1 - THWARTED QUEEN

by Cynthia Sally Haggard

  “Place your hand on the prince’s head and declare him to be your heir, I beseech you.”

  The king drooled, and a servant hastily wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  Marguerite took the baby from Somerset.

  “There are evil people who would deny him his rights,” she said. “There has to be a formal announcement that he is your son, otherwise York will seize power.”

  The baby turned pink and wailed.

  The king stirred and turned in the direction of the sound. But his eyes were empty.

  “Bless your son, my dearest lord,” said Marguerite.

  The king slid down in his seat as his head fell to one side.

  “My dearest Queen, I fear he cannot do so,” said Somerset, signaling for the servants to hoist the king up in his chair. He covered her hand with his own. “I grieve to tell you this, but we have to admit defeat.”

  Marguerite handed him the baby and rose. “I do not admit defeat.” She snapped her fingers. “We’ll ride for London at once.”

  She swept into her rooms at the Palace of Westminster, demanding that her scribe attend her immediately.

  “My love,” said Somerset, hurrying behind her. “What can you do? The king recognizes nobody.”

  “Many magnates are reluctant to support York’s bid for the regency because it might look as it they were committing treason. So, I am drawing up a bill.”

  Somerset looked over her shoulder as the scribe wrote to her dictation:

  Item the first, I, Marguerite, Queen of England, desire to have the rule of the land of England in its entirety;

  Item the second, I, Marguerite, Queen of England, desire to have the power to appoint the Lord Chancellor, the Lord Treasurer, the Lord Privy Seal and all such other officers of the land;

  Item the third, I, Marguerite, Queen of England, desire to have the ability to give all bishoprics and all other such benefices within the King’s gift;

  Item the fourth, I, Marguerite, Queen of England, desire to be granted by parliament an annuity consisting of monies for upkeep of the king, the prince, and myself—

  Chapter 30

  January 1454

  My lord of York and others of his affinity learned of the queen’s plans for herself and England when a large crowd gathered outside Warwick’s London residence, The Herber, now a focal point of opposition.

  “We won’t stomach foreigners,” they shouted.

  Inside, Warwick met with York, Salisbury, and Norfolk. On hearing the crowd, he went to the window and opened the casement.

  “I pray you, good people, what is the meaning of this?”

  “Queen’s got the whip hand!” shouted one.

  “She wants to rule!” shouted another.

  “That one’s a manly woman!” shouted a third. “Doesn’t like taking orders.”

  “Ooh!” shouted the crowd.

  “We don’t want her!” shouted a fourth.

  “We don’t want her!” chanted the crowd.

  “My lord of Warwick!” bellowed a beldame dressed in a purple velvet gown and a plum-colored horned headdress, “are you aware the queen has drawn up a bill giving herself supreme power over England?”

  Warwick paled, clutching the casement. “God’s teeth!” How was it possible? Warwick employed many spies in the queen’s household and had yet to receive this news.

  The crowd roared with laughter.

  York, Salisbury, and Norfolk hurried to the window.

  “A York! A York! A York!” shouted the crowd, as York appeared.

  “What mean you, madam?” bellowed Warwick, beckoning to the beldame. “How came you by this information?”

  She sank into a low curtsey and beckoned to a young girl. “This is my maid Popelina, who has a sister who is washerwoman to the queen. Today, I allowed her to have the afternoon off to visit her sister.”

  Warwick leaned out of the window and beckoned. “Come closer. We’ll not bite.”

  The crowd laughed and made way for a fresh-faced girl of around seventeen, who now appeared and bobbed a curtsey.

  “Tell us your story,” said Warwick.

  “ ‘T’was not more than an hour since, sir—I mean, my lord. I was just helping my sister make up the queen’s bed with fresh linens. We were spreading them out on the bed and tucking the corners just so. The queen is very particular about the way her bed is made—”

  The crowd guffawed with laughter.

