The next day’s journey was uneventful and even enjoyable to Ellerton. He had not understood why he had taken such bold action the night before, but he was pleased at the way things turned out. He had even had time to gather some dried venison from the kitchen before he ran out of Waddington Hall, which they enjoyed eating at midday. The weather was still overcast, but it was comfortably warm and there was no rain. The sound of the woodland creatures going about their everyday activities fascinated Ellerton as they rode slowly along. Henry had said almost nothing since he awoke that morning, and looked as though he carried a great weight on his shoulders, but was pleasant enough when Ellerton spoke to him.
When at last they arrived at the abbey, Ellerton rang the bell at the gate, greatly relieved to have arrived safely. They decided to leave the horses in a nearby glade where they would have ample forage for days. It would be hard to explain how two beggars had come to be in possession of two such fine and expensive animals. A monk answered the bell and, quickly surmising what they needed, listed to them duties and observances that would be expected while they were under the auspices of the abbey, as if he had recited them a hundred times before. They were led to the kitchen where they were fed bread and ale, and then shown a place to sleep in a large room off the barn where the sheep were brought for shearing.
After helping to feed the chickens and doing some general cleanup around the pens, they attended a mass celebrated by the abbot himself, and then ate a supper of porridge and bread. When they were finished eating, the abbot entered the kitchen, a place where the monks were not accustomed to seeing him. He allowed each of the beggars to kiss his ring. When he came to Henry, he paused.
“What is your name, my son?” he asked looking at him carefully.
“My name is but a quince to one as important as yourself, Father,” responded Henry without looking up.
“Nevertheless, I would know it.”
“I am called Henry, Father.”
The abbot looked at him for a moment longer and then moved on to bless the others.
“Do you think he recognized you?” Ellerton whispered. With a blank look, Henry shrugged his shoulders.
Sleep came easily that night to Ellerton, who fell into a slumber so deep he never knew that a king watched over him throughout the dark hours, replacing his coverlet when it fell off during a restless turn. When the cock signaled the start of the new day, Henry had not slept at all.
They were ushered into the chapel for morning mass, and then brought once again into the kitchen for the early meal of bread and ale. After eating they were given assignments around the abbey and its grounds; Henry and Ellerton were told that their help was needed in the south pasture. Led by several monks out of the main gates and down a path through the woods, they climbed slowly toward some high ground. The clouds had given way to a misty morning through which the sun felt warm on their faces, promising a pleasant day to come. Ellerton noticed that Henry had not spoken at all.
“My lord,” he said quietly, “are you well?”
Henry exhaled loudly. “Does your father yet live, Master Ellerton?”
The question took him by surprise. “Yes, my lord, he is a gentleman’s steward in southern Yorkshire. At least, he was the last time we spoke several years ago.”
“I never met my father,” Henry mused. “I was less than a year old when he died, but I heard that he was a formidable man, and beloved of his people.”
“I have heard the same, my lord.”
“Still, I always wondered why, if he was so magnificent, he could not have extended the courtesy to have at least lived long enough to teach me the ways of being a king. It would have been a simple thing for so great a man, don’t you think?”
Ellerton shrugged. “Even the greatest of kings must follow when God summons, my lord. I’m sure he would have preferred it otherwise.”
“Do you really think so?”
“It is said he was a most devout Christian, my lord, and I doubt it not that, had he the chance, he would have enjoyed teaching you what he could.” The need to comfort this poor man was compelling.
They reached a level place in the woods, near several boulders. From somewhere came the sound of a horse snorting. Henry grabbed Ellerton and pushed him up the path.
“Run, my friend, run!”
Ellerton stood in a daze, surprised by Henry’s outburst. Five soldiers stepped from behind some of the boulders. Sir Thomas stepped forward and drew his sword, pointing toward Henry. Ellerton watched as if a dream was unfolding. Without thinking, he leaped toward Sir Thomas with a scream, perhaps hoping Henry could escape during the distraction. The knight spun on him as he closed the few feet between them and impaled the boy on his sword, which protruded several feet from his back. His thick blood quickly covered the knight’s hand. Sir Thomas withdrew the sword and Ellerton fell to his knees clutching his stomach, face as pale as a lowland fog.
Henry rushed to Sir Thomas and pushed him aside. The knight hesitated for a moment, then sheathed his sword. Henry knelt before the boy, who was cold as death and shivering violently. He put his arms around him and hugged him closely, tears hot on his cheeks.
“I am truly a beggar now, my lord,” Ellerton whispered through clenched teeth. “Is it not so?”
“As true a prince as ever there will be.”
Ellerton struggled to smile, then went limp and exhaled his final breath. Henry laid him gently on the ground, closing the boy’s eyes and bringing his lifeless hands to rest on his blood-soaked shirt.
