The Queen of Last Hopes (22 page)

“But Lord Bonville and Thomas Kyriell, who themselves had your grace in custody after having once been your loyal men—”

“If they kept you prisoner, Father, they should die,” said Edward cheerfully.

Henry’s pain and indecision were almost palpable. These men had served him since he was a child; yet they had played him false. To spare him more agony, I stepped forward. “The Prince of Wales speaks wisely, my lord. The men are traitors and should pay with their heads.”

My husband closed his eyes. After a moment or two, he said in a barely audible voice. “See to it, then.”

John Morton, a churchman and lawyer who had been my son’s chancellor for several years, stepped forward with a prayer book in his hand. “Your grace, I am ready to assist in knighting the Prince of Wales.”

Henry’s face unclouded, and he bowed his head both reverently and gratefully as Morton began reading the ceremonial prayers.

***

That night, Henry and I, who were lodging at St. Albans Abbey, gave thanks for our victory and paid our respects at the tombs of the men who had fallen there six years before. Hal, Lord Clifford, and the Percy brothers spent a great deal of time kneeling in front of their fathers’ respective tombs, and no one disturbed them. I heard too that Hal had gone to the spot near the Castle Inn where his father had died, and that he had spent well over an hour there in silence, with his head bowed. I never asked him about it, but I noticed when I saw him the next morning that something seemed to have lifted off of him at last.

In the meantime, I lay side by side with Henry for the first time in eight months. We did not even try to make love to each other—I knew that there had been too much damage done to my husband for that to take place—but we held each other close and tenderly. “Forgive me, Marguerite, for disinheriting our boy. I never wanted to, and it grieved me beyond measure. I felt I had no choice. York and Warwick told me there would be years of war, and you and my son might be put to death.”

“I knew it. I knew that you had been coerced.”

“They tried to poison my mind against you. They reminded me that you had been friendly with Somerset—the father, that is—when Edward was conceived and said that he could be his or anyone’s son. Did I want to foist off someone’s bastard as my heir?” Henry’s voice broke. “My boy, the pride of my life, referred to as someone’s bastard! They told me that after Northampton you had surrounded yourself with handsome gallants and would happily marry young Somerset if you could but be rid of me.”

I closed my eyes.

“I did not believe them; I would scream at them to stop telling me such awful things. They wouldn’t serve my food on time so I was hungry and faint. I should have stood up to them better; I know that now. Time after time I have smote myself, knowing how I had betrayed you and our boy. When I saw you today, thin and—dirty, I must say—and so tired-looking and thought of all that you must have been through…And you were robbed, Edward said. My little Marguerite.”

“All is well now,” I said, holding him tightly against me. “Don’t dwell on such things.”

“I knew too that once I had agreed that York was to be my heir, my own life was hardly worth the purchase. How hard would it be for them to slip some poison into my food, or to have me shot by a stray arrow when I was hunting? No grown man who is the heir to the throne wishes to wait his turn forever. I went to Westminster to look at the spot I had assigned for my burial, wondering if I would soon be lying there. I almost hoped I would be. I could have left the world without much regret—except for realizing that you were still in it, fighting for me and my son.” He shook his head. “I should be fighting for you, my dear. You deserve so much better. I wish at times like these I was like my father.”

“You are what you are, and I love you for it,” I said, closing my eyes. “I am very tired, Henry, after marching all the night before. Let us rest now.”

Henry cradled my head in the crook of his arm and stroked my hair as I fell asleep.

***

Though our men had helped themselves quite liberally to the provisions St. Albans had to offer, we needed more supplies. Accordingly, we sent messengers to London, both to request supplies and to determine how we would be received.

Two days later, we had an answer in the form of a delegation of aldermen, accompanied by the Duchess of Buckingham, Lady Scales, and the Duchess of Bedford. The first two wore mourning for their husbands, killed just months before, and the Duchess of Bedford was puffy-eyed from the news of the death of her daughter’s husband, John Grey, here at St. Albans. “We come bearing the city’s fervent hope that your grace will show her and her citizens mercy,” Jacquetta said as if reciting a speech.