  “What did you hear?” asked Warwick. This information was fresh from the oven if it were less than an hour since she’d heard the queen speak.

  “Well, sir. The queen was in the next room talking to someone—”

  “Her scribe,” put in the beldame.

  “Her scribe. I heard her say that she desired to rule England.”

  The crowd booed loudly, then rustled with mutterings.

  “What else did she say?”

  “Something about making a chancellor and making bishops—and money. That’s it. I was bending over a tuck and smoothing it down, and I was thinking, Holy Mother Above, the queen wants to be king. I ran off as soon as I could to tell my mistress, for she told me always to keep an ear out for anything the queen might say.”

  “And so I brought the matter straight to your lordship,” put in the beldame, “for I thought you ought to know.”

  Warwick thanked her and with a nod sent someone to ascertain if the story were true. If it were, he would employ Mistress Popelina to turn down beds for the queen in every corner of the country.

  The Lords and Commons were offended by Queen Marguerite’s highhandedness and took note of the people’s determination not to be ruled by their haughty and arrogant French queen. And thus many lords who might not otherwise have done so first began to support Richard of York.

  In March of the year 1454, the sudden death of the Archbishop of Canterbury gave great urgency to the matter of a regency, for the archbishop’s successor could only be chosen on the authority of the king. A regent was needed.

  Before reaching their decision, the lords of the council made one last visit to the king to see if he showed any signs of recovery.

  He did not.

  And so they sent for the Duke of York, closest of the lords to the throne of England by reason of his descent from the second and fourth sons of King Edward III.

  On the twenty-seventh day of March of the year 1454, the Lords in Parliament nominated Richard of York to be regent of England. He was to enjoy the same title and powers, and the same limitations on his authority that Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, had enjoyed during the long minority of King Henry VI. The Lords decreed that York should neither have title of governor nor regent, but should be named Lord Protector and Defender, because it conveyed a personal duty of protecting the realm both from enemies without as well as rebels within. They further stipulated that if the king did not recover, the office of protector should devolve upon Prince Edward when he achieved his majority. As this would not happen for at least fourteen years, great trust was put in York’s hands.

  Chapter 31

  April 1454

  Richard of York bowed low, unrolling a scroll and scanning it briefly, and lifted his head. “From now on, you will reside at Windsor with your lord husband, the king.”

  “You cannot order me to do that.”

  York smiled. The last time he’d met the queen, she’d held his life in her hands. Now, he held power.

  “Have you not heard, my lady, that I am regent?”

  Marguerite bit her lip.

  “You will leave within the hour.”

  She was silent.

  He turned to Somerset, who stood by, handling the baby prince. “And you, my lord, will go to the Tower to answer charges of treason.”

  “No!” shrieked Marguerite. She flung herself between Somerset and York. The baby prince wailed.

  Her extreme action took Richard aback.

  “My lord of Somerset will be well treated in the Tower. He will be tried by his peers in the H
ouse of Lords, as is his right. There is no need to be hysterical.”

  “He’s not going,” shouted Marguerite.

  York nodded and the Constable of the Tower entered the room with an armed escort.

  Marguerite shrieked again, the baby echoing her shrieks.

  York sighed. Why did she have to make things so difficult? He was saved by Somerset, who put his hand on her cheek.

  “My dear lady and my love, be not so fretful. All will be well.” He handed her the baby prince: “See how fine our prince is. No one can take that away from you.”

  “But they will try,” said Marguerite, sweeping York a look. “Oh how I know it. Already, York—”

  Somerset took the queen’s hand and kissed its palm.

  York nodded, and the Constable of the Tower read out the indictment, charging Somerset with treasonable acts and summoning him to the Tower to await his trial for impeachment. Handing the baby back to Somerset, Marguerite leapt to her feet and seized the parchment.

  “Of course!” she cried. “It is signed and sealed by the hand of York. Oh, he will stop at nothing to destroy you.”