One of the monks pulled on Sir Thomas’ arm. “We were told you would wait at the pasture. It was the abbot’s specific instruction that the abbey not be defiled in this manner.”
“Express our regrets to the abbot and give him the king’s thanks,” responded Sir Thomas. Then pointing to Henry, he commanded the guards.
“Take him. And I trust he will not escape again.”
As Henry was led to a horse, he passed near a monk whose arm he took with a grip firmer than the monk had thought possible for such a feeble man.
“If God’s love still occupies some cranny of your soul, you will give him a proper resting place.”
“We will tend to his remains, my lord,” the monk said softly, shamed by what he had seen. “As God is my witness.”
Henry released him roughly. The former king was helped onto a horse and as they began their journey toward London, he watched the monks gently lift Ellerton’s body and carry him back to the abbey.
s
The news of Henry’s capture spread rapidly through the kingdom. He was quickly escorted to the outskirts of London, where the Earl of Warwick arrested him in the king’s name and led him through the streets of the city. To Warwick’s consternation, there was little of the jeering and heckling that would normally come from the crowds when a great enemy of the king was captured and paraded through town. But Henry had long ago endeared himself to the common folk with his pious nature and gentle demeanor, and the sight of such a man in so pathetic a state left few with a desire to taunt. Since his last words to the monk after his capture, Henry had not spoken and had only stared vacantly at the ground before him, even as he was brought to the Tower and left once again in his royal prison. When the iron door was closed behind him, the featureless stone walls embraced him as a mother would cradle her infant, and he was content.
At Windsor Castle, Edward received the news of Henry’s safe imprisonment in the Tower with relief. While he held no ill feelings toward the wretched former king, he knew that his own position on the throne was now much more secure. Even if it were true that rebellion could still be fomented in his name, Henry’s presence in the Tower under Edward’s close control made that possibility much less likely, especially since Margaret and the former Prince of Wales were hopelessly exiled in France.
&n
bsp; When Warwick arrived at Windsor Castle with the official news of Henry’s disposition, he found the king already in the company of Gloucester and Clarence, Hastings, Rivers, and Warwick’s brothers, the Archbishop of York and the Earl of Northumberland. While they were gathered in the throne room, it was an informal meeting without all of the usual courtiers and other servants and guards.
“My lord of Warwick, we thank you for these glad tidings,” said Edward after Warwick had made his formal report. “It is a day to be remembered not only for the safe dispensing of the former king, but we have also been informed that the queen will give birth within the week, news that we hope will gladden the hearts of all Englishmen.”
The announcement of the impending birth of a royal heir was always cause for celebration, as it gave hope for stability in the royal lineage.
After the congratulations and blessings, Clarence, who alone did not seem thrilled by the news, took a step forward and addressed the king.
“Your Highness, allow me also to express my pleasure at this blessed news. May God grant that it be a male heir. But if I may be so bold, now seeming a good time, may I ask a boon of Your Highness?”
Edward looked at his brother, wondering why he would choose this time to ask for a favor. He would have expected his brother to wait until they had more privacy.
“Ask your boon.”
“Thank you, Sire. I ask that you grant me permission to marry. The Earl of Warwick has graciously offered the hand of his eldest daughter, Isabel, and the offer likes me greatly.”
Edward was stunned by the request, as it confirmed his worst suspicions that his brother had formed an alliance with the Nevilles. Isabel was one of only two children, both daughters, fathered by the Earl of Warwick. As such, Warwick was in effect offering Clarence half of his immense wealth. It was a rich inducement for a brother to turn away from his own. The king glared at his brother. Before he could respond, the herald entered and announced that a messenger had arrived with urgent news. Edward signaled for the messenger to enter. A man who seemed too old and frail for his duties entered.
“Your Majesty, I bring news of two great souls who have parted with their mortal bodies. The first, the noble Duke of Norfolk, so quickly follows his father to his reward, and the second being the Duke of Burgundy, who a fortnight past gave up the ghost at Bruges.”
The news of the death of two great allies was disconcerting to the king, and taken together with his suspicions regarding his brother had left him feeling vulnerable. Norfolk had only two years ago come to the title at the death of his father, who had served Edward at the battles of St. Albans and Towton. As for Burgundy, his death had been expected for some time, and Edward was convinced that Burgundy’s son, Charles, would continue the old duke’s animosity toward the French king and maintain the alliance with the English, but nothing was ever certain when great titles passed into new hands. Feeling overwhelmed by all the turns of the past day, Edward decided that some discretion would be advisable.
“My lords, we wish to withdraw and weigh these matters within ourselves. You will all attend us again in the morning.”
Feeling the need to confide in someone, he walked quickly to a seldom-used wing of the royal quarters where an elaborate suite had been prepared for the queen’s confinement in anticipation of the birth of their first child. He found Elizabeth in her large bed, attended by several women who went to their knees as the king entered. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he ordered them all out.
