by Jean Plaidy
Edward had shrunk near to her and she had put a protective arm about him. The touch of her own son gave her an even greater courage than was usually hers, though she had never been easily afraid and had always trusted in her own powers of survival.
He was a robber, this creature, an outlaw...living apart from his fellows, bearing a grudge against them for making him an outcast because of his grotesque appearance. He approached, a knife in his hands.
She dared not show her fear. She had to protect her son. Instead of retreating, she held Edward firmly by the hand and approached the robber.
‘My friend,’ she said, ‘this is the son of your King. We are lost in the forest. We are in retreat from our enemies. I know you will save him.’
The robber had paused. That he was astonished was clear. He must have been startled to find himself face to face with the Queen.
He stammered: ‘You place yourself in danger wandering through these woods.’
‘That we know, and we do it because there is nothing else left to us.’
‘If you go on you will be captured by soldiers. The woods are full of them.’
I know,’ said Margaret.
‘Would you trust me?’
She looked at him fearlessly. ‘I would,’ she answered.
‘Then follow me.’
She had done so fearlessly because oddly enough she did trust this man, robber that he was. In time they had come to a cave. He went into it, giving a low whistle as he did so, and within a few moments a woman had appeared. She stared at Margaret and the Prince and Margaret said: ‘Good day to you, my friend.’
‘It’s the Queen and her Prince,’ said the man.
‘What’ll she be wanting with us?’ asked the woman.
‘Shelter and a hiding-place from her enemies.’
The woman nodded.
There were sounds in the woods. Yorkist soldiers were at hand. What would they not give to capture the Queen and the Prince? They should not! She would risk anything rather than fall into their hands. Better be robbed of everything she possessed. Not that she had much.
So she and Edward had entered the cave. The home of the robber and his wife was divided into two apartments. One of these they gave up to Margaret and her son, and for two days she and Edward had stayed there; they had eaten with the robber and his wife until that time when the robber came in to report that it would be safe for her to emerge.
How strange that helpers appeared in unexpected places. The outlaw had taken her to her friends and she had parted with him with tears of gratitude in her eyes. She had little to give him, she told him, but she would never forget him. She could give him only a ring in exchange for his services.
‘Of all I have lost,’ she told Brézé, with whom she was delighted and greatly relieved to be reunited, ‘I regret nothing so much as being unable to reward in a manner suited to their deserts those who are of service to me.’
They had found their way back to Scotland, but what a cool reception she had received there. It was as though everyone but herself considered her cause to be hopeless. Being unwelcome in Scotland, what was she to do?
Brézé advised her that she should return to France. There surely she would find more sympathy than anywhere else. Her father must help her; and the Duke of Burgundy could, she believed, be persuaded to do so.
She said goodbye to Henry. He was bewildered, scarcely aware of what was happening. He reiterated that he wanted only to be left in peace with his books and his prayers.
Exasperated, but in a somewhat tender manner, she had taken her leave of him. ‘I shall get help,’ she had said. ‘It is the only way.’
He had nodded, scarcely listening.
So she sailed once more for France with Pierre and his son Jacques, with Exeter and Sir John Fortescue, those faithful few whom she could trust. And this time with her was Prince Edward. She was never going to be separated from her son again.
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Looking back she saw that in her determination she had followed will o’ the wisps—any little lights in the darkness which might offer some hope. She should have known that the wily Duke of Burgundy would not want to help a cause which he, like so many, thought to be a lost one.
But leaving Scotland, where could they go? Her hope had been the Duke of Burgundy. Brézé did not think that they could look for much help there but she was adamant, for if not to Burgundy, where else? Louis had shown her that he was not inclined to help.
She had very little money; she must get a loan quickly. They could not afford to waste time so as soon as she landed at Sluys she sent a message to the Duke of Burgundy telling him where she was and asking to be received by him without delay.
The Duke was astounded and dismayed. He had no wish to see her. The position with the King of France was delicate; he knew that Louis was watching him more closely and that Edward, backed by Warwick, was becoming a power to be reckoned with.
He immediately sent Philippe Pot, one of his most reliable followers and a man of immense tact and diplomatic talents, to Margaret with the message that the Duke was unable to receive her at this time because of pressing duties.
Margaret had snapped her fingers at such limp excuses and retorted that she came from King Henry of England and she was determined to see the Duke.
‘My lady,’ said the diplomatic Philippe Pot, ‘do you realize the hazards of the journey? To meet the Duke you would have to pass close to Calais. It would be known that you were travelling there and your enemies would make every possible effort to capture you.’
Of course she had brushed aside his warnings. He should know better than to tell Margaret of Anjou what she must or must not do, and even the great Duke of Burgundy discovered that he would have to do as she wished.