  Somerset glared, handed the baby prince to the queen, and took the document. He scanned it and looked at York, who folded his arms and waited. By now, the room was filling with armed guards. He turned to the queen.

  “Marguerite, don’t take on so. You know I must go.”

  “There must be something I can do.”

  Somerset shook his head.

  York signaled; the guards took each arm and led Somerset off.

  Marguerite collapsed in a heap of tears. Richard waited. After she’d sobbed herself dry, he said, “You will leave within the hour. Your household will follow in a few days.”

  “The prince?” she whispered.

  York paused and regarded her. Now she looked vulnerable and young. “The prince as well,” he said slowly. “But once you reach Windsor, you will not leave.”

  “You can’t do that,” she replied rising. “I am queen.”

  “It is not seemly for a woman to meddle in government as you have done, my lady. You should spend your days with your baby and your husband. That is your place.”

  Marguerite stamped her foot. The baby prince woke up from his brief slumber and wailed.

  “How dare you insult me in this fashion!”

  “No one wants you to be queen, my lady,” replied York. “Saving, of course, yourself.”

  He paused again and looked at her. She was as willful as Cecylee, but unlike his wife, York found that he did not care for her at all. Strange, for she was a handsome woman. ”You will do as I tell you. This country is in a grievous state thanks to you. Now you will rest at Windsor and mind your family, as a good wife should.”

  He turned to go.

  “I’ll not consent to this!” screamed Marguerite. “You cannot treat your queen thus! I will not have it!”

  York sighed and signaled to his marshal, who nodded. Several more guards entered Marguerite’s chamber.

  “I do not like to force a lady, but you give me no choice.”

  The guards surrounded the chamber, and one of them plucked the baby prince from Marguerite’s arms and handed it to a nursemaid.

  Marguerite screamed so loudly that Richard wanted to cover his ears. As his men hesitated, he nodded again. A couple of guards took her by the arms and dragged her away.

  “I’ll not forget this!” she shrieked. “I’ll never forgive this outrage!”

  “We have not a moment to lose,” said York as he took his seat as the head of the king’s council.

  “Indeed,” replied Salisbury. “There are the Percies in the North still harrying our lands. Something needs to be done to curb their quarrelsome nature.”

  “There is the matter of the Crown’s finances,” said York. “We need to make adequate provision for the king’s household without incurring further debts or draining the exchequer.”

  “The position of Archbishop of Canterbury lies vacant,” put in Warwick.

  York leaned back in his seat. “I’ve thought of that. It’s vital we have someone reliable and loyal to our affinity.”

  “Whom do you propose?” asked Norfolk.

  “Thomas Bourchier, the Bishop of Ely, would be a fine candidate. He’s brother to my sister’s husband, Viscount Henry Bourchier.”

  The lords deliberated on this matter for some time, but finally agreed that my lord of York’s choice was sound.

  “What mean you to do about the Percies?” asked Warwick.

  “I shall visit them next month,” replied York. “While I am away, you, my lord of Salisbury, will manage affairs in London.”

  Salisbury smiled and nodded. One of Richard’s first acts upon becoming regent was to install Salisbury as Chancellor of England.

  “There is also Lancastrian disaffection in the north and the west, provoked by Exeter,” remarked Warwick. “He must be curbed.”

  York winced. Nan’s husband was proving to be difficult to handle. Moreover, Cecylee had returned from the Queen’s churching ceremony brokenhearted, convinced Exeter was brutalizing their daughter, and had taken to her bed. Nothing Richard could say would comfort her. Only his successes of the past several months had caused her to smile at him again. Richard regretted once again arranging that marriage with Exeter. Exeter spelled trouble. He should be watched.

  Richard said aloud, “I think it would be prudent to hold my lord of Exeter at Pontefract.”

  “But he’s your son-in-law,” exclaimed Salisbury.

  “That may be. But he does not act as kin. His allegiance is to the Court Party, and he has made that very clear to me on a number of occasions. I do not have much choice. Exeter is dangerous.”

