by Anne O'Brien
‘But I have no value as a Lancastrian,’ I replied sternly. ‘The Prince is dead. The Earl my father, and my Neville uncle also. The Countess is in sanctuary. I have no one to come to my aid. What value have I?’
‘As you say, lady. A masterful summary.’
He strolled to the table where flagon and cups had been set, poured, pushed one in the direction of the silent and watchful Clarence. When he returned to press the goblet into my hands I had to grasp it firmly, lest the wine splash on my gown. I held tight and waited.
‘You are potentially a very wealthy young woman.’
‘I know, sire. But that fact does not necessarily make me a threat to you.’
Edward chuckled. ‘I see. And I think that you would bargain with me, lady, for your life.’
‘I did not choose to wed Edward of Lancaster, sire.’
He tilted his head, assessing, inscrutable in inner debate, like a fox deciding if the chicken in its sights was worth the effort. Discomfited at his knowing stare, I dropped my gaze to the dark wine in the cup. Beside him, Clarence took my attention as he stretched his arms in indolent self-satisfaction, yawning as if he felt the whole episode tiresome in the extreme. I despised him more than ever. I would not look at him. Had not his defection caused the Earl’s death? Yet I discovered the strength to push aside my hatred that simmered and threatened to burst into flame. I could not allow myself to be distracted. Other concerns would wait, even my own future, but Edward could at least ease my heart of one of its burdens, the heaviest of them. I took another sip of wine against the dryness in my throat.
‘I have one request, sire.’
‘Only one?’ Edward’s mobile brows rose. ‘Ask it, then.’
‘That you would tell me of the manner of my father’s death.’
It obviously surprised him. ‘I thought we had agreed that your head could be forfeit, lady. That should be your one request, should it not? To beg for mercy?’
‘Perhaps it should, sire. But this is a wound that will not heal.’ On an impulse, knowing Edward’s turn for the dramatic, I placed the cup on the floor, and pushed myself from the chair to fall to my knees at his feet. ‘I wish to know of the Earl, sire.’ I raised my eyes to his and held them, pleading, compelling.
‘What a determined young woman you are,’ he remarked, not unkindly. ‘It will only bring pain.’
‘Not as great as the not knowing. Not as great a pain as the version that was given to me, that I cannot believe.’
‘Very well.’ He nodded briskly. ‘But come, you mustn’t kneel as a petitioner for something that demands nothing of me.’ He urged me to my feet, placed me back in the chair, the cup in my hands. ‘What do you want to know?’
It poured out, the terrible shame I had lived with, of the Earl’s flawed leadership, his cowardice, his betrayal of his men. That at the last he tried to bargain for his life when flight became impossible.
‘Your informant lied,’ Edward spoke gently. ‘Or deliberately misled you. So you want the truth? I’ll not lie to you, so brave a Princess as you are.’ He hooked the toe of his boot around the leg of a stool to pull it forwards, to sit close before me. Removing the cup again, he closed his hands around mine, a warm comfort. Without emotion, he told the tale.
‘Listen, then, lady. This is how it happened. I attacked early, when a man at twenty paces was only a glimmer in the dawn. It took them by surprise.’ He glossed over his own skills quickly, I noticed. ‘It was all over—after three hours of hard combat. I saw the Earl in the thick of it, fighting bravely. To the end the Earl remained at his command, dismounting to fight on foot with his household knights until there was no hope of victory. His conduct was exemplary.’
I nodded, feeling his hands tighten around mine. ‘That was not the action of a coward,’ I said quietly, almost to myself.
‘No. It was not. His conduct brought honour to the Neville name.’
I sighed a little. The Queen’s informants had given her the truth as she would wish to see it. A truth that was twisted and despoiled out of all recognition.
‘Did you have to kill him, sire?’
Edward shifted on his stool. ‘I gave orders to spare his life—but Yorkist troops got there first and hacked him down. So, no, I did not save him and if that is to my blame, then you must place it squarely on my shoulders.’
The honesty in that handsome face was uncomfortably disarming. I could not speak. His fingers were gentle now on my wrist and I thought there was no little grief in the lines of his face. But I shook my head, wilfully refusing to be comforted.
