Death Be Pardoner To Me: The Life of George, Duke of Clarence (18 page)

The door swung shut on me and my memories, now added to by the concern, nay the love, shown me by my brother of Gloucester. Had the men walked in at that moment with their instructions, I would have welcomed them and gone to my Maker on a cloud of understanding and happiness that it was all done.

Sadly, they did not and I was left, am left, here to think on a life that could have been so different, had my brother the king been different with me.

Where did it go wrong? Was it in his denial of my marriage? Was it in the many fierce disputes we had? Was it – dare I voice the thought – insecurity on his part because of my right to the throne? Did he have any thought that I knew of the existence of the pre-contract and might speak of it and wreck his marriage? Or was it the Wydevilles who suspected this and were pressuring him to dispose of that which would displace them in their entirety?

Chapter 19

By some miracle the sea remained calm for the entire voyage to Calais. Isobel was not a good sailor, she clung to the sides of the bunk and refused to attempt to walk on deck, to take the fresh air and see for herself that the Channel was almost as smooth as the fishpond at Fotheringhay. George gave up trying to coax her out and climbed back onto the deck, where he stood with Peke, Durian and his squires, staring at the slowly approaching shoreline, breathing the sea air and listening to the seagulls screaming overhead. A breeze ruffled his fair hair but did little to ease his mind. I would wish my thoughts were as calm as the water, he told himself, clenching his fists and wishing to hit someone, anyone, to release the anger he had boiling in his heart and mind. It isn’t logical to hold such angry thoughts in both heart and mind, he knew that but nothing could quieten his turmoil. Months, endless months of dispute with his brother the king and months, endless months of waiting for the dispensation to arrive which would allow the marriage had taken their toll on his nerves and he found himself snarling and snapping at everyone for no reason.

“I will marry Isobel Neville,” he said, day after day, to passing servants, squires, chambermaids, anyone who would listen or at least acknowledge his having spoken. Peke tried to reason with him, to counsel him to look elsewhere for a bride in the face of implacable stubbornness by the king, who simply shouted ‘NO!’ when approached with the suggestion. The ‘NO!’ then became an ongoing interminable argument that spilled over into every part of life.

The Earl of Warwick wanted the alliance, probably more than he had wanted anything after Edward had thrown all his plans into the very Channel they sailed on, helping him to go ahead with the marriage in the face of all opposition.

“Can I be held responsible for your feelings toward our cousin of Warwick?” George had shouted back at Edward. “Is this not at the very heart of this decision of yours to prevent my marriage?”

“Ha! What do you know of alliances, of feelings, of politics, Clarence? What would you know, you of how many years is it now, just seventeen, if I reckon it right? What would you know of such things? I know where I want your alliances to be and it is not with the Nevilles!”

Edward had paced his chamber, his boots striking the flagstones with all the anger George recalled his own boots doing in the past, when he too had been infuriated beyond all reason. He recognised the trait and accepted that it told him his brother the king was incapable of discussing the matter logically, if there was logic behind the decision, something he seriously doubted. He snatched up the mazer left for him and drank before responding, thinking swiftly how he could turn this to his advantage, or even if he could turn it to his advantage. In the end he resorted to cold logic, which never worked with Ned if it wasn’t his own idea. He knew that but it was his last resort.

“You married whom you wished, Your Grace,” he said, deciding to allow formality to come into the room, in the hope it would cast its balm on the fiery atmosphere.

“Yes, I did, because I am king and you are just a duke and subservient to the crown, Clarence! I have plans for you which will be revealed in time, when you are ready, when you are old enough to know your own mind – and mine!” It was at that point George bowed and, without another word, stalked out of his brother’s chamber, slamming the great door after him.

He stared out at the fast flowing waters but saw only the set face of his brother, wearing the fierce determined look he knew so well. The only sounds were the creaking of the sails and ropes, the slap of the waves against the keel but George heard angry boot heels striking flagstones and barely suppressed anger in the voice. There was no reasoning with him; there was no arguing with him. But there was defiance and that could be done with the right people and the right plans being laid.

It was a risk, of that there was no doubt. You did not defy your king and expect not to have retribution of some kind. In his quieter, saner moments, he asked himself if the attraction of Isobel was as much in his being denied permission to marry her as the charms she herself embodied. At times he thought he actively disliked his cousin of Warwick and other times thought that he was the finest man who ever lived, outside of his family, that was. The whole thing was a ridiculous mess: it could have been and should have been a happy occasion, with the entire family present, not this travelling across water to hold the ceremony!

He had made little secret of his intention to marry into the Neville family, he had written to people and advised them of the time, date and place, invited some to attend, sent an emissary to gain the necessary dispensation to allow the marriage and in all of this, Ned had said nothing and done nothing. Who knew what was going on in his mind: had he decided to allow the wedding to go ahead without interference, was he just too busy to bother or did he really not care after all? Choose any answer, thought George with extreme irritation, and you could well pick the right one, for who really knew the mind of the king these days, besotted as he was with his queen and bothered as he was with a court full of Wydevilles!

He moved away from his attendants and Durian quietly went with him, following the command of the almost invisible hand signal that meant ‘come to me.’ He stood alongside George at the rail, looking out at the gently rolling sea. He was apparently lost in his own thoughts, but George knew his Fool well enough to know there was a good deal going on behind the bland ‘look at me just watching the sea’ face. As if sensing his Lord’s thoughts, Durian turned and gave him one of the knowing smiles that he did so well.

“Have we escaped the wrath of our liege lord, do you think, sire?”

“I have to hope that is so. I have to hope that when we return to England there will not be a deputation waiting with strict instructions to convey me to the Tower, there to await my brother the king’s further instructions!”