  Warwick nodded. “Holding Exeter at Pontefract does make him a hostage for the good behavior of his affinity.”

  Chapter 32

  November 1454

  “What is the news from France?”

  Cecylee distracted herself by talking to the French Ambassador. The king’s Lancastrian supporters surrounded her, eying her warily. These days, she spent all of her time at court, entertaining foreign diplomats. Fifteen months had passed since the king had fallen into his strange state, but he showed no sign of coming out of it. Joan, Nan, Henry, Edward, Edmund, Beth, Margaret, William, John, George, Thomas, Richard, murmured Cecylee to herself, as she walked along the corridors. She found that living in Marguerite’s magnificent palace of Placentia, wearing bejeweled dresses, and being treated as queen could not stem her sadness, nor stop her sleepless nights. Every time she turned around, something happened to rub her wound raw. Jacquetta, Duchess of Bedford, had just left this very room after telling her that Nan would bear a child in the spring.

  Cecylee had listened calmly, but as soon as she left, motioned to the French Ambassador to sit beside her.

  “Ah, my lady York, the news is not so good.”

  Cecylee raised her eyebrows politely as she signaled for wine. If Nan were expecting a child in the spring, then she would be a grandmother before she turned forty.

  “Do you mean that matters between King Charles of France and his son, the Dauphin Louis, have gone awry?”

  The ambassador sighed. “You are too well informed, madam. Indeed it is a matter of grave disquiet that the king and his heir do not see matters in the same light.”

  How would Nan fare without her mother to help her? Cecylee leaned forward.

  “Is it possible that matters might get worse?”

  “I hope not, madam.”

  She sighed. Perhaps families were difficult for everyone.

  “I think I can speak for my husband as well as myself when I say that I hope matters will mend in France. But what is your opinion of the situation?”

  The ambassador coughed. “I know that many are anxious to prevent war.”

  She studied him for a moment. War. That was a strong word for a family quarrel. “So the king would send an army against his son?”

  The ambassa
dor recoiled. “I did not say that, madam.”

  “No you did not,” replied Cecylee, signaling for a servant to refill the ambassador’s wine cup. She would have to find a way of sending Jenet with a basket of herbs and things for her daughter’s lying-in. “But it is a possibility?”

  The ambassador sipped and coughed again, putting his cup down to speak. The arrival of her nephew Humphrey, Earl of Stafford, Anne’s eldest son, interrupted them.

  “My wife has given me a son,” he exclaimed.

  Cecylee started, jolted out of her thoughts. She signaled to the servants to refill the wine cups.

  “Congratulations, my lord,” she said, handing him a brimming cup. The Buckingham line would be secure. Cecylee kept her celebrations from seeming too joyful, however, as the Staffords were staunch Lancastrians. She silently wished she could be delighted by the birth of Nan’s child. Perhaps it would not be a good idea to send Jenet to her. She needed to send someone who did not obviously come from herself, as such overtures would be unwelcome. She repressed the now familiar pricking of tears and looked up.

  The lords eyed her.

  “How have you named the child?” enquired someone.

  “We have named him Henry, after the king,” replied Stafford with a smile.

  “Let us drink to that,” shouted another. And before she could open her mouth, they raised their wine cups. “To the king!” they roared.

  Cecylee drank also, hoping the gesture would be appreciated by Richard’s rivals. As she took the wine cup away from her lips, she became aware of someone in the doorway.

  It was Richard. He entered the room slowly, followed by Salisbury and Warwick. Many pairs of eyes in silence watched the triumvirate that now governed England. Richard took a wine cup offered to him by a servant, raised it, and said, “Congratulations, Stafford, on the birth of your son. To Henry.”

  The others raised their goblets and drank again.

  There was an awkward pause.

  “My lords,” said York setting his wine cup down. “I request that you draw up ordinances for the reduction and reform of the king’s household.”