‘Then did you have to display him naked? Humiliate him so?’ I choked a little over the words as the image leapt to life in my mind of that final humiliation.
‘Yes.’ Now the King’s lips narrowed and I saw the implacable will to protect his power. I had asked for the truth and I got it in all its raw realism. ‘Yes—and I would do it again tomorrow without a second thought. It would be a fatal mistake to allow Warwick to be resurrected as a figurehead for malcontents. Did you not know? There were already claims being circulated that he yet lived, within an hour of his death. That he would return to raise the banner of Lancaster once more. Warwick, dead and a spent force, had to be seen. It was necessary and I’ll not excuse what I did. All I would say is that his body was not desecrated. He was taken to Bisham with all honour for burial.’ I nodded knowing the Augustinian Abbey there to be the resting place of past Nevilles. ‘I could have dismembered him as a traitor. Many advised me to do it, but in death I would not treat him with disrespect.’
I blinked so that I would not weep for my loss. I believed him. What use in harbouring resentments? Those who played the card of traitor, as the Earl had, risked all on its turn.
‘Does that satisfy you?’ he asked.
And I nodded at last. I hesitated. ‘Can I make one more request?’
‘Another?’ The amusement had resurfaced through the sharp regret. ‘Ask, then.’
‘It is about my mother that I would speak, sire. I miss her. If you would pardon her so that we can be reunited…’ The hands around mine suddenly clenched. I glanced up through my lashes, instantly warned by the tightening in his jaw, his abrupt release of my hands. I did not think he was angry, but his reply was short.
‘I haven’t decided and will make no promises. The Countess can stay at Beaulieu for now, as it is her choice, guarded there by my own men.’ He pushed back the stool, stood when I would have spoken, looking down at me so that I had to look up. ‘She is powerful and wealthy, unless I decide to strip her of her money and lands under attainder. But don’t fear. I’ll not execute her.’ His smile was thin-lipped. ‘I don’t make war on women. And now, little Princess, if all your requests are at an end, what do I do with you?’
‘I’ll answer that.’
The intervention startled me. And Edward. For the first time Clarence spoke, thrusting himself to sit up and lean forwards, elbows on the table. I thought his eyes gleamed in some sharp anticipation.
‘If I can make a suggestion, brother? Why not give Anne into my keeping? I’d like nothing better than for her to live in my household, in the care of her sister. The Duchess is settled at Warwick. No doubt Lady Anne will enjoy a return to her old home. Certainly she can stay with us until you’ve decided on a more permanent settlement. I know that Isabel has missed her sorely and would be pleased to have her company again.’
I could feel my brain dissecting his words, as smooth and innocent as new cream, but as suspect as a deep dark pool where the bottom was unfathomable, dangerous, for the unwary traveller. They seemed harmless enough, although I could not imagine Isabel welcoming me with open arms in light of our recent disaffection. Nor did Clarence’s claim to brotherly delight ring true. A more permanent settlement. That meant my marriage. Since I was to be allowed to live, as an important heiress I could not be allowed to remain unwed for long. Someone would be found by Edward, whose loyalty it was necessary to cultivate with a marriage to a Nevil
le heiress. It would all be out of my hands, just as it had in the past. After the strains of the morning I felt the energy drain from me, leaving me strangely hollow and unresponsive. The arrangements for my future suddenly did not interest me—they could do as they wished.
Edward beamed. ‘A family solution. Very neat.’ He thought for a minute, then stooped to take my arm and raise me to my feet. ‘It is decided, little Princess. You will live at Warwick and will be free to come and go under your sister’s jurisdiction. She will be responsible for your security and safety. Life will not be intolerable for you, sister.’
Intolerable? I did not want to be at the mercy of Clarence and Isabel, but it was the best I could hope for. ‘My thanks, your Majesty. I am grateful for your pardon and your generosity.’
My voice was colourless. My curtsy impeccably formal. The audience was clearly over and I would have turned to leave. When the door opened…
Not now. Not this.
I was too weary and emotionally drained to deal with this now.
I think he did not at first see me, preoccupied with the bundle of scrolls he carried, complete with royal seals. There he was, when I would rather not have had to face him until I had ordered my thoughts, considered my response. Richard, Duke of Gloucester. Constable of England.
