“Sire,” he stammered, thinking quickly how to best respond to this unexpected turn of events, “I looked not for this new title, and was quite content with my current state.”
“We have decided,” said Edward, “and we know that we can count on your continued loyalty.” The new Marquis of Montagu bowed, seeing that further argument would be futile.
“I remain Your Highness’ loyal servant.” Thanks to Warwick’s rebellion, Neville knew that he had no friends in this room anyway, and it was best that he hold his tongue and choose a better time to express his displeasure with the new arrangements.
After a few more minutes of routine business, the king dismissed the Privy Council and left the throne room, as did the rest of the lords. Montagu stopped Sir Julian before he could escort the archbishop out.
“Sir Julian, I wonder if I might have a word with the archbishop before you take him hence?” Sir Julian did not like the idea, but had little choice.
“As you wish, my lord, but we depart forthwith, and you must be brief.” Montagu nodded in agreement and Sir Julian withdrew out of earshot.
“It seems we have done ourselves little good, my brother,” said the archbishop.
“The king is deluded if he thinks I’ll accept this. Does he imagine that I would be content with this new title?”
“I believe that he knows exactly what he’s doing. Besides, you are a Neville, and that’s sufficient for the queen, who lost a father and a brother at our hands.”
“At your hands, George, not mine. I begged you both not to proceed with this rebellion, but you chose to ignore me. Now you have sucked me into your trap, though I looked not for it and have lost the honors for which I spilt my blood.”
“You must be patient, John. While events have turned against us for now, it need not remain so, and I am confident that France will help. When they do, if we stand together this time, we will not be denied. I will not likely be of much use from the Tower, but I’ll pray for the moment when you come to liberate me.”
“I should have stopped you before. Now I have very few options left to me. Damn you both.” He turned and stalked from the room. The archbishop watched him leave, then waved to Sir Julian.
“I am ready for the Tower, Sir Knight,” he said boisterously, “and God grant us a safe journey thither.”
“You may rest assured, Your Grace, that I’ll see you safely there, and presently,” Sir Julian responded with conviction.
*
As Sir Julian was escorting the archbishop to his new place of residence, Samuel, Oliver, Stanley, and Sir Nigel walked together toward the inn where quarters had been arranged for the king’s guard, all more or less in awe of the remarkable bustle that characterized the great city of London. Home to seventy thousand souls from every walk of life imaginable, it was the very center of the realm’s commercial activity. Surrounded still by the old semicircular Roman wall, the city sprawled on the north bank of the River Thames, the artery that brought the world and its goods to England. Ships from ports all over Europe offloaded their cargoes from dozens of piers along the river’s shores, and the resulting commerce fueled an unrivaled hive of activity. The city streets were mostly unpaved and narrowly lined with buildings of every sort and design. Some were timber and plaster, some brick, some squalid huts with thatched roofs, mixing easily with opulent mansions of stone. The most distinctive structure was the massive cathedral of St. Paul, its Gothic walls and buttresses easily seen from almost any point within the city. Most streets meandered senselessly through the turmoil, and were covered with discarded human refuse that was often home to rats and ravens.
The four men walked along Thames Street, the closest street to the river, and one of the few paved with cobblestones. It spanned the length of the city, from the Tower all the way to Blackfriars on the western edge. Easily the busiest street in London, it was packed with fishmongers and purveyors of goods of all description from honey and grains to baked goods, wines, and wax. It was from Thames Street that a majority of the goods that came to the city from abroad were dispersed into the local economy, making their way into the lives of the common Englishmen, and from where luxurious items such as satins and silver from Italy and fine furniture from the Hanseatic towns of Germany came to the nobility.
Through this barely controlled chaos, Samuel walked with his friends, in a mood so black he barely noticed any of it. The king was safe, but in the process they had lost any hope of finding the women, since their only connection to them, Sir Hugh, had fled to France with the Earl of Warwick. At that moment, he had no idea how to proceed, and the helplessness of that feeling was oppressive.
“I know you think we’ve lost them, Samuel,” Sir Nigel put his arm around him, “but I swear to you that I will not forget my promise. Though the king has required my presence here in London, some of my eyes are searching for your family, and what they seek they will find, you know that to be true.” Samuel looked at Oliver, who seemed equally unimpressed with Sir Nigel’s assertions.
“You’ll excuse me if I seem ungrateful, but once again we did what was expected of us, and find ourselves worse than when we started.”
Sir Nigel did not take offense. “It only seems that way, my friend. When my men get word of them, and I tell you that they surely will, I’ll drop whatever I’m doing, even if I’m at the side of the king himself, and help you to rescue them. This is my pledge to you both.”
“As will I,” added Stanley. “Sir Julian has already given me leave to stay with you until this business is finished, though the king needs all his guard and will surely be displeased.”
