Jean Plaidy (29 page)

He said, “I see that I have shocked you.”

Still I did not speak. I was afraid of the words that I might say. I was on the point of shouting, no, I will not have them here…a constant reminder. I will not have those children here with Edward.

He turned away very sadly. “I do understand, of course,” he said. “I should not have thought of it. You must forget I suggested it.”

Forget? How could I forget? He had spoiled his homecoming.

There was a rift between us. He had brought no good tidings with him. First he might be snatched away from me to go to war and secondly he wanted me to have his bastard children in my home.

         

My mother knew that something was wrong. I told her first about the possibility of war and then about the children.

She was very thoughtful. She said, “I can see how he feels. They are, after all, his children.”

“But how could they come here?”

“They could, of course. But it depends on you.”

“They would expect to be brought up with Edward.”

“They are his half-brother and -sister.”

“My lady Mother, they are bastards.”

“'Tis no fault of theirs.”

“You think they should come here?”

“It is for you to decide. Richard has suggested it, has he not? It would depend on how much you love him, of course.”

“You know I love him.”

“Not enough to give him this.”

“It is because I love him so much that I cannot bear the thought of his having children who are not mine.”

“It is a selfish love,” said my mother. “And the essence of love is not selfishness.”

She left me then.

Why had this to happen? Why did that woman die and leave her children to be looked after? How old were they? The boy must be about two years older than Edward; the girl could be several years older. Richard's children!

He looked so melancholy that he reminded me of the young boy who was ashamed because he tired more easily than the others. I had been sorry for him then and that was when I began to love him.

Soon he would go to war. He would fight valiantly for his brother's cause. Who knew what would happen to him in the heat of the battle? My father had died at Barnet, the Prince of Wales at Tewkesbury, Richard's father at Wakefield. War was death and destruction. And Richard was going to war with a heavy heart because he was anxious about the future of his children.

Perhaps I had known from the beginning what I must do. I wished I had not been asked to do it, but my mother was right. Love was selfless and I did love Richard, and I could not bear to see him unhappy as he was now.

I had made up my mind and as soon as I did so I was happier.

“Richard,” I said, “when would John and Katharine be coming to Middleham?”

He stared at me and I saw the joy dawn in his face.

He caught me in his arms. “You will have them here?”

“But, of course,” I said.

“I thought…”

“It was a shock. I am a silly jealous creature. I could not bear the thought of there being anyone but myself.”

“There will never be anyone else, and there has never been anyone quite like you.”

I said, “I think it will be good for Edward to have other children in the nursery.”

         

I awaited the arrival of the children with a great deal of apprehension. Richard was nervous, too. Any day the summons might come for him to go to the king; he had already gathered together the company of men he would take with him. I knew how he hated leaving Middleham at any time; but now, with his children coming here, he felt that his presence was needed more than ever.

So it was an uneasy time. And at length the children arrived. I was glad they had come before he had left.

They were handsome children, both of them—fair-headed, with what I thought of as the Plantagenet look—tall, strong, vital. The boy was two years older than Edward and perhaps a few months more, and the girl, I guessed to be about seven years old. They were not in the least overawed, although Middleham must have seemed grand to them after their mother's dwelling and that of the family with whom they had been staying prior to their arrival here. I noticed they were very respectful to Richard. I guessed he had visited them only on rare occasions of late and they would have been told that he was of great importance, being the brother of the king.

They eyed me shrewdly.

I said, “Welcome to Middleham. You are Katharine, and I believe you are John.”

“I am John Plantagenet,” said the boy. And the girl added, “And I am Katharine Plantagenet.”

“Well, this is going to be your home now.”

“Yes,” said Katharine, “I know. Our mother is dead. They came and took her away in a box.”

She looked pathetic, so young and vulnerable. I put my hands on her shoulders and kissed her. “I hope you will be happy here,” I said.

Then the boy came and stood before me, holding up his face to be kissed.

Richard looked outwardly calm but I well understood his emotions and I was gratified that I had agreed to have the children, for I was recalling what a mistake it would have been to refuse to do so.

I felt that the first encounter had gone off very well.

Little Edward was interested in the newcomers. They were merry and inclined to be boisterous and clearly they found the castle of great interest. John shrieked with pleasure at the armor in the hall because he had at first thought it was a man standing there. Katharine was a little more restrained.

On their first night I went to see them after they were in their beds. They were both crying quietly.

I said to them, “Tell me what is wrong.”

“John wants our mother,” said Katharine. “And so do I.”

I was moved. They were so young, so vulnerable. I wondered briefly what would have become of them if I had refused to take them in. They would have stayed with the family they were with, I supposed. Instinct told me that they were the kind of children who would have come through whatever troubles overtook them. But I was glad I had not turned them away.

I was going to forget that they were the result of Richard's love for another woman. I was the one who now had his love and trust and I wanted him to know how grateful I was for this, and I was going to do my best to be a mother to his children.

I said, “I shall be your mother now.”

Katharine's sobs ceased and so did John's. I bent over Katharine and kissed her and suddenly she put her arms around my neck. John was waiting for me to do the same with him.