When he saw me he froze on the spot.
He has a presence.
Beatrice’s observation leapt starkly to mind. I had seen the changes from a distance, when peeking through the carvings at Tewkesbury. Now I experienced the maturity that had only been hinted at in the Abbey. And I was not pleased. His stare was deliberate, questioning, first at the King and Clarence. Then, after one single glance that slid from the crown of my head to my shoes, doubtless disapproving of my dire appearance, he performed a somewhat sketchy bow in my direction.
‘My lady. You have travelled safely.’
His words, his face, were blandly impersonal. He had obviously mastered the art of dissimulation to perfection. It slashed bright colour across my cheeks.
‘Yes, my lord. As you say.’ I could respond in kind. If we were to play at wooden indifference, as if we had never met beyond a cursory acquaintance, then I would be amazingly chilly.
It was very strange, the whole exhausting episode that unfolded. Richard barely looked at me, only once in that first moment when his eyes touched on mine, and then they were dark and flat. His mouth showed no curve in greeting. Rather his whole body stiffened as if he withstood a blow from a mace. I expected something from him. Surely I had that right, even after a twelvemonth of separation. Of all the emotions I had withstood since the invasion, nothing hurt me as much as Gloucester’s cold rejection.
Gloucester might not look at me, but I looked at him right enough.
He was definitely Gloucester. Not Richard. As with the King the plate armour had been shed. His brigandine, although protective with its strips of metal, was of velvet, the nap luxurious, the colour deep blue and jewel-bright. Over it his collar of office glowed, the dark rubies catching the light, blood-red. To my mind, as my eyes were drawn to them, it gave him a dangerous glamour. The Richard I had known would not even consider his appearance. But was this man Gloucester the same? I did not know. He wore his authority easily, yet there was a brittleness about him, a sharp confidence. I did not think that his authority as Constable would be lightly questioned despite his lack of years. Somewhere along the line the Duke of Gloucester had acquired the knack of power and had developed it, deliberately or by chance. In physical appearance he was much as I remembered, but with subtle differences. The dark sweep of hair, tousled and untidy from restless fingers, his face thinner, more austere, rather the face of a scholar than a soldier, yet I knew from common gossip that he had fought with distinction in battle. At Tewkesbury his initiative and cool leadership had won many men to him to sing his praises.
But he has blood on his hands.
I allowed my eyes to move down to his hands, long-fingered, capable, that juggled with the rolls and their seals. They could hold a knife to appalling effect.
And just what does he see in me?
I wondered. I saw a man of power, of influence, of authority. Of arrogance even in the proud tilt of his head. But what did he see in me? My heart sank at the obvious answer. I doubted that I had grown with the same alluring attraction as he had, and my feminine vanity shuddered inwardly at my present appearance despite all my efforts to brush and repair. Three weeks on the move, in weary flight, on horseback across rivers and the muck of spring roads, had destroyed my clothing beyond all acceptance. Did he see an untidy, weary young woman, gown once fine, but now irreparably stained? A strained widow whose nerves had had quite enough for today? I would not blame him. I despaired at what he must see.
‘A family reunion?’ He turned to stand at the centre of the three of us, strangely dominating the event. He dropped the scrolls on to the table.
‘Yes, of sorts,’ Edward replied with an appreciative glance in my direction. ‘We’ve been discussing what to do with Lady Anne.’
‘And?’ Gloucester’s gaze remained limpid, his voice soft. ‘What’s your decision?’
‘Clarence had offered to take her in,’ Edward remarked. ‘To live at Warwick under his protection. It will be good for her to be with Isabel.’
I saw it because I knew him. Because I was watching him. Gloucester’s reaction was remarkable in its control, but I saw the muscles in his shoulders tense, I saw the little grooves beside his mouth deepen infinitesimally. His eyes were icily hostile as they fixed on Clarence. Yet still his tone remained polite, courteous, merely interested.
‘A generous offer, Clarence.’
‘No—’ Clarence’s smile was fat with complacency ‘—merely the perfect solution.’
‘Altruistic, some would say, who did not know the truth of it.’
