Jean Plaidy (30 page)

It was September when he came. He was quiet, brooding…and I knew that he was disturbed.

He told me about it, how the king had acted in an unprecedented manner. It was the first time I had known him critical of his brother. Of course, he had disapproved of Edward's way of living, his insatiable sexual appetite, his marriage, which had caused such disasters, but previously he had always hastened to his defense. Now he was indeed dismayed and disillusioned.

“We went to France,” he said. “We had the finest English army ever taken to those shores. Henry the Fifth would have been proud of it.”

“Yet there was no fighting?”

“My sister Margaret of Burgundy met us. She gave us a welcome. Alas, if only we could have relied on her husband. He is not called Charles the Rash for nothing. He was not prepared. He had marched off some time before to besiege a city against which he had a grievance, and so lost most of the forces he had on this senseless exercise. Not that that need have deterred us completely. We had this magnificent army.”

“So it was decided not to fight the French?”

“Louis is sly and very clever. He knew full well that he could not stand against us. His real enemy, of course, is Burgundy. What he did suggest was a meeting between himself and Edward; and when this took place he offered Edward terms for peace that my brother could not refuse.”

“But that is wonderful! It has stopped the war!”

“Anne, those men were brought out to fight. They had been promised the spoils of war. They had left their homes, their work, their families, to fight for the king, to bring glory to England. This contrived peace, these bribes from Louis would bring them no benefits. They would go home empty-handed.”

“But sound and well in body.”

“They were looking for adventure and gain. Don't you see? That had been promised them. They had been taken from their homes merely to give a show of might to Louis.”

“But there is peace!”

“Burgundy is incensed.”

“Well, he was not ready for war, was he?”

“But don't you see? Edward has become friendly with his old enemy, the King of France.”

“And stopped a war.”

“I believe this was what Edward had in mind all the time. He did not tell me.”

“Would you expect him to?”

Richard looked at me steadily and said, “Yes.” And then I saw the pain in his eyes, the humiliation, and what was hurting him most was to be at odds with his brother.

“Tell me about the treaty,” I said.

“It is to be a truce between the kings for seven years.”

“Seven years!” I cried. “Without a war!”

“Trade comes into it. There is to be an abolition of tolls and tariffs charged on goods passing from either country, and that is to be for twelve years. And there are two clauses that mean most to Edward. His eldest daughter, Elizabeth, is to marry Charles the Dauphin; and if Elizabeth should die before the marriage, her sister Mary will take her place. But what delights my brother most is that Louis is to pay him a pension of 50,000 gold crowns each year. The first instalment has already been received by him.”

“Then surely,” I said, “he has achieved much with his magnificent army?”

“The army went over to fight and the men are disgruntled. They are murmuring among themselves. What gain is it to them if the king gets his pensions and his daughter is to marry the Dauphin of France?”

“It is peace,” I insisted.

“Many of the nobles were against it. Louis invited those whom he considered important enough to his
château.
He entertained them lavishly and gave them bribes until he had most of them on his side. Louis is shrewd. He is wily. He knew that he could offer a great deal and still it would not amount to what he would have lost by fighting against an army such as Edward had managed to put in the field.” He laughed bitterly. “He was concerned about me. He knew that I deplored the whole matter. He asked me to dine with him. His flattery was sickening. What do you think he offered me? Not money. That would be too blatant…too undignified to one in my position. He offered me some fine plate and horses. I declined them. I said to him quite frankly that no amount of plate or fine horses would make me a party to this treaty.”

“And what said Louis to that?”

“Louis is all suave politeness. He looked a little sad, but put on an air of understanding and implied that our differences of opinion made no difference to our friendship.”

“Which is true, of course.”

“He will hate me forever.”

“Oh, Richard, I am so sorry about this, but I cannot but rejoice to have you with me.”

He said he, too, was glad to be home, but he wished it had been from a more honorable venture.

He stayed at Middleham for some time after that. I wondered whether Edward would do something to bring their relationship back to the old footing. But there was no summons and I wondered how deep was the rift between the two brothers.

While he was with Louis, Edward must have made a bargain with him regarding Queen Margaret, for shortly afterward she was allowed to return to France. I heard later that her father gave the Château de Reculée as her home. It was near Angers, that place where I had been betrothed to her son. Poor Margaret! I was sure she would pass her days in utter melancholy.

         

The king, his magnificent army intact, returned to England. He must have been feeling very pleased with himself. As far as I was concerned, I thought he had managed a very clever stroke of statesmanship, to have brought about peace without fighting, as well as making arrangements for trading and having acquired a pension.

But there were many who did not see it as I did—Richard for one.

But during the next months he seemed to forget his disappointment.

The northern marches claimed his attention and that was where his heart was. He was happy to be away from the court; he loved to ride with the children and to watch our little one grow. There were times when he was called away to various part of the northern territories, but he was never away for long and when he returned there were always happy reunions.

I was glad of my mother's company. We often spoke of our regret that Isabel was so far away. She wrote to us from time to time, as we did to her, and we would anxiously await news of little Margaret and Edward.

We heard that she was once more pregnant. I felt envious. I yearned to have another child. I continued to worry about my Edward's health, particularly as his half-brother and -sister seemed to grow every day. Edward was so small and thin; he tired far more easily than John who with his sister made such a healthy pair that they continually drew my attention to Edward's frailty.

Isabel wrote that she had not been well. That irritating cough had come back, as it did periodically. Perhaps she would be better when the baby was born. George was eager to have another boy, but to her it was of little importance: all she wanted was a healthy child.