But though she had forced herself into his presence in such a manner that his natural gallantry would not allow him to repulse, she was quickly made to realize that there was little he would do to help her. He managed to intimate that although he was happy to receive her, the King of France was not very pleased that she should be his guest.
How humiliating! A Queen of England to be so treated! To make her feel again and again that her presence was unwanted. They all seemed to have accepted Edward as King of England and showed clearly they had no wish to be embroiled in her quarrels.
There was nowhere she could turn; Scotland, France, Burgundy; she was an embarrassment to them all.
A message came from her father. She must retire for a while to his estates in Bar. There she could live quietly while she decided what she would do.
And so to this little town of St. Michiel she had come. She could not be more isolated. The town seemed to be cut off from the world. There was peace there, but when had she ever wanted peace? She knew the countryside well because she had been born not very far away at Pont-à-Mousson. She remembered the days of her childhood when she had ridden along the banks of the Moselle.
René had given her a small pension. She was grateful for she knew that he would have had to borrow to provide it. It was not much, but adequate for her to rent a house and form a little court there. But even he had little time to worry about her and her affairs. He was absorbed by his pretty young wife and he had always been a man to live for the moment and it would be a somewhat self-indulgent moment at that.
So here she was in the little walled town living the life of an impoverished gentlewoman and yet somehow maintaining what appeared to be a Court. She would be ever grateful to her friends and in particular to Pierre de Brézé and Sir John Fortescue. Pierre had spent the larger part of his fortune in her service and his admiration and devotion was a constant prop to her in all her troubles; as for Sir John she knew he was ready to follow her whither her ill fortune led her. What especially endeared him to her was his devotion to the Prince. Being a scholar himself—judge and lawyer—he was well equipped to undertake the Prince’s education and this he did. For the Prince he had written De Laudibus
Legum Angliae, a work which explained the Constitution of England and royal behaviour, because he feared—he had secretly confided to Margaret—that the Prince was more interested in martial excellences than in learning.
And so the years were passing. The Prince was growing up and was a source of great joy to Margaret. He was the very reason for living as far as she was concerned. He was devoted to her and as he grew older he realized more and more all that she had done and was doing was for him.
Secretly he despised his father, but that only made his love for his mother more intense.
Watching events—as far as was possible in her remote village—looking after her son and seeing Sir John train him for kingship was her delight in those years. She never doubted—nor did Sir John—that one day Edward would be King of England.
Seasons came and seasons went...seven years passed by while Edward of York remained King of England and Margaret waited.
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Meanwhile Henry had fared even worse than Margaret. After Hexham he had become a fugitive, escaping capture so narrowly that his pages and his very cap of state had fallen into the enemy’s hands. He had flown from the battle with a few of his followers...riding through the night...anywhere.
He had his friends though. The North was faithful. There were many who believed that the anointed King was the true King and any who replaced him, however strong, whatever his claim, was the usurper. There was many a manor house to offer hospitality where he could rest and be fed and treated as a King. But after one or two narrow escapes when someone had betrayed him he would have to move on. There were many who wished to help him but who were afraid to do so, for King Edward would have little mercy on any whom he considered to be traitors and to harbour King Henry would be called a deed of treachery to Edward.
He was a fugitive. He marvelled. He who had been a King in his cradle was now pursued through his kingdom by one of his subjects. If only he could be left alone to pray, to meditate, to read his holy books, he would not care who ruled the kingdom. He just wanted peace.
But he did not think he would get that if they captured him.
At some of the houses where he was given hospitality he had stayed in more prosperous days during his progresses through England. He remembered the ceremony of welcome when all the servants were overawed and deeply respectful. How different it was now when he must creep in—very often be given a small room which his host would say was safe.
All he wanted was just enough room to kneel and pray to God and perhaps a pallet on which to lie for a few hours of necessary sleep.
One night they came to Crackenthorpe near Appleby in Westmorland. Riding through the night, they had passed a monastery. Henry had looked at it with eyes of longing. What would he not have given to be one of those happy monks. Fate had been cruel to make him a King.
John Machell, the owner of the manor of Crackenthorpe, came out to the courtyard after one of Henry’s friends had gone into the house to tell him he had visitors.
Taking the King’s hand John Machell kissed it assuring him of his loyal service at all times.
‘This is the time we need it, John,’ said Henry. ‘We are worn out with travelling. Can you give us a bed for the night?’
‘My lord, my house is at your service.’
‘Nay, nay John, that would not do. What comment there would be. Your King comes as a fugitive. There is another who calls himself King in England now.’
John Machell said there was one King as far as he was concerned and he would serve that King with his life.
‘There is need for caution,’ he was told.
He realized that and was persuaded to let his household believe that some travellers on their way to York were spending the night at the house.