‘What bug’s got under your skin, Dickon?’ Edward asked, alert to trouble. ‘It would solve the immediate problem.’
I simply looked from one to the other, my senses reawakened, fully engaged. There was something here between them that went beyond the surface.
Gloucester swung round to the King. ‘No. I don’t agree. It’s the worst of decisions.’
‘Why?’ Clarence leaned back, lifting his cup of wine in a flamboyant toast.
‘I know your game, Clarence. It must not be.’
‘I have no game, little brother.’ The faintest hint of malice.
‘Yes, you do. And it’s a vicious and self-interested game. She should not go to Warwick.’
‘But the King agrees that she should…’
They faced each other, like dogs fighting and snarling over a bone. I feared that I was the bone, yet did not understand why I should be. Silky smooth, Clarence was enjoying himself and I knew that the last place I wanted to be was under his dominion in Warwick Castle. But nor did I want to be here to be snapped and snarled over.
‘If you will excuse me, your Majesty.’ I drew their attention. ‘I am indisposed.’ I curtsied again to Edward.
‘Of course.’ Immediately he led me to the door. ‘You can be at ease now. It has been a long journey for you, lady, but you are safe and come home at last.’
Edward laid a large hand lightly on my shoulder. I felt the warmth of it through my shabby sleeve and, unlike Gloucester’s greeting, I knew the King did not refer to the miles of my coming home. Sensing the first true compassion since I had set foot in England, I could feel tears threaten. As quickly as I could, without looking in Gloucester’s direction, I left the room. I could not bear to stay to be squabbled over—and to what purpose? I had no answer to it. I did not like it. Nor to being an immediate problem to be solved.
What had happened to Gloucester—Gloucester, not Richard? It was as if he had acquired an outer shell. Not smooth, as an egg might be—Richard would never be smooth—but all encompassing, seamless. No vulnerability, no weakness was allowed to show. After this meeting I doubted he had any weakness and the vulnerability of his
early years at Middleham had gone for ever. At Tewkesbury I had found him cold, perhaps the result of a preoccupation with the aftermath of victory. Here, there was no excuse for his detachment.
Except…I had seen it as he entered the room. He might no longer have an affection for me, but he still wore the ring, the little gold circle with the ruby stone, on the smallest finger of his right hand. What should I make of that, if anything? Or the fact that he had turned it, again and again with his left hand, when Clarence had issued his challenge and demanded my presence at Warwick Castle.
We promptly left the next day. Edward would make haste to London with Gloucester, taking Margaret with him. Meanwhile Clarence would escort me to Warwick.
And then, amidst all the noise and bustle and tumult of horses and wagons, of armed men and travelling litters, much like a military operation, there was Gloucester himself, leading his horse over to where I awaited my own orders. I stood stony-faced and braced myself to keep my thoughts locked tight within.
‘Lady.’ He inclined his head.
‘Gloucester,’ I mimicked his terrible and deliberate formality.
‘You will be comfortable at Warwick.’ Would I? Unimportant words, yet I sensed that the cool uninterest of yesterday was not as secure. Rather a banked heat. I considered an equally bland reply—and instantly rejected it.
‘Yesterday you did not wish me to go! As I recall, you condemned it!’
To my vexation, I got another bland response in return. ‘The King would have his way.’
‘Then of course I must do as the King wishes.’ I looked away.
‘Anne. Some advice…’
I turned my head slowly. ‘Advice? I’ve had a bellyful of advice of late.’
‘About your position in Clarence’s household…’
‘What advice can you give me? What do you care?’ My resentment flashed into life. ‘You hardly greeted me yesterday, hardly had a word to say to me. Had I had a safe and comfortable journey? No, I had not! Is that all you could say after twelve months or more? You looked at me as if I were a useful counter in a particularly nasty board game. Why should I now listen to your advice?’ I was not proud of my venom, but it eased the pain a little to hurt him as he had hurt me. And I saw the result immediately. It was as if I had slapped him, his face white and stark, but I was not sorry. He had hurt me. ‘It’s perfectly clear to me that any connection between us is at an end. Unless of course you have your mind solely on my inheritance.’ Remembering Tewkesbury, I drove the point home.