“Lest you still keep any hope within your cold breast, poor Margaret, know the fate of your House.” He nodded to Clarence, who in turn signaled to his men. The body of the prince was dumped on the ground before his mother, who lost all of her majestic composure and fell atop her dead son. It was the only thing that could have hurt her.
“Wretched Edward,” she cried hysterically, “the blood of this innocent boy has sealed your fate.”
“None of us can boast a guiltless soul,” he answered. “Take them from our sight.” Margaret was led away, her dead son carried after. Edward turned his attention to Sir Nigel.
“We wonder at your presence in this church, Sir Nigel. It speaks volumes of evil to us. What can you tell us that would make it harder to pronounce your present execution?”
“Sire, I can only assure Your Majesty that I have been and always will be a loyal subject.”
“Your actions belie your innocence,” Edward shouted. “When we needed you most you fled as a coward, and now we find you consorting with Margaret.”
“Your Majesty, the fault lies with me. Sir Nigel is guiltless.” A soldier knocked Samuel to the ground for daring to speak to the king without leave. Edward held up his hand.
“We know you. We allowed you the honor of standing sentry over our brother’s tomb, is it not so?”
“It is, Your Highness,” he said.
“What could you tell us that would deflect our wrath?”
“Sir Nigel came to my assistance against the queen’s men, as did Sir Julian, who lost his life in my defense.”
Edward’s countenance darkened. “Sir Julian is dead? Why were we not informed?” he turned angrily to Hastings.
“The tally of the dead has not been completed, Sire.”
“We have lost much.” Edward bent his head sadly. The entire company waited while the king reflected. “We have lost our dearest friends because they put the needs of a peasant before the needs of us and the kingdom. We do not understand, but our judgment must be firm. Take them to their present deaths!”
“We die guiltless of any crime, Your Majesty,” replied Sir Nigel.
“Take them away. We will hear no more.”
“Was it for this, then, that the Earl of Rutland died, Your Highness?” The voice came from behind a row of soldiers. Edward spun, furious that anyone should speak of his brother in that manner. Pushing his way past the last soldiers, Oliver stepped into the clear and defiantly faced the king. Several soldiers grabbed him roughly and forced him to his knees.
“Stop!” shouted the king. They released him. Edward’s anger had been deflated at the sight of his brother’s childhood companion and page.
“Oliver?” he said at last. “How…how do you come to be here?”
“Your Majesty, these are my family and if they are to die, then you must kill me as well.”
“No, Oliver!” yelled Samuel, but he was quickly restrained.
Hastings had heard enough.
“Sire, you have suffered enough of this effrontery.”
Edward was lost in thought, almost as if he had been bewitched by the odd-looking man who had appeared from nowhere, and everyone waited for the expected confirmation of Hastings’ advice. For the tiniest instant, in Oliver’s eyes, Edward thought he saw the still familiar flare of light that was so characteristic of Edmund’s, and it was as if a great weight had been lifted from his heart and lifted his soul.
“It is good to see you again, Oliver.” The response stunned the entire company.
“And I you, Your Highness, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”
“Perhaps we can rectify that. Bring them all to our tent,” he said to Hastings. “We have much to understand.”
“As you wish, Sire,” Hastings responded reluctantly.
*
In the weeks that followed, several minor disturbances required the king’s military attention, but for the most part England was a land at peace for the first time in the lives of its oldest subjects. Henry Percy, the Earl of Northumberland, now certain of his master, eradicated the last pockets of Lancastrian loyalty in the northern counties.
Edward returned to London and escorted his wife from the sanctuary at Westminster Abbey to the palace. On the way, soldiers scattered hundreds of cheering citizens welcoming King Edward back to his city, and back to his throne.
As the caravan containing all of Elizabeth’s possessions made the turn from Thames Street, the horse drawing the wagon behind the queen’s was startled by wellwishers who had come too close. He reared up, causing the wagon to overturn. Several crates fell from the wagon, including one containing a fine porcelain statue of an angel. The crate cascaded into the river below and shattered on a half-submerged rock, bits of porcelain swept to the bottom. The queen in her fury at the loss did not notice a paper, which had been hastily stuffed into the hole in the bottom of the statuette by a young lady in waiting named Katherine many years ago. The paper was seized by the rapid current and began its long journey toward the turbulent waters of the English Channel.
*
A few days later the royals sat in the splendor of their throne room in Westminster Palace, where they received many of the realm’s remaining nobility to take their oaths of loyalty once again. The king held his infant son, Edward, for all to see and admire, and required that the head of every noble house swear fealty to the young heir. That night, proclaiming a new era of peace and prosperity for the kingdom, King Edward sponsored a banquet the likes of which had rarely been seen.
