The Serpent continued, “’Tis four years since Edward became king. You’ve had plenty of time to choose a suitor.”
“No.”
“’Tis true, I tell you. Why, he was crowned king in June of 1461, near unto the Feast Day of Saints Peter and Paul. You cannot tell me your wits are so addled—”
“Out of the question.”
“Why?” The Serpent opened her gold-brown eyes wide. “You don’t mean to say my brother is not good enough? That is absurd. Your son, the king, has heaped honors on him. I’m sure he would agree to the match.”
The ground heaved and the Serpent’s voice receded into the distance as she said, “Think on it, good mother, I beseech you. ‘Tis time for her to be married. ‘Tis full time.”
Her mouth widened into a smile as I sank onto the nearest seat.
She left, followed by ladies who did not trouble to hide their smiles.
I must protect Margaret at all costs. Where was Edward?
When I arrived at the king’s apartments, Edward was closeted with Warwick.
“We need an alliance with France,” said Warwick as I entered.
“But an alliance with Burgundy would bring in more trade,” replied Edward.
“It is imperative that we seal a compact with King Louis,” said Warwick. “Otherwise, he’ll give shelter to the Lancastrians.”
“Louis is too slippery to be trusted,” remarked Edward, “so he might do anything. But the London merchants need the trade with Burgundy.”
He caught sight of me and instantly came forward. “Mother?”
I sank wordlessly onto a seat while Edward waved away Warwick and sent for wine.
“Mother, what’s wrong?”
I sipped my wine, playing for time. Now that I was with Edward, I had no clear idea of what to say.
“I’ve never seen you look so upset, Mother. Whatever has happened?”
My intuition told me not to mention the Serpent by name. On the other hand, discussing Margaret’s marriage with Edward when I had not prepared him for this topic of conversation was going to make me look ridiculous. But I had no choice, so I plunged ahead.
“It’s about Margaret.”
“Margaret?” Edward’s brows furrowed. “You do not mean to say she has gone off and married without my permission?”
“Nothing like that. But I am anxious that she marry well, and marry soon.”
Edward’s blue eyes bore into mine. “Is that all? Why, Mother, you do surprise me. I thought something truly awful had happened.”
“Edward, I need your help. Margaret must be married, and married soon.”
“All in good time, Mother. Why the rush now?”
I avoided looking at him. “Is there no prince or duke abroad who needs a wife? I would have my Margaret make a splendid international match.”
Edward picked up a scroll of paper and began tapping it with his ring finger. “I have received news that the Duke of Burgundy’s heir needs a wife. Charles of Charolais was married to Isabelle of Bourbon. The news from Burgundy is that Countess Isabelle has recently died. Now that would be a good match.”
“Oh, yes, Edward. That would be just the thing for her.”
“But what of your nephew Warwick? He wouldn’t be pleased if you supported a Burgundian alliance.”
It was true. Warwick and Edward did not go in the same direction regarding England’s foreign policy. They were like an ill-yoked pair of mules, with Warwick pulling towards France and Edward pulling towards Burgundy. I had hitherto supported Warwick’s efforts in gaining an alliance with France. I felt that I should stand by him after Edward betrayed him by secretly marrying the Serpent. Now, matters were different: I would do anything to save Margaret from a Woodville alliance.
I rose and assured Edward I would deal with Warwick provided Edward gave his solemn oath that he would lose no time in seeing about a marriage between Margaret and Burgundy’s heir.
Edward threw back his head and roared with laughter.
“Really, Mother. There’s no need to be so anxious. You know I’m very keen on the Burgundian alliance. I assure you, I will do all in my power to see to this match.” His eyes bored into mine. “Mother,” he remarked. “You have been acting oddly, you know. Am I missing something?”
I smiled as warmly as I could and assured him that standing in the sun had not agreed with me.
Then I hurried back to the garden and spoke to the steward once more about the arrangements for Margaret’s birthday feast.
Chapter 55
Greenwich Palace, London
June 1465
The Serpent was crowned Queen of England on Whitsunday, just at the end of May. I did not attend. While I lay in bed, I braced myself for what might follow.
She didn’t keep me waiting long.
“Ah, good mother, there you are.”
Edward was nowhere to be seen. As usual, I was surrounded by her people. As always, the Serpent took my arm, in her insultingly overly familiar manner.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Richard,” she said as she took me through a tunnel overhung with lilac. Its sweet, almost sickly scent was overpowering.
“Richard? You mean, my son Richard?”
“How old is he now?”
I paused and glared at her. Her ladies stared at me, so I was forced to answer. “He has about twelve years.”
“He’s growing up,” she exclaimed. “We do not have much time.”
“What does this have to do with you?”
She smiled. “Ah. Now we come to the point.” She took my arm again. “You see, good mother, I have Richard’s best interests at heart. Now, Warwick—”
“What about Warwick?” I demanded, drawing my arm away.
“Now, now. There, there.” She patted my arm. “There’s no need to be so suspicious.” She pouted, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. “I have a plan for Richard.” She took my arm again.
I withdrew it and glared.