“How does my queen?” he asked, stroking her long, disheveled golden hair.
“I am tired of this condition, my lord, but I am content. I have prayed all day that God will deliver you a son.” Edward did not seem to react to her words. “What news have you that creases your face so sternly?”
Edward did not at first wish to burden her, but he needed to air his thoughts. He took a deep breath and unfolded to her the events of the morning. After finishing, Edward found himself pacing while his queen chose her words carefully.
“This marriage must not be permitted, my husband. Forgive me, but your brother has been seduced by the Nevilles and would be a dangerous tool in their hands.”
“I cannot believe that he would betray me.” Edward was agitated. He knew she was right, but resented that she would assume the worst anyway. “The death of Norfolk leaves us with no other friends of significant strength with which to balance the power of the Nevilles.”
“Give my father and brothers more authority. They will be your strength, my lord.”
“Perhaps, but it will be a while before they would be a match for the Nevilles.”
“The wealth of the Duke of Norfolk would speed that process.”
“What are you saying?”
“The duke left only an infant daughter to be his heir. The dowager duchess of Norfolk needs a husband, and my brother John needs a wife. Our course seems clear enough.”
“But she’s twice two times his age!”
“We do not need fruit from her withered womb, only access to her wealth.”
Edward was about to dismiss the idea out of hand, but instead turned and looked out the window slit. It was a fair day and the gardens of Windsor Castle were alive with blooms of every color, made more brilliant by the afternoon sun. Could it be that even now that his greatest enemy had been imprisoned, the threat to his throne was greater than ever? Such tactics as suggested by his wife seemed beneath his dignity. But the truth in her logic was undeniable. She put his hand on her stomach.
“This is our future, my husband. Do you want him to wander hopelessly through life like Margaret’s son?”
Her words stung. “Lest you forget, it was I who put them there.”
“I remember well, my husband. I was her lady-in-waiting, and I know exactly how she felt when your father claimed the throne. I will not permit that to happen to this child, though the effort take my last breath.”
Edward took her in his arms. “Do not fear my love, I would never let that happen.” The Tower has no room for another mad king.
s
The next morning, the Lords of the Privy Council were assembled once again in the throne room of Windsor Castle. Edward kept them waiting while he carried on a lengthy conversation with Lord Hastings. Finally, he nodded and Hastings withdrew to his place among the other peers. Edward knew he would need all his wits about him in the next few moments.
“Our brother of Clarence, we have carefully considered your request of marriage to the Lady Isabel, daughter to our cousin of Warwick, and regret that we cannot grant our permission.”
“May I ask why, Your Highness?” He was seething.
“We have decided that it would not be in the best interest of the realm. Be content, my brother. We shall see that you are well bestowed.” Clarence was not satisfied, but nothing could be done at the moment. The king’s word was final.
“We have also decided that Lord Hastings and Earl Rivers shall be dispatched with haste to the new Duke of Burgundy for the purpose of offering him the hand of our sister, Maggy, to solidify our pact of friendship.”
It was Warwick’s turn to flush with anger. “Sire, this hasty act is ill advised! The French king will consider it an act of war.”
“With Burgundy at our side, Louis will not dare to defy us,” Edward said.
Warwick spoke in tightly controlled words. “I must protest that the negotiations that were so carefully crafted with the French are to be dismissed without further consideration.”
“My lord of Warwick, we have recognized your efforts and granted you great privileges in return. Be content that you will always be close to our heart, but in this matter, we have decided to go another way, which should not be taken to mean that we value your advice less.”
“I thank Your Highness for those words, but they ri
ng empty in the face of your actions.”
“We have made our decision, my lord. Do not presume more than you should.”
The tension in the room was palpable as the two men stared at each other like gamecocks in the fighting pit. But in the end, Warwick was intelligent enough to know that this was not the time to challenge the king.
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” he said with a smile. “I am a passionate man when honor is at stake.”
“You are a valued advisor, my lord,” said Edward. “And always will be, if it is your will to be so.”
s
In the courtyard of Windsor Castle, the three Nevilles and Clarence stood in a cluster. Nearby, several pages held their horses. The morning brought another in a long string of fair days. Warwick tugged on his thick beard.
“My lords, the king has been ill advised in these matters. The Woodville family has taken possession of his wits, and I cannot sit idly by and allow them to warp his mind.”
“You are too cross, Richard,” Northumberland chided. “It may be that the Woodvilles have overstepped themselves, but the king has good cause for his decisions and has followed a reasonable course, even if we disagree with it.”
“Our reputation is at stake,” said Warwick. “We have been the very pillars of his throne and are therefore owed deference in these matters.”
The archbishop had been watching Clarence carefully during the conversation.
“What is your feel for these matters, Your Grace? The king is your brother, and we would therefore be ruled by your judgment.”
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