“Would your brother the king be so cruel as to deprive a bridegroom of his time with his newly created wife?”

“Would my brother the king be so cruel as to try and stop the marriage in the first place? Who really knows what goes on behind the smiling face, Durian?”

“Of a surety our liege lord is a man of extremes, sire. It is, seemingly, right for him to take to wife whoever he wishes but if his brother of Clarence should desire to do the same, then it is wrong.”

“I made the mistake of hinting at that situation during my audience with my liege lord,” mused George, realising as he said it that he had already told Durian of that last meeting. Durian nodded, smiled and looked away.

“I feel, and it is only my feelings, sire, that your brother the king tried to deny the marriage for no reason other than the fact that he could.”

“That makes more sense to me than any other scenario I have thought about. He does so love the sense of power that being a king has given him. Dickon is more biddable than I, Dickon will go North if his king tells him to, Dickon will rule the North for him in the future, that I foresee.” He turned round suddenly to face Durian. “Why did I say that? Where did that thought come from?”

“The same place my thoughts come from, sire. Do you not realise you are fey, even as I am?”

“It is-”

“Our secret. But of course. I am Fool only on the outside.”

“That I have known from the moment you walked into my chamber and asked for a chance to entertain me, Durian.”

“Ah, that was a time to be remembered! A time when all was peaceful in the household of the duke of Clarence! A time when you just went along with everything your sainted brother told you without asking questions. Then came the time when you thought, why am I doing this? Why don’t I do what I want to do, not what Ned wants me to do! Am I right, sire?”

“You know you are, Durian, you know you are.”

“And what you want to do right now is marry the delectable Isobel Neville and it is not because I put the idea in your head; you want to do this because it is right for you at this time.”

A great burst of laughter came from the helm; someone was telling the Earl a joke that was obviously unsavoury. George recognised the different tone; his cousin had different laughter for different occasions: it was not often he heard this particular one. It usually followed a heavy drinking bout when the women were dismissed and the men huddled together to swap stories. It was something George found abhorrent but of the necessity to keep his cousin on his side if he was to share a life with him he had to go along with it occasionally. He knew already he had a reputation as something of a prude and had to decide whether to stay with that or do something about changing it.

But then, would Warwick have allowed me to marry his daughter if I had come with the reputation of a rake? It was not something he could ask; it was a question he pondered from time to time. Warwick was difficult to read, a blustering sometimes belligerent man who believed himself king of all he surveyed. His estates were vast, his household seemingly endless, numbering thousands, his power seemed limitless and yet, and yet –

He had failed to keep Edward under his control, had failed in the alliance he wished to make with France, had instead leapt on the chance to draw the duke of Clarence into the family. It was probably wrong to assign thoughts to Warwick he did not have but George wondered, again in his quieter saner moments, whether he was second best: not having achieved his aim of controlling Edward, Warwick was making do with George instead.

Well, I’ve been second best all this time, what difference does it make to me now?

As if reading his thoughts, Durian spat over the side. “I would wish the Lady Isobel came with a more amenable father, my lord.”

The words were muttered in such a low tone George was not entirely sure he had heard aright but knew the sense of the words, for they echoed his own thoughts. He grinned at Durian, his back to the earl, aware no sailor was near enough to either hear or see him at that moment.

“Everything has a price, Isobel is no different in that regard.”

“Sometimes…”

“I know, sometimes you have to ask yourself if the price is too high. I know that. I have asked it but she is a beautiful person in her own right, she will be a good wife and helpmeet to me. I can take his power and influence and use it, too.”

Durian nodded in acknowledgement of the words. It had been discussed several times between them and ever they came to the same conclusion: the price was not too high for a good wife and powerful patronage. Especially when the king has set his face against you!

The wedding was a glorious occasion, held in an elaborately painted and decorated hall in Calais, one fit for a king. Isobel was radiant in blue silk over cloth of gold, George’s new brother-in-law George Neville conducted a beautiful service with words that suited the occasion and the many knights and nobles who attended gave the wedding the prestige and esteem it would have otherwise lacked. Warwick beamed his way through the entire ceremony, loudly proclaiming the good qualities of his new son-in-law to all who would listen. George smiled stiffly; wondering whom among the guests was Ned’s spy, of a surety someone would report back to the king. He knew that only too well, for did he not have his own spies in Ned’s household, reporting back all that his brother did? Durian took the reports. He was a sponge for information; drawing it in and only giving it back when pressed by George himself to release it.

Isobel clung to George’s arm, proudly nodding to everyone who called her duchess, which they did just to flatter and please her. She laughed until tears spilled at Durian’s nonsense, he excelled himself with rhymes that both flattered and gently mocked her and her new husband. George alone realised the hours his Fool must have spent working them out, for they were clever, subtle and very funny indeed. I wish I could write them down, he told himself, save them for the future. But then I wish many things…

Not least of which was that the day would end and he could rest. Warwick was busy with back-slapping bonhomie that was getting tiresome, as were comments about breeding heirs when he had yet to bed his new wife.

There was also the manifesto to be announced the following day, setting out their joint plans for the future, with a call to array going out, preparing for their own uprising. This was the underlying reason for the marriage, he had come to accept, the fact Warwick wanted to take over, to supplant Edward with George, to create a new regime in England that would put them firmly in the limelight, give them the power that Edward currently held. Would it work? Doubts tormented his waking moments, alongside his desire for more power; to depose those he thought were not fit to govern. Warwick’s persuasive words had found fertile ground in his troubled, unsettled mind. Am I that easy to read? He had asked Durian that question one night when in their cups and for a moment Durian had been silent, considering the question from all angles. Finally he had looked up at George.