nature, particularly where a beautiful woman is concerned.’

‘Are you proposing that I give favour for favour ...’

‘I suggest no such thing! But something tells me that you should attempt to see Edward of York.’

‘How? Do you think I would be allowed to get through to him if I presented myself?’

‘Assuredly you would not. Therefore I think you should meet him by accident.’ Jacquetta was laughing. ‘A well-planned accident,’ she went on.

‘My dear Mother, what do you plan?’

‘We may need several plans. We could try the forest first. You might meet him there ... by accident of course. Then you could plead for your inheritance ... for your children.’

Elizabeth studied her mother. She was beginning to feel a growing excitement.


At the head of the cavalcade rode the King and beside him his greatest friend William, Lord Hastings. Hastings was some twelve years older than Edward but there was a strong bond between them. In fact, Edward often thought that he was closer to Hastings than to any other man. He had admired Warwick from his childhood. In fact he had regarded him as a sort of god, greater than any man, even Edward’s own father; it was Warwick who had taught him almost everything he knew and but for Warwick’s clever tactics Edward would not be King today. He would never forget that. But Warwick, although only two years or so older than Hastings, seemed of another generation to Edward.

William’s interests were similar to his, and Edward’s chief inclination at this time was involved with women. Hastings shared his exploits. They would go out together disguised as merchants and look for adventures in the streets of London. It was not easy for Edward to disguise himself, for towering above most people, outstandingly handsome, he was often recognised. Many women’s eyes were brightened at the sight of him and even the most virtuous merchant’s wife would find her heart beating a little faster. Edward had a quality beyond charm and beauty, for since he had become King an aura of royalty had grown up about him but, because he was none the less familiar with his subjects because of it, it added vastly to his attractions. He could mingle with the humblest and make them feel significant. Hastings often said that was the true secret of his charm, even more so than that bounding vitality and that promise of hitherto undreamed of delights amorous adventuring with him could bring.

Hastings himself was not without charm. Less obviously handsome than Edward he was still good-looking; he was fairly tall, with an air of nobility, and was not without his admirers. The trouble was, as he pointed out to Edward, we are all like pale stars compared with the sun.

‘Stars are equally bright in their spheres,’ Edward pointed out.

‘Ah,’ retorted Hastings, ‘but we are in that of the sun.’

Hastings was clever, witty, a good commander and best of all a faithful friend. Edward trusted people too easily, Hastings often told him; but Edward shrugged that aside. He was easygoing, good-natured, bent on pleasure. Or he had been before he became King. He was less so now. Hastings often thought that the change had come about when he had seen his father’s head wearing that paper crown on the walls of York. Perhaps it had been even more horrible to him because beside his father was his younger brother Edmund, Duke of Rutland, that boy who had grown up in the nursery with him and who had adored him as most of the family did. Edward had certainly not been the same since he had witnessed that grisly spectacle.

He had seemed to realise that the world was not merely for pleasure. There was cruelty in it, and cruelty must be met with cruelty. Before he had witnessed that terrible sight he had been inclined to forgive his enemies very easily and sweep away all thoughts of revenge.

Perhaps he had become a little more serious, more inclined to rule on his own account, for people were right when they said that Edward wore the crown but the real ruler was Warwick.

So Hastings, the King’s intimate friend, was the first to realise this new seriousness. It was not a bad thing, he thought. Edward was coming into his own, trying to wriggle free of the strings which Warwick held. How far he would break away from them, Hastings was not sure. But Edward was young yet ... twenty-two years of age and still believing that sexual pleasure was the foremost goal for him.

As they rode into Northamptonshire they were talking as they often did of recent conquests and Edward was wondering what new ones lay ahead.

‘You’ll have to mend your ways a little when you are married,’ Hastings reminded him.

‘A little, perhaps,’ retorted Edward.

‘You should be married soon.’

‘There speaks the married man. He is caught himself and wants the rest of us to be in like case.’

‘Katharine understands me,’ said Hastings easily. ‘She knows that I must have a little licence, being the bosom friend of our King.’

‘My reputation does not stand high in the land it seems.’

‘Your nocturnal adventurings are noticed.’

‘But I am not averse to a little dalliance by day.’

‘You are as five men in the field, they say, and as ten in the bedchamber.’

‘Who says that?’

‘The merchants’ wives of London Town, I believe.’

‘Oh come, William, you flatter me and I think you can give a good account of yourself.’

‘There is none in the land who can begin to rival its King.’

‘Has Warwick expressed an opinion?’

‘Warwick? Why should he to me?’

‘Perhaps to his sister.’

‘I hardly think he would hold such discourse with Katharine.’

‘They are a close family and your being his brother-in-law I thought mayhap he may have said a word to you concerning the King’s indiscretions.’

‘He does not frown on them. I think he applauds them in a way. It is strange how some indiscretions arouse the admiration of the people ... but only when performed by one of irresistible good looks and charm.’

‘He has never suggested to me that I should mend my ways.’

Indeed not, thought Hastings. It suits Warwick well. Let the King amuse himself while Warwick rules. Has Warwick noticed the change in the King he has set up since that fearful day when Edward had ridden into York and seen his dead father’s head in its jaunty paper crown?

If Edward were ever to want to take another road than that chosen for him by Warwick, what would happen? Which one of them would prevail? But no, Edward was too easy-going, too fond of luxurious living; and he did not forget that Warwick had made him King. Edward would want to go on playing the king while Warwick ruled. Or would he?


The King loved to hunt and journeys throughout the kingdom were always enlivened by days spent in the chase. Whenever they came to forest they paused for the sport and if it were good rested for a few days to enjoy it.

So it was at the forest of Whittlebury close to Grafton Manor that the King was enjoying a few days hunting. Everyone at the Manor had been aware of the proximity of the King’s party. If the Rivers had been Yorkists it was very likely that the King would have honoured them with his presence. As Lord Rivers had always been a staunch Lancastrian it was certain that he would not, for which, in a way, Jacquetta had said, they should be truly grateful. ‘To entertain the King would impoverish us for the next five years. Our way of living cannot match his, I do assure you.’

But there were secrets in Jacquetta’s eyes and she had managed to convey these to her daughter. Jacquetta knew something was going to happen. Elizabeth could guess that by the far-off look in her eyes. Elizabeth could never be sure whether her mother really did see into the future or whether she dreamed up a possibility and then used all her ingenuity to make it happen.

‘Take the boys,’ she had said, ‘and go into the forest. There is an oak-tree – the largest in the area. It is just where Pury Park ends and Grafton begins. Sit there with the boys and wait.’