“You are going to like it at Middleham,” I said. “You will have your own horses and you can ride on the moors.”

They were both sitting up in bed listening to me. And I told them that when I was a little girl I had lived here with my sister. I explained how we did our lessons in the schoolrooms, which they would now have, how we learned to ride and in time were able to go wherever we wanted to on our horses.

They listened intently and I saw the sadness fade from their faces.

I said, “I am glad you two came here.”

And I was.

My mother was delighted. She said, “It is good to have children in the house. Houses that have stood for many years need the young to bring them to life.”

Edward was very interested in his new sister and brother. Sometimes I was afraid they would be too boisterous for him. He had taken after Richard in looks and physique. I worried about him. He seemed so small. I had always been a little anxious about him but I think I became more so after the other children came.

Richard was delighted by my reception of them. He was not able to show them how much he cared about them. He was a little aloof and while they regarded him with awe and the utmost respect, it was to my mother and me that they turned.

“It is easy to see,” I said, “that I am taking the place of their mother in their minds, which is how I would have it.”

A few weeks passed while we waited for that summons that would call Richard to the king's side. I was dreading it for I knew it meant war. Why did there have to be these conflicts? Of what use were they? What good did they bring to anyone? We heard from occasional visitors to the castle that the king was raising a great deal of money from his benevolences. It seemed that when he appeared, handsome, splendid, and extremely agreeable, with a smile for the women and a word for the humblest, he won all hearts. It seemed inevitable that soon he must raise enough money to set out on his mission of conquest. Men were flocking to the banner of the white rose of York set in the blazing sun. War excited men. It was an escape from their humdrum lives, a chance to win booty. It was saddening. Many of them would die; others would be badly wounded. How could they want their peaceful lives disrupted just for temporary excitement?

So the days passed. My mother was so happy to be at Middleham away from Beaulieu.

“Freedom is one of the most precious gifts a man or woman can have,” she said. “I had certain comforts at Beaulieu, but there was always the knowledge that I was a prisoner. Here, I feel free and I am so happy to see you with Richard. He is a good man and he loves you truly. I am so glad he is only brother to the king and the king has sons. And in any case Clarence comes before Richard.”

“You are thinking of the throne.”

“It is not good to be too close to it. If your father had not wanted to rule…if he had been content to live without power, what a different life we should all have had! He would be with us now. It is a blessing that you should be here at Middleham, away from all the intrigues and power-struggles of the court.”

“I know that well. But soon Richard will have to go to war.”

“It is the curse men bring upon themselves,” said my mother. “Why does Edward want to go to war? He is now safe on the throne. He must be one of the most popular kings England has ever had. Why? Why?”

“The people want wars. Look how they are flocking to his banner.”

She shook her head sadly.

We were at the window. The children were in the garden with one of the nurses. John and Katharine were running and leaping, Edward toddling after them.

“They are so happy together,” said my mother, dismissing the gloomy subject of war. “How right you were not to refuse to take them in, Anne.”

“Yes. Richard is very content to see them settled. I think he worried a great deal about them.”

“Naturally he would. He is a good father.”

“He will see that they are brought up as befits their birth,” I said, “and that they are well provided for.”

She nodded.

“Yes, I am glad they are here. I thought I should resent them, but I find I do not. I see them as what they are…little children…Richard's children and responsibility, and that makes them mine. But there is one thing…” I said and she looked at me expectantly.

“Tell me, Anne,” she said.

“When I look at them, I think that Edward looks a little frail.”

“He is young yet.”

“I think those two were lusty from birth. They have so much energy. John jumps all the time as though he finds it difficult to stand still, and Katharine seems to be constantly repressing her high spirits. They make Edward seem delicate.”

“He is young. He will grow out of it.”

“Oh yes, of course,” I said, allowing fears to be set aside. “He will.”

         

The expected summons had come and Richard, with his men at arms and archers, set forth on the march south. I stood with the children, watching him go, feeling sad and full of fear.

There is a great drawback about being happy and contented with life, for a person like myself lives in constant fear of losing that blissful state. But so must every loving wife feel when she sees her husband leaving for the wars.

I felt a burning anger. It was unnecessary. It was not as though we were being attacked. I thought of all those men going into battle to bring suffering and misery to people who had done them no harm—whom they did not even know.

Those were long and anxious days that followed. We were waiting all the time for news, both longing for and dreading it. Those hot days of June were hard to live through. “What is happening in France?” was the often unspoken question on everyone's lips.

The months passed. June. July. August.

I remember that September well. We had heard only fragments of news. We had one or two visitors at the castle and though they had not been able to tell us much news, we did gather that there had been no fighting in France, that King Edward and Louis had been in conference together and we should soon have news of the Treaty of Picquigny.

I was immensely relieved. But what did it mean? Edward had sailed with his magnificent army, accompanied by his brothers and their followers to join forces with the Duke of Burgundy against Louis. And there had been no fighting!

The tension was lifted a little. I felt I could wait for Richard to return.