“The queen has been most gracious,” she wrote. “She seems determined to be friendly. She has sent Ankarette Twynyho back to me. She said that Ankarette was so good with children and for ladies in my condition, so she would thank me for lending her and would send her back to be with me at such a time. I am pleased to have Ankarette with me. She is full of gossip and regales me with talk of the court and Madam Elizabeth herself who, it seems, is more regal than the king ever was. Ankarette says the Woodvilles run the court and the queen is always seeking higher and higher places even for the most insignificant members of her clan.”

My mother said, “The queen is very clever. Any woman who has managed to keep Edward all these years must be. I know how she does it, of course. It is by closing her eyes to his many
amours.
I do not think I could have done that if I had been in her place and I thank God I was never called upon to do it in mine. I was lucky in my marriage.”

“My father was lucky, too. Where would he have been without you?”

“Your father would have been a great man. It just happened that the wealth and titles I brought to him helped him to get what he wanted a little earlier.”

“And brought him to his end,” I said sadly.

“Yes, that is true. But most men of influence end up either on the battlefield or the block.”

“Would it not be better to have no influence and die peacefully in bed after having lived a long life?”

“I feel sure they would not agree with you, Anne. And what a morbid subject! Do you think we should make some garments for Isabel's baby? I should like to try that new embroidery stitch I learned the other day.”

So we stitched and we talked and we often spoke of Isabel.

We were stunned when the news came. I helped my mother to her bed. I had never seen her so stricken.

Isabel was dead. She had died after her little boy was born and he soon followed his mother to the grave.

I could not believe it. Isabel…dead! There were so many memories of her. She had been so much a part of my childhood. She was too young to die.

My mother wept in silence at night. By day she was withdrawn. I had never seen a face so sad as hers.

As for myself, I was equally desolate. It was inconceivable. Never to see Isabel again! Never to receive a letter from her.

I thought of those little ones: Margaret and Edward. Poor motherless children. And George? He had loved her, I believe, in his way, although I could not believe he would ever love anyone but himself. I had never heard that he was unfaithful. At least he was not like the king in that respect.

How hard it was to believe that Isabel was dead, and for a long time afterward I would find myself thinking, I will write and tell Isabel that.

         

Death was in the air. Isabel had died in December just before Christmas—a sad time to die—and in January there was another death.

Isabel's was of little importance in court circles, but that of Charles the Rash was another matter.

The Duke of Burgundy dead meant that the heiress to his vast estates was a woman—his daughter Mary. So Mary of Burgundy had become the most desirable
parti
in Europe.

Richard was thoughtful. He talked to me of it.

He said, “I wonder what Edward is thinking now. Louis paid him to keep away because Burgundy was Edward's ally and Louis feared Burgundy more than he feared England. But what will happen now that Burgundy is no more?”

“There is, of course, Mary.”

“A woman!” said Richard. “Whom will she take for her husband? That is what everyone will be watching. She will need a strong man to stand beside and hold what she has inherited. You will see now, there will be a rush to marry her from all the most ambitious men in Europe.”

“Poor Mary,” I said. “She will be married for her estates.”

“I believe her to be a strong-minded young woman,” said Richard. “She might insist on making up her own mind as to which man she will marry. It will be interesting. Her stepmother—our sister Margaret, as you know—may have some influence with her. If she had an English husband, that would do us no harm. Margaret will surely think of that.”

It soon became clear that the demise of the Duke of Burgundy was going to have a big effect on a number of people.

In the first place, Edward called a council and Richard was summoned to London. As always he was loth to leave Middleham and the family life that he loved.

“Why should you not come with me, Anne?” he said.

I was pleased, although I hated the thought of leaving Middleham and the children. Yet I felt that on this occasion Richard particularly wanted to have me with him. Always at the back of his mind was the question of what George might do next. Isabel was dead and George would be free to marry. I believe some premonition of what would happen was in Richard's mind. It might have been that he needed someone with him to whom he could talk freely, someone in whom he could have complete trust. I was that one.

“The journey will be hard going,” he said, “for we shall have to travel with all speed if we are to get there in time for the first day of the council meeting.”

I knew I could leave the children in the care of their nurses and attendants, and Richard and I left for the south.

I felt uneasy to be at court. Clarence was there. He met me with an absolute nonchalance, as though the cookshop incident had never happened. He talked sentimentally of Isabel and said he was heartbroken; but his expressions of pleasure at seeing me and his recollections of his dear Isabel struck me as somewhat false. As with his brother Edward, when one saw them after an absence, one was always aware of their outstanding good looks—the height, the splendid physique, the clean-cut features, the almost perfectly masculine beauty. But I fancied Clarence looked a little bloated: his complexion was more florid. I knew of his fondness for good malmsey. Isabel used to say she often chided him for drinking too much, and when he drank he went into realms of fancy, seeing himself as the all-powerful one—the king, no less.

When we arrived in London the council was already sitting. Edward, I knew, would be delighted to have Richard's support. He would be very wary of Clarence. I wondered that he allowed him to come to the council after his past record. Edward seemed to wave all that aside simply because he would not let himself believe that he had a brother who would betray him if he had a chance to do so.

After that first council meeting, Richard told me that the discussion had centered on trade. The great concern was what the effect would be on our English markets, and of course whether the death of Burgundy—England's ally and Louis's enemy—would give Louis an opportunity of refusing to honor his treaty.

However, Edward had a secret meeting with Richard and this I believe was at the root of his concern as much as any other.

In our apartments, as we lay in bed, Richard unburdened himself to me. After all, I was with him that he might talk openly to someone whom he could trust. He had once said that talking to me was like talking to himself and as he listened to himself he saw a subject from a different angle. Moreover he knew that everything he said to me would go no farther.