She smiled and folded her arms. “I think Richard should be moved from Warwick’s care to that of my brother. Do you not agree?”
It was the custom for young noblemen, like Richard, to be taken away from their families at the age of seven or eight and sent to train in the arts of war in another household. I had sent my youngest son to be trained in the household of my nephew. However, the Serpent and Warwick loathed each other.
I glared. “Richard is in my keeping.”
“He’s in Warwick’s keeping,” she pointed out, “and I do not think Warwick is—satisfactory. Richard would do much better if he were under the care of my brother, Sir Antony Woodville.”
I froze. Of all her siblings – and the Serpent had many – Sir Antony was the most widely respected. He was learned, cultured, and had a great reputation on the jousting field.
“What say you, good mother?”
“I have to think of Richard’s wishes,” I replied. “ He has not had an easy childhood and he is happy at Middleham—”
“How strange that the wealthiest peer in the realm, your husband, the Duke of York, should have so many sickly children,” she remarked. “Let me see, you had five daughters did you not? But two died.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Joan, the eldest, and Ursula, the youngest. And you had eight sons, did you not, madam? And of those sons, five died. Henry, Edmund, William, John, Thomas. So many sons, so many good fighting men for the House of York. But they died.”
“What exactly is your meaning?” I snapped.
The Serpent edged away, making fluttering motions with her hands. “You do frighten me so, Mother dear, when you get angry.” She paused and flashed a sidelong smile. “And you do get angry, do you not?”
I compressed my lips. Since the day my father had given me that beating, I had always been angry.
“Maman,” she remarked, speaking now of her own mother, “had fifteen children, six sons and nine daughters and they all survived. And she had considerably less money than you. Now
, why would that be? Was it all the riding around you did when you should have been confined to one of your husband’s castles, awaiting the birth of his children?”
I made a wall of silence between us.
“They do say,” continued the Serpent, putting her hand on the gnarled bole of a tree, “that Richard greatly resembles his father, the old duke. Was the duke as puny as your son Richard? Was he as short, as pasty-faced, and—deformed?”
“Richard is not deformed!” I exclaimed. “He injured his shoulder at the quintain when he was practicing his jousting. Such injuries are common, as you well know.”
The Serpent was silent for a few moments. “So the duke, your husband, was not strong. Perhaps he could not sire healthy sons. Or perhaps it was your fault.”
I clenched my hands so tightly together, my nails drew blood.
“Yours was a perfect marriage, except for all those dead children.” She paused to pick a red rose. “We Woodvilles take good care of our own. My brother is a good man. Think on it, good mother, I beseech you. For truly I have Richard’s best interests at heart!”
She swung around, her green silken skirts making whorls, and left, trailing her brittle laughter.
Chapter 56
Westminster Palace, London
December 1468
Three years and more passed. In July of 1465, Henry of Lancaster was captured and brought to the Tower. In October of 1466, Edward agreed to a treaty of friendship with Philip of Burgundy. From France, the Bitch of Anjou stirred things up by sending Warwick a message. She extended the hand of friendship, deducing correctly the frustration he must now feel.
Matters were not helped, when in July of 1468, Margaret finally married Charles of Burgundy. I did not attend the wedding myself, for it was not the custom to do so for foreign matches. But I listened avidly to the reports of the magnificent ceremony in which the streets of Bruges were hung with priceless tapestries. The parades, feasting, masques and allegorical entertainments so impressed everyone that folk called it The Wedding of the Century.
Now it was December of 1468, and I arrived to celebrate Christmas Court with Edward and his Serpent-Queen. I stood by the window, wrapped in a thick fur mantle, my hair in its night plait, gazing at the wintry scene before me. It was so cold the frost had swirled patterns onto the icy windows and the scant vegetation had hardened into ice. What would befall the House of York this season?
I didn’t have long to wait, for the door to my chamber burst open, and my nephew Warwick strode in.
“This is insupportable!” he roared.
I bade him sit and signaled to Jenet to bring hot mulled wine and wafers.
But Warwick paced around my chamber, his face flushed darkly, a vein throbbing in his temple.
I waited.
“Cousin,” he said finally. “What shall I do about my daughters? There are no eligible heirs to the peerage left for them to marry.”
Warwick had no sons, so Bella and Nanette were his heirs, standing to inherit substantial holdings from their Neville, Montacute, and Beauchamp forbears. They were both of an age to marry—Bella, seventeen, and Nanette, twelve.
“You have just come from the Serpent,” I stated.
Warwick’s mouth crinkled in amusement as I handed him a cup of wine. “You have a gift for nicknames, Aunt.”
“What did she say?”
“She had the insolence to suggest that Bella marry her brother Dick, while Nanette should be betrothed to Ned Woodville.”
I nodded. “She must be getting desperate to marry off Ned. She once had the temerity to suggest that my Margaret marry him.”
He narrowed his eyes. “But Margaret married Burgundy.”
My cheeks warmed. I put my hand on his arm. “I know you spent many years working for the alliance with France. But Edward wanted an alliance with Burgundy, and he can be obstinate.”