Late in the evening, the king’s brother, the Duke of Gloucester, left the feast early on a special assignment. With warrants signed by the king, he and two retainers rode to the Tower, where they were admitted through the main gates without question. They climbed the steps to the walk along the inner wall adjacent to the Wakefield Tower. Gloucester stopped at the edge of the parapet. It was close to midnight and the moon rose over London Bridge, casting a long light on the River Thames. There were few lights on the other side of the river, where the darkness blanketed dozens of small farm houses. The duke wondered if they would all be safer after he had completed his mission. He shivered against a cold wind.
“Wait here for me. I won’t be long.”
The door to the upper chamber of the Wakefield Tower was opened by a guard. The chamber was dark, but a torch on the wall near the tiny chapel illuminated a man kneeling in prayer. As Gloucester approached there was no reaction.
“Henry of Lancaster, I have a warrant from the king.”
Henry turned. The dim light cast shadows on the features of his face, like a skeleton.
“Your coming was foretold to me,” he said.
Henry’s otherworldly abilities were now legendary, but Gloucester was not one of the mewling masses that put any stock in such talk.
“Then you must be aware that your son is dead, and your wife a prisoner.” Henry turned and resumed his prayer, his knees creaking against the hard stone floor.
“I was aware,” he whispered.
“The time has come for the House of Lancaster to expire,” the duke replaced the warrant in the folds of his cloak, “and you with it, my lord.” The sound of a sword sliding from its scabbard assaulted the peace of the chamber. Henry’s back stiffened.
“I have also seen that the House of York will perish at your hands,” he said without turning.
The duke was stunned. The shock of the words raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
“Do you think that such nonsense will prolong your life?” he asked angrily. Henry still did not turn.
“I have no desire to prolong my life.”
“Then I will satisfy you.”
The blade pierced his heart from behind, and Henry did not feel the stone floor of his littl
e chapel as it embraced his body. In the darkness that enveloped him, he saw the flare of light in the eyes that had promised to show him the way.
*
Sir Nigel had sent word to the Miller family that it was safe to leave their place of seclusion. It was a blessing for the children, for whom the long days locked in the residence of a church seemed like a prison sentence. Samuel, Kate, Oliver, and Stanley began their journey back as well, but first made a stop in the eastern town of Norwich and watched as the last rites were read over the body of Sir Julian. The king, after hearing their story, granted the old knight a contingent of his guard to escort him home, and ordered that he be buried with all honors due a man who had served with distinction.
Samuel did not weep for his old mentor again that day, though he felt the loss more deeply than before. He prayed that Sir Julian knew that finally he could be happy again. He dropped the first handful of soil on the coffin, and stepped back, his final farewell said. Kate placed a single rose on top and crossed herself, then walked from the gravesite with the others.
A few days later they stood before the ruins of the millhouse with the rest of the family. They had been forewarned of the loss of their home by Sir Nigel, though nothing could completely prepare them to see all that was built to last a lifetime and beyond, reduced to ashes.
But King Edward had granted them funds to rebuild from the estate of Lord Fitzwalter. As one convicted of treason, Kate’s father had condemned his estate to the fate of attainder, and all of his goods and chattels belonged to the king. But Edward saw an opportunity to repay Kate and the Millers for their suffering. And to repay Oliver for services that could never be forgotten, the king granted him a lifetime stipend that assured him a place among the prominent merchants of York.
The family spent the next weeks building temporary shelter and clearing the scorched rubble of the old structures. The foundation of the mill itself was still sound and would serve as a fine starting point for the new one. It was satisfying to know that something would remain of the past.
On one warm Sunday, the entire family donned their finest clothing and descended on the local church where they watched the parish priest join Samuel and Kate in holy matrimony. Many of the townspeople joined the celebration, the Millers already having made many friends and admirers, their tribulations almost legendary.
Stanley, who had stayed on to help them rebuild, hoping to settle nearby, was the first to congratulate them. It was an unspoken understanding among them all that Stanley would be remembered always as the man who had rid them of the great evil that had stalked them for so many years, and was owed a debt that lifetimes could not repay. On the front steps of the old Norman church, Stanley took Samuel’s hand.
“We’ll do better in the future, I promise.”
Samuel just smiled and squeezed his hand tightly. Next, Oliver embraced him warmly.
“Perhaps you were right about dying alone,” he said, “but it’s the living that really matters anyway, isn’t it?”
Samuel cleared the lump from his throat.
“It’s what you tried to tell me all along. I am sorry I was so thick.”
Oliver laughed. “It’s a quality that I have always admired in you.”
Sally hugged and kissed him.