“My lady, talk to me as a friend, not in that formal manner. What have they been saying of me? I mean no harm to the Londoners; I have never meant them any harm. I told them so after York claimed the crown, when his creatures were putting it about that I planned to storm the city and pillage it.”

“I know,” Jacquetta said unhappily. “But they do not believe your grace.”

“The Londoners are terrified of your grace’s army,” the Duchess of Buckingham said. “Warwick has convinced them that you mean their destruction.”

“If they only knew that what I want more than anything is my chamber at Greenwich, and a warm soaking bath,” I said. “And the ultimate atrocity of obtaining a couple of extra gowns and a warmer cloak.” I made a gesture of irritation with my hand. “If I meant to destroy the city, why are we talking here instead of marching upon it when it is undefended? But issue my reassurances. Tell them we have no intent to pillage the city or to despoil its people. We will even send part of the army back to Dunstable, as a token of our good faith.” I paused, looking at Lady Scales. “But that does not mean we will not punish evildoers, such as those men who murdered your husband, my lady.” I turned to Jacquetta. “I am very sorry that Sir John died here. He was a fine young man.”

Jacquetta sighed. “I have not seen poor Bessie, but I know the news will break her heart; she was very fond of John, and he of her. And it is so sad to think of her little boys growing up without a father.”

“With her lovely face and graceful ways, she will not go without offers,” I said. Once Warwick was out of the way and we were back to normal, I reflected, perhaps I could find a suitable husband for the girl myself.

The ladies and the aldermen having left to bear my assurances to the jumpy Londoners, I sent Sir Edmund Hampden, Edward’s chamberlain, and two other men to Barnet to negotiate for our entry into the city, at the head of a force of four hundred men. No sooner had they left, however, than the carts of provisions sent to us were seized and looted by the London rabble. And worse was to come. When some of our men were admitted to the city by the aldermen, they were attacked by the same rabble.

Then we heard that the Earl of Warwick, joined finally by the Earl of March, had combined their forces and were marching on London.

“We must enter the city ourselves,” said Somerset. “This negotiating is for naught; they don’t want us in, and protesting our good intentions will make no difference. We need to force our way in, and do it before the Earl of March—who is quite likely to assert his father’s claim to the throne—does so himself. He’s no laggard; Mortimer’s Cross proved that. Your grace, we have to make a decision.”

Exeter and others nodded. Henry, at whom Somerset’s words had been directed, remained silent for a minute or two before he said, “I know not what to do. It grieves me that the Londoners should think we mean them harm.”

This, it was clear, would be all of Henry’s contribution to the discussion. Somerset turned to me. “Madam, you must agree. London can be ours if we move quickly. We could begin moving there in a couple of hours, with a force of picked men.”

“No. I believe that we should return to the North.”

Hal stared at me. “Are you mad, your grace?”

“The Londoners have never supported us in the past. What makes you think that they would this time? They have always unaccountably admired Warwick; they will support him and the Earl of March. In the North, the men are our friends. Let March and Warwick come to us there, if they dare, and we can finish them off.”

“We have an army here! Why not finish them off here too?”

“I do not think we can, for one thing. Our men are underfed; Warwick’s and March’s are relatively fresh. And what might happen if they trapped us in London? If they gain possession of the king and the Prince of Wales and me, all will be lost. They will find some means of ridding themselves of Henry.”

“I never thought I would say this of you, your grace, but you are too timid. We should have entered London days before; let us do so now. March’s army need not ever enter London’s gates. We can destroy them before that. Send one force into London and another one to intercept March. For God’s sake, we had a great victory here, and another at Wakefield! Let us follow up strength with strength.”

“Too many of our men have deserted, and many of those we have now are growing impatient for want of victuals. We will have difficulty fighting March on one front, much less two. And there is yet another consideration. I promised the Londoners that they should not be despoiled.”

“Who plans to despoil them? If they allow us in, they should come to no harm.”

“You have forgotten what happened when the Tower was under siege. The bombardments we sent out angered the Londoners so much, they murdered poor Lord Scales. That should be a sign of what is to come if they suffer yet again.”