There was a fine chamber for Henry. He sank to his knees and remained there for a long time. Food was sent to his apartment and he found great rest and comfort in the house of John Machell at Crackenthorpe.
He was able to rest there for a few days and then John noticed that one of the servants was regarding the King in a rather curious manner and he knew that it was time for him to move on.
He had an idea. The Abbot of the nearby monastery was known to him, and he believed him to be one who deplored the usurpation of the throne and was a true Lancastrian.
‘I will go to see him,’ he said. ‘Stay quietly in your chamber but be ready to leave if there should be any alarm. There may be people here who would betray you to the enemy. I will be back before nightfall.’
When he returned he was excited. He believed he had something to say which would give the King great pleasure.
His friend the Abbot had given him a monk’s habit. He suggested that at dawn the King and his friends leave the house. When they had gone a little way the King could change into the habit. He could then leave his friends and present himself to the Abbot. The Abbot would know who he was but no one else would. The Abbot would naturally offer hospitality and perhaps he could mingle with the monks and li>‘e as one of them.
Nothing could have delighted Henry more. He was all eagerness; his friends had never seen him so enthusiastic and ready to embrace a plan.
All went well. He arrived at the monastery, was welcomed by the Abbot and took his place with the monks.
He had not been wrong. This was the life for him. He fitted into it with ease. He lived by the bells. The silence preserved in the monastery was helpful to him and made it easier for him to hide his identity; and as he had often Lived Like a monk, no one would have guessed he was not one.
A few months passed in this happy state but as it was supposed that he was on a visit from another monastery he could not stay too long.
The Abbot however could warn an Abbot of another monastery of the King’s coming and he could rest there for another short period before he passed on.
Henry was happy to do this. He left the monastery with many protestations of gratitude; and then began his wandering life. He realized that none of his sojourns could be long but when he felt the walls of a monastery close about him, when he was in his austere cell he was happier than he had ever been anywhere else.
‘If I could have chosen this life,’ he said, ‘I should have been a happy man.’
The time was passing. Sometimes he thought of Margaret in France and Edward who was growing into a man. They seemed far away. Perhaps in his heart he did not want Margaret to come back. He did not want the conflict to start again.
At length he came to what was known as the Religious House of Whalley in Ribblesdale and here he found refuge as he had in other places of this kind. Eagerly he embraced the life; praying, working in the fields, whatever it was he was happy doing it. Sometimes he completely forgot that other life of ceremonies and arduous duties which he had never felt fit to perform.
‘Oh God,’ he prayed, ‘I thank Thee for bringing me to this rest. If it be Thy Will let me spend the rest of my days in such good life.’
Alas for Henry, his prayers were not to be answered.
Beside the religious house of Whalley was Waddington Hall and when Dr. Manning, Dean of Windsor, was visiting there he asked the honour of the King’s company. Henry accepted the invitation and set out in his monk’s robes for the Hall.
Had he been more observant he would have noticed that for some days one of the monks had been taking a great interest in him. The eyes of this monk were always on him, but Henry had not noticed this. The fact was that the monk was becoming more and more convinced of Henry’s identity, and it occurred to him that if the visiting monk were indeed the one-time King this fact should be made known to those it might interest. The country had been for some years under the rule of Edward the Fourth and no one was going to deny that life had not improved considerably. The French woman was heartily disliked throughout the country and there were constant rumours that she was awaiting an opportunity to return. If this were so this monk was playing a part. He was in hiding waiting for the time wh
en his virago of a wife returned to plunge England into war again.
The monk was now certain that the man he was watching was Henry. He went to Sir John Tempest to whom Waddington Hall belonged. Sir John, with his son-in-law Thomas Talbot, was immediately determined to act. If this monk were indeed the King in disguise, there would be a good reward for his apprehension, moreover it was for the good of the country to have him under surveillance, they assured themselves. He was coming to Waddington Hall that he might converse with the Dean in their dining-hall. They must act promptly. They did not wish to be accused of complicity in any plots to restore Henry to the throne. It was so easy to be caught up in these matters, so easy for innocent men to be called traitors.
So Sir John Tempest with his son-in-law, Thomas Talbot, and Sir James Harrington, who lived at Brierley near Barnsley and was a man who had been to Court, put their heads together. They would take the King while he sat at dinner in Waddington Hall and from there transport him to London, sending messengers on to King Edward and the Earl of Warwick telling them what they had done. They had no doubt that they would be rewarded for their loyalty and prompt action.
Thus while Henry sat at dinner in earnest conversation with the Dean, some of the servants noticed a commotion without. There was one man who had served the King since his escape from Hexham and he had always regarded the King’s safety as being entrusted to him. Alert for danger he scented it immediately and even as the King was eating his frugal meal he was beside him.