“Welcome home, Samuel.” Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she took young John by the hand and joined Oliver on the path below.
Christopher and Emma were next, Sarah and Alice in tow.
“Emma, could you take the children ahead? I need to speak with my brother.”
Emma kissed Samuel. “We’ll speak later,” she whispered in his ear, then gathered the children and joined the others.
“Will you walk with me?” he asked Samuel.
Samuel looked at Kate who nodded with a smile and ran to join Emma. They strolled for a while before Christopher spoke.
“I know now that the anger between us was my fault,” he started, “and I regret it more deeply than you could know.”
“I think I can say with confidence that we both lost our way for a while. It’s difficult to believe that clearer vision came from such depravity as we have seen.”
Christopher nodded in agreement. “If God only knew that we would invariably take the wrong path, I wonder if He would have thought twice about giving us the power of choice.”
Samuel thought about it for a moment. “I imagine He felt it was the only way we’d learn the consequences of our actions.”
“I can’t believe that I left my wife and family to fight in a war. The consequences of that will haunt me forever, I can tell you that. If Sally or Kate had been killed, I would never have been able to live with myself.”
“You’re beginning to sound like me.” They both laughed, and it felt good.
Christopher hugged his brother as he hadn’t done since they were children.
“I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you home again,” he choked out the words.
“Come on.” Samuel slapped him on the back. “Let’s get back.” Savoring the time together, they walked slowly back to the mill, where the celebration was already well under way. Ale and mead flowed into the late hours within the makeshift shelter that would serve as their home until the new mill was finished.
Emma managed to pull Samuel aside to a corner where the noise was less deafening. She took his hands and smiled broadly.
“This is all I ever dreamed for us, Samuel. I wish you could feel how light my heart is at this moment.”
“I know exactly how you feel,” he said tenderly. “But you were always our strength from the very start.”
She smiled fondly at him for a moment longer, then pushed him toward Kate, who was dancing with Christopher.
“Go and tell your new wife to stay away from my husband,” she laughed.
A short while later Samuel and Kate retired, eager to start the first night of their new life together.
EPILOGUE
For the rest of his life, King Edward IV would rule England in peace and without further challenge. As a result of his astute dealings with the merchants of his kingdom, it is said he was the first English king to leave the monarchy wealthier than he found it, and his subjects admired their young king for the lavish and rich court that he created. Indeed, he became renowned among European royalty for his hospitality and the grandeur of his palace.
Though he was legendary for his reputation as a womanizer, Edward never strayed far from Elizabeth, the woman he had married for love at great risk to his throne. She bore him ten children, seven daughters and three sons, but would never benefit from the king’s popularity, as the Woodville family continued to engender animosity among the nobility with their constant attempts to gain power.
The final business of the civil wars was to determine the fate of Margaret of Anjou, who was imprisoned after Tewkesbury. King Louis of France agreed to pay her ransom and therefore bought her freedom. In payment, however, he seized her father’s small inheritance, condemning her to live the rest of her miserable life in destitution in France, never to be heard from again.
The Duke of Clarence would never lose his animosity toward his royal brother or toward the Duke of Gloucester, who became Edward’s favorite. The favors and titles lavished on Gloucester would eventually drive Clarence into open defiance once again, forcing Edward to have him arrested on charges of treason. In an act that caused the king great remorse, he placed Clarence on trial, many felt at the insistence of the queen who had never forgiven the duke for the murder of her father. Clarence was convicted of treason, sentenced to death, and, in a private place — to spare him the humiliation of a public execution — was put to death. His body was taken to Tewkesbury Abbey, where it lies interred at the back of the choir together with Margaret’s son, the Prince of Wales, whom Clarence had killed after the ba
ttle of Tewkesbury.
The death of Henry VI was mourned by the people of England for years. His madness notwithstanding, he had always been revered for his gentle ways. There were attempts to have him canonized, but the Popes of the time demanded high fees for such an honor and subsequent monarchs had never been willing to pay the price. Henry’s remains were interred in St. George’s Chapel within the walls of Windsor Castle. His unassuming tomb is marked only with the words “Shame on he who thinks evil.”
A few yards from his tomb lie the remains of King Edward himself, and there the two great enemies rest together in peace.
THE AUTHOR
A lifelong history enthusiast, David Falconieri first became intrigued by the War of the Roses as a teenager while reading Shakespeare’s historical plays. After six years abroad, he traveled to Britain and began researching The Beggar’s Throne by immersing himself in 15th-century English history, examining ancient texts and visiting battle sites. He was born in Ohio and now lives in Denver, Colorado, with his wife, Danamarie.
The Beggar’s Throne is his first novel.
The Beggar's Throne Page 46