When Samuel said nothing, his bitterness still unrequited, Oliver put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“We both recognize that you are committed to help, and we appreciate it. We have traveled too far to give up now, and we won’t, though Hell’s gate opens before us. Sir Nigel, we’ll stay with you here until we hear from your men, and when we do, our resolve will be great to correct the wrongs that have been done to us.”
Samuel was at first annoyed at Oliver for presuming to interpret for him, but realized that he was venting his frustration at the wrong people, and was grateful to his friend for saying what he should have said himself.
“Sir Nigel,” he said at last, “when could we reasonably expect to hear something?”
“Soon. My men have been out since the king was freed. We will pick up the trail before long, you can be assured.” Samuel nodded and said nothing, but as they continued their walk along the bustling street, it occurred to him that his luck would seem to forebode otherwise, and somehow he knew that Oliver was thinking the same thing.
CHAPTER XXIII
The throne room of the King of France was smaller than that of Westminster Palace, but the opulence of its decor was second to none. Intricately carved columns of oak supported a gold-encrusted ceiling frescoed with cherubs. Candelabra of cut crystal adorned every cove along the walls and lit the room brightly.
Louis XI sat on a throne of mahogany cushioned with lace pillows. Pierre de Brezé and François Lascombes waited as the king considered his choices.
“My lords, the Duke of Burgundy must never again be permitted to side with the English against us,” said Louis at last. “It is our principal concern in these matters. Too often, the English have arrived on our shores and shed our dearest blood. I swear I would sooner die than to bend my knee to an English king as my grandfather did.” He clenched his fists as he spoke.
“As you say, Sire,” agreed Lascombes. “But we cannot miss this opportunity. The English throne could remain weak for another generation.”
Brezé cleared his throat. “Perhaps we can accomplish all we need.” The king nodded for him to continue. “I’m sure that the Earl will agree to anything that we ask, in return for our assistance.”
“We a
gree,” Louis said after a moment’s reflection. “Summon Margaret of Anjou to us.”
Lascombes bowed his head and left.
Warwick had arrived at the French court a month earlier and had waited impatiently for an audience with the king. When Louis had finally seen him, it was without the pomp and honors with which he had greeted him the last time he came, as ambassador from Edward. But then he had not come as a beggar. The king had made him no promises, except to consider his request for aid.
“My lord de Brezé, what think you of Warwick’s strength in England? We would not wish to send our troops on a fool’s errand.”
“Majesty, he still commands significant resources, and could if needed gather a strong puissance were he to land in England with some hope of success.”
“By that, I assume you mean if he is well supplied by us.”
“Indeed, Highness. He is not so popular that the nobility will blindly follow him. And we have already seen that they will not accept him as king.”
“We may need your help to convince Margaret to accept our conditions. She values your counsel.”
“As you wish, Your Highness, but I should point out that Margaret is not easily convinced of that which she disapproves.”
“We do not think that Margaret is in a position to defy us. But if she is ruled by us,” Louis continued, “we all stand to gain a great deal.”
“I will do as you say, Your Highness.”
Lascombes returned with Margaret, the exiled queen of England and native daughter of France. The years of exile and Louis’ pitifully inadequate financial assistance during that time had not lessened her will, nor did she hold herself any less majestically. She had raised her son, now sixteen, with the knowledge that he was the rightful heir to the English throne, and had done so with barely enough money to feed him, much less train him to be a great ruler. She wore her graying hair in a single braid that was wrapped tightly to the back of her head.
“Your Highness has sent for me?”
“Rise, Margaret of Anjou, we are glad to look upon you again.”
“I thank Your Grace, though I wonder that it has taken this long for your invitation.”
Louis smiled. He knew she had a right to be upset, but he was not inclined to waste precious resources supporting a queen in exile. However, now that he smelled an opportunity to use her to his advantage, he would tolerate her rebuke.
“Our time serves us now to be more attentive.”
“Forgive me, my lord, but I have heard that your great enemy, the cursed Earl of Warwick, has been granted an audience. I am curious to know what such a traitor can hope to gain from the French people.”
“Has it not occurred to you that perhaps he can be of great service to us both?”
“The only service that I wish of the earl is to see his trunkless head at my feet.” Her hatred had caused her to temporarily lose her civility.
Louis paused for a moment as she regained her composure. He had known that his plan would be hard to sell, but upon her cooperation depended the success of his hopes. He stood and descended from the dais.
“We ask only that you hear us and tell us what you think. Will you agree to that?”
“As you wish, Your Highness.” She had little choice.
“Good, good. Warwick has asked for our aid, which we are not inclined to give except in return for great services to us and France. You both have been wronged by the Yorkist pretender and as such have a great deal in common. Instead of enemies, you should become friends.”
Margaret crossed her arms defiantly. “While we have both been wronged, it is at Warwick’s hands that my son was deprived of his birthright. I cannot ever forget that. If I may be so bold, what can he offer you in his present state?”
