The Red Rose of Anjou - Plaidy Jean - Страница 42

• Предыдущая
• 42/89
• Следующая

It could be York. Some would say he was the most likely. But Somerset was not without his supporters.

As they walked out into the Temple gardens for a breath of fresh air the scent of the roses was everywhere. They had been well tended and grew in profusion on either side of the path and the gardener had arranged them so that red roses were on one side, white on the other.

Warwick approached Somerset and there was no mistaking the hostility in his eyes.

‘My lord,’ said Warwick, ‘you should count yourself fortunate that you walk freely in these gardens.’

‘I understand you not, my lord,’ retorted Somerset.

‘Ours is a sad country these days, my lord. How long ago is it since the streets of this city were ringing with triumphant bells and there were processions there to celebrate our victories?’

‘You would know that, my lord Warwick, as well as I and I cannot think why you should ask such a question of me.’

‘Of whom else should I ask it, since you are the author of our troubles?’

‘You go too far.’

‘I will go as far as I consider seemly.’

People were beginning to gather round sensing a growing excitement. A quarrel between two of the mightiest nobles in the country.

Somerset’s hand was on his sword. He was notoriously quick-tempered. The Duke of Buckingham caught at his sleeve to restrain him. Warwick looked him steadily in the eyes.

‘My lord,’ said Warwick, ‘I see plans in your eyes.’

There was no mistaking his meaning. Somerset felt an uneasiness creeping over him.

‘I am loyal to the King,’ he cried. ‘I am his servant as long as he honours me with his commands.’

‘We are all good servants of the King and this realm,’ retorted Warwick. ‘But methinks, lord Somerset, that there is one who comes before you in his closeness to the King.’

‘So you are for York, are you, Warwick? You have decided j to take sides in this quarrel you seek to ferment.’

‘It is not of my fermenting but when there are those who concern themselves with great projects it is the duty of all honourable men to support that which is right.’

Somerset was seething with rage. He was alarmed. The country was against him. Unfairly they blamed him for defeats in France. He only had the support of the King and the Queen to rely on. But no, there were others. There must be some who did not want to see York rise to power.

He moved away from Buckingham’s restraining hand and plucking one of the red roses, the symbol of the House of Lancaster since the days of Edmund, Earl of Lancaster and brother of Edward the First, he cried out: I pluck this red rose. The red rose of Lancaster. I am for Lancaster and the King.’

Warwick turned away and immediately picked a white rose —the symbol of York—the white rose worn by the Black Prince himself. He held the rose on high. ‘I pluck this white rose,’ he said. ‘The white rose of York. Let every man among us choose his rose. Let him declare himself with these fair flowers. Then shall we know how we stand together.’

There was a shout of excitement as all began plucking the roses until the flower beds were completely denuded. Their cries filled the air.

‘For York. For Lancaster.’

This was the prelude. The curtain was about to be raised on the wars of the roses.

###

The Duke of York had gone off to his castle of Fotheringay on the banks of the river Nen in Northamptonshire which had become a favourite seat of the House of York since Edmund Langley had taken possession of it. There he was joined by the Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Salisbury and Salisbury’s son Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick.

They had gathered together to plan how they should act at the forthcoming session of Parliament.

‘The King cannot continue to reign unless he ceases to be guided by his wife,’ declared Warwick.

Since the scene in the Temple gardens he had set himself up as an adviser to York on whose side he had now proclaimed himself so openly to be. York was a strong man he believed and what the country needed was a strong man.

‘Poor Henry,’ said York. ‘‘Tis a pity he cannot go into a monastery. It would suit him better than his throne.’

‘It may well be that in time he will,’ added Warwick.

The others were silent. Warwick was perhaps being impulsive not in having such an opinion, but in voicing it.

‘If the Queen were to have a child...’ began Salisbury.

‘My lord, do you think that possible?’ asked York, desperately hoping to hear that it was not, for if Margaret did bear a child all their scheming would come to nothing.

‘Hardly likely,’ said Salisbury. ‘Not after all this time. The King is too deeply concerned with his prayers and the Queen with being Queen. She divides her Ume between instructing her seamstress on the making of extravagant garments and arranging the marriages of her serving-women. The Queen is a meddler.’

‘Better for her to meddle with her needlewomen and serving-wenches than with the affairs of this country,’ put in Warwick.

‘But she meddles in everything. And Somerset is her darling.’

‘Do you think...?’

A fearful thought had come to York.

‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘Even Margaret would not go as far as to foist a bastard on the throne.’

‘But Somerset—if he were the father—would salve his conscience by declaring—to himself of course—that it was a royal brat.’

‘We go too far,’ said Warwick. ‘The Queen is not with child or likely to be, so we waste time in discussing who the father of a possible bastard might be. Let us give ourselves to matters of immediate concern. We must rid the country of Somerset. He should be impeached for what he has done in France.’

‘The Queen will never agree to it.’

‘It is a matter for the Parliament. What we shall aim for is to remove Somerset and set you, my lord York, up in his place. Protector of the realm to serve under the King, which means you will advise him, with the help of your ministers, and it may well be that we can snatch a little victory out of this morass of disaster and failure into which our once great country has fallen. We shall attend the Parliament wearing white roses. It will show clearly what our intentions are.’

‘It is not easy to come by white roses at this time of year,’ pointed out Norfolk.

‘Then they should be fabricated in paper or whatever substance can be found. Let us keep to our symbol of the White Rose. All those for us shall wear it and you may be sure that our enemies will retaliate by flaunting the red rose of Lancaster. Then we shall know our friends...and our enemies.’

So they would go to the Parliament.

###

Margaret was furious when she heard that Richard of York had seen the King and that Henry had agreed to call a Parliament.

‘That man is a traitor,’ she cried. ‘You know what he wants, don’t you...he and that haughty wife of his? Do you know Proud Cis is already behaving as though she were a queen and that her women have to kneel to her?’

‘She was always a proud woman.’

‘It’s because she is the daughter of that bastard Joan Beaufort,’ went on Margaret.

Henry smiled at her affectionately. She had been so fond of that other bastard, Joan’s brother, the Cardinal. Margaret was so fierce in her loyalties, her likes and dislikes, that she was not always logical.

‘You mistake York,’ he said. ‘He has been wrongfully accused of complicity with Jack Cade. He wanted to be exonerated. That is all.’

‘That is all," ‘ she mimicked. ‘And wrongfully accused. He has not been wrongfully accused. You may depend upon it, Richard of York has his eyes on your crown.’

‘How could he ever hope for that?’ asked Henry, his eyes wide. ‘I am the son of the King. I have worn my crown almost since I was in my cradle.’

Margaret looked at him in exasperation. Would he never learn? Could he not see evil when it was creeping up on him and was all around him? What a fool he was to think that the whole world was intent on good and every man as saintly as himself. It was well for him that he had a strong woman to look after him.

• Предыдущая
• 42/89
• Следующая