The Red Rose of Anjou - Plaidy Jean - Страница 57

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‘Not forgetting the House of York,’ added Margaret.

‘We all want to see our families well cared for.’

‘But fortunately all do not want to wear the crown.’

‘York does not think of that. He is a good man, I swear, Margaret.’

‘Oh, Henry, you are so easily deceived. And Warwick. He is the most dangerous of them all. He is the sly one. He has wormed his way into the people’s affections. They cheer him wherever he goes. They think he is wonderful because he performs piracy on the high seas.’

‘He attacks only the French who are making things uncomfortable for him in Calais.’

‘He should never be at Calais. He should be removed from that post. Henry, you could give it to young Somerset. It would show how sorry we are that his father was killed in our service.’

‘Somerset is too young for the task.’

‘How old is Warwick?’

‘He must be nearly thirty.’

‘Not so much older than Somerset.’

‘It is not only a question of age, my dear. Warwick has shown himself to be a great leader.’

‘He has shown himself to be a pirate. But I know the English love pirates.’

‘The English love law and order as do all sensible people. No, it would be wrong to take the governorship of Calais away from Warwick. The people would be angry. They idolize him in the south-east. They say when he rides up from Sandwich to London they run out to cheer him and throw flowers at him.’

‘All the more reason why he should be deprived of that post.’

‘But he has excelled in it, and you know how the people feel about de Breze’s raid on Sandwich.’

It was dangerous ground. She had erred badly over that, they said. They blamed her, although she had never asked that the English mainland should be attacked.

However, with unaccustomed firmness Henry made it clear that the governorship of Calais should not be taken away from Warwick, and the citizens of London, who shortly before had been apprehensive, were delighted that there was to be a ceremony. The King had decided on the Feast of the Annunciation and it was to be a day of public thanksgiving. Enemies would enter the cathedral as friends—hand in hand—and they would all give thanks to God for this day.

There was a grand procession through the streets. The Duke of Somerset and the Earl of Salisbury—sworn enemies until this day—headed the procession; and behind them came the Duke of Exeter with Warwick. Henry followed in all his royal robes which he so hated to wear but he had his hair shirt underneath them and hoped that the discomfort would offset the extravagant splendour in the eyes of the Almighty. Behind the King was Margaret with the Duke of York. They held hands as they walked. She found it very hard to hide her disgust at the procedure. To walk thus with her greatest enemy, holding his hand when it was his head she wanted and that on a pike—was nauseating. She had almost refused to do it but remembering what had happened at Sandwich and the new mood of the King, she felt she could hardly refuse. But she was not York’s friend and never would be.

York however was pretending to be on terms of great friendship. Could he really want peace? Had he really given up his ambitions to wear the crown?

She could not believe it.

The whole thing was a farce.

It pleased Henry, though. Poor simple soul, he believed these people when they said there should be peace. He used himself as a pattern and seemed to think that everyone had the same motives, and was as direct and honest as himself. Poor foolish Henry! How he needed a woman to look after him. And this new mood was faintly alarming.

So they went into the cathedral and the service began.

Afterwards there were bonfires in the streets and the people danced merrily round them. Troubles were all over, they believed. The enemies were now friends. Recompense had been made to those who had suffered.

It was called Love Day. The day when the wearers of the red and white roses became friends.

THE KING-MAKER

Henry was delighted to receive Jasper Tudor, the Earl of Pembroke, who was in good spirits. His brother Edmund, Earl of Richmond – a title, like that of Jasper, owed to the goodwill of the King, for if he had not recognized them they would have no titles and very few possessions – was unable to attend.

He had not been well of late. If he had he would have hastened to tell the King of his good fortune. His wife, Margaret Beaufort, whom the King had so obligingly arranged for him to marry, was pregnant and there was great joy in the family.

‘It is wonderful news,’ cried Henry, always delighted in other people’s good fortune. ‘And how is Margaret?’

‘Margaret is well and so much looking forward to the event.’

‘She is a little young to bear a child.’

‘She is not quite fourteen,’ said Jasper. ‘Young, yes, but she is mature enough. They are very happy together and this child will bless their union. My father, I and our sister are full of delight. We hope for a boy, of course.’

‘I understand that but I doubt not you will be grateful for whatever the Lord sends you.’

‘Indeed yes. Margaret is young. It is good that she has proved so soon that she is fruitful.’

When Jasper had left, Henry told the Queen the good news. Margaret could understand their delight in the coming of a child. She herself had waited a long time and now her boy was the joy of her life. She was a little irritated by the Tudors though because some of the titles Henry had bestowed on them had been taken from her. The Pembroke estates in particular had at first been assigned to her and she had not at all liked giving them up for Jasper. Having had little in her youth and been the daughter of a man who was constantly in debt she cherished her possessions with something like fanaticism. Still, the Lancastrian cause needed men like the Tudors. All their blessings came from Henry, their benefactor as well as their half-brother, and so she did not openly show her resentment over the Pembroke estates, but welcomed the Tudors whenever they came to Court. She showed an interest in their affairs, and now rejoiced with Henry in their good fortune.

I trust all will go well with Margaret,’ said Henry, ‘She is really nothing but a child herself

‘She will be all right,’ said Margaret lightly. Other people’s difficulties were always light-weight in her opinion.

Henry said: I have asked to have news of the birth as soon as it happens.’

‘Well, we shall expect messengers from Wales with the good news.’

It was a grey November day when the messengers came. They clearly did not bring good news.

When Henry heard they had arrived he was filled with apprehension. It was not yet time for the birth, for he had understood it was to be in January.

It was Owen Tudor himself who came. Bad news indeed.

‘My dear Owen,’ cried the King, ‘what is it? Not Margaret? Oh, I feared she was too young.’

‘Margaret is sick with sorrow, my lord.’ Owen seemed unable to go on.

‘My dear Owen,’ began the King, ‘she is young...There will be more.’

Owen shook his head. ‘It is my son, your half-brother...Edmund.’

‘Edmund? What of Edmund?’

‘He is dead, my lord.’

‘Dead? Edmund? But how...? Killed...? Murdered?’

‘Nay, my lord. It was some malady. It attacked him suddenly and...’

‘But he is so young.’

‘Twenty-six, my lord.’ Owen turned away. He was remembering the day Katherine had told him that she was going to have a child and how their delight had mingled with their apprehension when they had arranged for the reluctant priest to marry them. It was all long ago...twenty-six years... those happy days which he often looked back to. He remembered so much of them...the quietness of life at Hadham; the peace of the gardens...the happiness of obscurity. What fools they had been—what idyllic fools, to think that a Queen could ever be left in peace.

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