“He can be the tool by which your son’s birthright is restored.”
“I am skeptical, my lord. How would this be accomplished?” Louis smiled and sat again on the throne, knowing that he was now more in control.
“We will offer the earl our support only on condition that he recognize our cousin Henry, your husband, as his lawful and rightful king, and your son as heir to the English throne. Would that not accomplish what you have hoped for?”
She knew only too well that even if Warwick were to defeat Edward in the name of the Lancastrians, her husband would be a puppet at best, and she and her son were being shamelessly used by Louis to attain that end.
Her old friend Pierre de Brezé, knowing at that moment that the king had anticipated Margaret’s need for friendly advice, quickly stepped forward.
“Majesty, if you would permit me?” Louis signaled his assent with a nod. “My lady, let me add my endorsement to His Highness’ gracious offer, and I am pleased to know that you will soon retake your place as England’s queen as God in Heaven has ordained.”
Margaret considered his words. Was this how he truly felt, or was he also a pawn of the king? She knew that Brezé was not so practiced in the art of deception as was the king, but there was a sadness in his voice. Finally, she responded directly to Louis.
“Your Highness, I must see the earl myself before agreeing to this plan. I must know his soul. It is my son’s life that we risk in these matters.”
Louis smiled. “A wise request. We will arrange the meeting for tomorrow. You may return again in the morning.”
Margaret bowed and left.
“My lord de Brezé, what support can Edward expect from among the nobility?”
“Of the great magnates, only that of Warwick’s brother, and his own brother, the untried Duke of Gloucester. It is not an enviable position.”
“Strange how these enemies have traded brothers,” mused the king. “Perhaps the time is ripe for us to obtain a lasting advantage over the squabbling English, and we may even, at the same time, extricate the thorn of haughty Burgundy from our side at last. Monsieur Lascombes, draw up terms of alliance between us and Warwick, and take care to include the certain downfall of Burgundy in our terms of treaty. It is our most cherished demand.”
“It shall be as you say, Sire.”
Louis allowed himself a smug moment. Could it be that before the year was out, he would have a pliant and weak king on the English throne, and that Burgundy would once again pay him homage as all vassals should to the king of a united France? It would be the culmination of his dreams.
*
The following day, Margaret arrived back to the royal palace. The Earl of Warwick greeted her in a royal waiting chamber where Pierre de Brezé was also present.
“Majesty, though you have good cause to hate me, I beg forgiveness and a moment to prove my worth.”
“It is right for you to kneel before your queen, my lord. But you are too late to gain advantage by the act. We are banished from our own land by your rebellious acts, and have no boon to give.”
“It is for that very reason that I beg a moment of your time, Highness, for it is my greatest desire to right the wrongs that I have wrought on you and your family. Your Highness, I was misled by the House of York, for which I am truly regretful.” That much, at least, Margaret could believe. “I am now willing to make amends. Between us we can and will reverse our fortunes.”
“My lord, we both know that this attempt at reconciliation is motivated entirely by your present state. If we were to accept your apology, what would keep you from your treacherous ways once we are back in England?”
“My lady,” interjected Brezé, “there is a way for the earl to show his sincerity in this matter and give Your Grace the assurance that she needs.”
“You have always been dear to our heart, my lord, and we value your advice. Tell us what you suggest.” Brezé bowed his head in thanks.
“My lord of Warwick must make an offer to Your Highness that shows his devotion
and sincerity. An offer that cannot be withdrawn or besmirched were the earl to regain his former prominence. A gesture, if you will, that would be blessed by the Holy Church, and therefore sacred.” Margaret’s interest was piqued.
“And you have a proposal for such an offer?”
“My lady, the earl has a daughter still unmarried and, as I have heard, virtuous beyond question. Is it not so, my lord?”
“As virtuous as any in the kingdom, my lord,” interjected Warwick. “I’ll swear to that by all that’s holy. Her name is Anne.”
“And the young Prince of Wales is in need of a wife, is it not so, my lady?”
Horrified as she was by the suggestion, Margaret could not dismiss the idea. If the earl were to regain his estates, Anne stood to inherit a vast fortune. Warwick had no sons, only two daughters, the eldest of whom, Isabel, had recently wed the Duke of Clarence over the objections of Edward. Upon the death of Warwick, English law would split his estate between the two daughters equally, and even half of such an estate would give her son the wealth he would need if he were king. Moreover, as Brezé said, such a marriage would make the earl less inclined to turn his back on them once he was restored to his former power, being content instead with the knowledge that his grandchildren would be rulers of England. Warwick was weighing his options as well.
“What say you to this proposal?”
“If His Majesty the Prince will have her, then with all my heart the union has my blessing.”
“My lord. You will have our answer in the morning. Now, there are details that we must discuss with my lord de Brezé.” Warwick kissed the queen’s hand and left.
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