“He was not always that way,” said Warwick, his voice rising. “Before he acquired a wife—”
“Before the Serpent came, he was easy to manage. You and I both know that. But now he is different. The Serpent is ensconced in his life, whether we like it or no. Edward will not be ruled by either you or me, so we must devise some other plan.”
Warwick glowered. “Those sisters of hers have swept the aristocratic marriage market clean. There is no one suitable left in England. I will not have her loathsome Woodville brothers get their hands on my wealth.”
I understood, already alarmed about the marriage prospects for my son George. George was such a handsome boy, tall and blond, the very image of my father. Yet I was having trouble procuring a bride for him. Two years before, Duke Philip of Burgundy had offered his granddaughter’s hand in marriage, but Edward would not hear of it. I’d been stunned when George told me the news. In having made a bad marriage, did Edward begrudge a good one for his brother?
At nineteen, George was now the age Edward had been in the first year of his reign. He needed something to do, but the king seemed disinclined to use his brother’s talents. George was well educated, I had seen to that. And he showed signs of being a talented administrator, like his father. Yet, if Edward were not going to give George a position in his government, surely he should allow his brother to marry a foreign princess and use his talents abroad?
As if reading my thoughts, Warwick said softly, “It seems the king doesn’t want George to marry Mary of Burgundy. So what would you think if George married my Bella?”
I leaned forward, smiling. It was a brilliant idea. “But what of Richard?”
“He can have Nanette.”
I mulled this over. I liked it. Warwick’s plan did mean giving up any hope of brilliant international marriages for my boys. But with Edward in his present mood, it wasn’t likely he would allow Richard to marry a foreign princess, any more than he had allowed George to marry Margaret’s stepdaughter. The Neville heiresses were the most suitable young ladies in the whole of England.
“I like it. But we should move cautiously so that Edward doesn’t know our full intentions. Richard and Nanette are full young and can wait awhile. I propose that we focus now on getting George wed to Bella. Let me speak with George first.”
And so I summoned Jenet to attire me for my appearance at Edward’s court and sent a page with a message for George.
“Mother,” said George, coming forward to kiss my cheek. “Do you not like my new suit of clothes?” He smiled down at me as I examined him closely. Today he was resplendent in a tunic of purple decorated with intricate gold embroidery. His stockings were of purple and gold with the seam up the middle of each leg. His sleeves were slashed to show the gold shirt he wore under his tunic. His blue-green eyes glowed with excitement. How he loved being at court.
I smiled back at him. “You have such a good eye for color, George,” I remarked. “That purple brings out the color of your eyes.” I turned around on my stool so that Jenet could pin on my headdress, a pointed henin with a veil of translucent silk.
“Hurry, Mother,” he said. “It would not do to be late.”
“George.” I smiled. “Your mother is an old woman. She is not as fast as she was when she was a girl.”
“Nonsense, Mama!” he exclaimed, offering me his arm. “Old? You’ll never be old.”
I laughed out loud. George always had that effect on me. Though I was fifty-three, George made me feel younger. “I have three grown daughters,” I reminded him. “It would not be seemly for their mother to look like a maid.”
George threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Now, Mother,” he said. “You know you are looking very well.”
It was true. Prodded by George, I’d finally decided to abandon my widow’s weeds and put on something more cheerful. Today I wore a gown of sky-blue velvet edged in ermine, with silver embroidery running down the sleeves and over my skirts.
Jenet put the last pins into my headdress, and I rose and signaled for her to leave. “I have something important to ask you, my son,” I said, leading
George to a window seat. “As you know, I think it high time you were married. But I want your opinion on this matter.” I paused and looked at him closely. “How would you feel about marrying your cousin Bella?”
At once, his face lit up.
“It would make you happy?”
“Yes, Mother. I am very fond of my cousin. She makes me laugh and—” He flushed. “I’ve always found her beautiful.”
I smiled as I kissed his cheek. “Let’s ask cousin Warwick to join us.”
Warwick was delighted, and as my nephew and my son conversed, a scene played itself out in my mind, something I had been vaguely thinking of, but had not articulated. When folk grow old, it is the custom for the widowed mother to live with her eldest son in a quiet retirement. But I had been too deeply wounded by Edward’s marriage for that to be possible. Suppose I lived with George instead? I adored George; he always made me feel cheerful and energetic. And Bella would be a fine wife for him. Perhaps I could live out my life in the company of George and his family.
George offered me his arm, and we left for the formal banquet that Edward was giving as part of the Christmas celebrations at court. These celebrations were very elaborate, both in terms of the number of courses served, as well as the strict protocol the Serpent insisted on. I was very glad to have my handsome son beside me, radiating energy and good cheer, for I found these occasions wearisome in the extreme.
“Now remember,” I said in a low voice, “today is the feast of Christ’s birth, of peace and joy upon the land. We must put on a good appearance of one happy family. You understand, my son?”
George’s expression darkened.
“You will be polite to the queen.” I was careful not to call her by her nickname in front of George, because he was acquiring a disturbing tendency to blurt out secrets. But now I was going to take George firmly in hand. First, it was imperative that he learn some skills to arm himself against the Serpent’s poison.
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