Somerset was making ready to launch yet another counterargument when Henry, who had been watching us volley our arguments at each other, like a spectator at a tennis game, spoke. “My lady is right, Somerset. We shall not enter London. I will not risk having my queen and my son fall into the Londoners’ hands.”

“If that is your chief objection, your grace, why not send them north to safety?”

“No,” said Henry. “I shall not be parted from them again.”

“But—”

“The matter is closed.” Henry stood, grasping my shoulder for support like an old man as he rose. “I shall lie down for a while.”

Hal watched as Henry exited the chamber at the abbey where we had been conferring.

“It is folly, madam,” he said when Henry’s footsteps could no longer be heard in the distance. “Mark me; you will rue this.” Then he turned and stalked out of the room.

***

As we began to move out of St. Albans, the Londoners flung open the gates of the city to Edward, Earl of March. On March 4, he was proclaimed as King Edward IV.

He did not waste time, this oversized brat, this pretender. Within days, he was taking an army north to seal his claim in blood.

We, back at York when the news reached us, did not stint in preparing for them. “God keep you and lead you to victory,” Henry called, over and over again, as our troops—well over twenty thousand men—filed out of York Castle in late March, twenty-four-year-old Somerset at their head. A gentle snow was falling, dusting the men’s armor and the heads that still sat on Micklegate Bar.

By Palm Sunday, March 29, the snow had turned into a near blizzard. Henry and I went to mass at York Minster and spent the rest of the day apart, him praying, me pacing. I had given up on hearing any news and was preparing for bed that evening when I heard the sounds of hooves, slamming doors, and screams. Scarcely decent, I flung off the lady who was braiding my hair and rushed into the great hall.

Somerset, Exeter, and Lord Ros, Somerset’s older half brother, stood in the center of the hall, gasping for breath. Around them, men were pressing into the hall, some walking, some being carried by others. Some were dripping blood onto the rushes. All were covered with snow. “Somerset! For God’s sake, what has happened?”

Somerset did not look up. It was Exeter who said, “All is lost, my lady. We must get out of here immediately. You and the king and the prince will be taken prisoner if you do not.”

“Lost!”

“Tom!” The Countess of Devon rushed to a man who had been brought in on a makeshift bier. His face was barely recognizable as the young Earl of Devon’s.

“He’s dying,” Somerset said, his voice toneless. He wiped melting snow off his face and continued. “Northumberland’s dead. So is Trollope. There must be thousands of men dead—on the fields, drowned in the river. They’re everywhere.” He chuckled. “All covered with snow by now, I suppose. It’s pretty, snow, don’t you think? It covers a multitude of sins. Beautifies everything.” He stared at the snow he had been rolling into a ball. “Shall we finish this glorious day with a snowball fight, men?” He tossed the ball into a tapestry, laughing, then suddenly sank to his knees, sobbing.

“Good Lord! Has he gone mad?”

“No,” said Lord Ros. “He’s utterly exhausted, and it was sheer hell out there.” He gestured to two of Somerset’s men. “Sit him down over there and make him rest until we’re ready to go. Try to get some warm drink into him. Exeter’s right; we can’t waste any time. We’re dead if York’s men catch us, and they were close upon us.”

“The Earl of Devon?” I looked at Marie, who sat beside him on the floor, speaking to him soothingly in French while he groaned in pain.

“He won’t last more than an hour or so if he tries to travel; it was all we could do to get him here. He had best stay.”

“But if York…”

“Come,” interrupted Exeter. “There’s no time for this. Where is the king? Is he actually sleeping through this? Wake him and the prince; they cannot stay abed!”

“Stay?” Henry suddenly appeared in the great hall, blinking.

“Take the king to his chamber! Dress him! Madam, you must get dressed yourself. We’ve a long ride ahead of us.”

“Marguerite? What is it?”

“We must flee,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. “We have lost a battle and many men, and that is all I know.”

“Oh.” Henry closed his eyes. “Let us pray for the dead, then.”

“Not if you want to add yourself to them! Hurry!” Exeter virtually shoved Henry into the arms of his page. “Get him ready for travel immediately. You too, your grace!”