Before I go on, I must speak of the death of Henry VI. The night after we returned to London poor old Henry died in the Tower. Of course everyone believed Edward had had him murdered, for it was such a convenient death, the end of Lancaster indeed. I remembered Edward saying at Coventry ‘Lancaster is dead,’ and I wondered if it was only in hindsight the words had had a sinister emphasis. And make no mistake, Edward was quite ruthless enough to bump the poor old boy off. Although it was given out that he had died of melancholy, people who saw his body whispered of a fractured skull. It occurs to me that one person who would have done the murder and whistled while he worked was the Queen’s son Tom Grey – but there, that is only a comment on Thomas, not an accusation, and I can’t remember if he was even at that night’s council meeting at the Tower.
In fairness to Edward, however, I must say that although convenient, it was perhaps not such a surprising death. Henry was fifty, and frail; and he had that night learnt that his throne was lost, his wife was a witless prisoner, his son dead. Could he not therefore have taken a heart seizure or apoplexy and, falling, hit his head? But there, I don’t know. It all appeared very pat – and if Edward was ruthless, he was also subtler than that. And, too, he would have had to face his mother and Richard, neither of whom would have condoned murder. So let’s leave it at the plain statement that Henry died. He was buried at Chertsey, and a curious belief grew up among the simple people that illness can be cured by making offering at his grave, as if he were a saint. And I believe that wretched charity school he founded near Slough struggles on.
~~~
We were only briefly in Kent, for by the time the King joined us Fauconberg had given himself up. Riding back to London I felt a weariness and lassitude I’d never before experienced. All the strain of the last two months – really, of almost two years – caught up with me and, like a bow too long strung, my mind and body were demanding release. The wars were over, but there was no exhilaration now, only weariness. It was the same for Richard, and more so because his responsibility had been greater. For the past few days we had been snapping at each other like fretful children, and as we rode onto London Bridge he could hardly raise a smile for the people who came out to hail him. London is at her best in summer, but for once her beauty had no power to charm me. Only our training kept us straight in the saddle; when I briefly shut my eyes against the dazzle of the sun on the Thames I very nearly fell asleep. I daresay the King was in the same case, for I saw his head nod once or twice, and he kept shifting in his saddle. We rode down Thames Street, and by Baynard’s Castle Edward halted.
‘Your Grace,’ he said to Richard, formal in front of our men, ‘we will confer at Westminster tomorrow. For now, good-day to you.’
‘What?’
Edward lowered his voice. ‘Richard, we are at Baynard’s. Go to Mother, give her my greetings, then go to bed. Martin, see that he does. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He lifted his hand and rode on. Richard stared after him, too tired to understand. I took his bridle and turned his horse’s head about.
‘The King’s order. Sleep.’
Comprehension dawning, he laughed. ‘I’ll gladly obey. You’ll come in with me?’ Innogen would be at her house in the Chepe. I longed for her, but I knew I could manage not even that short distance more without respite and a drink. Too tired to speak, I nodded and followed him into the castle’s courtyard.
I seemed to have been coming home to Baynard’s Castle all my life, but this was the first time we had arrived unannounced, and the hall was empty. Handing his cloak and gauntlets to the servant Richard asked for his mother. Her Grace was in her solar, we were told. The stairs seemed endless. Only the thought of a seat and a drink kept my leaden legs climbing.
‘Mother, I’m – oh.’
We had walked in on a charming domestic scene. Little John on her knee, the Duchess sat under the window, Innogen beside her. Around them were George, Isabel, Anne. Wine cups stood about, a plate of honey cakes lay on the table. Flowers and dried rose petals sent out their dainty smell. Staggering amazedly about the floor, a ginger kitten fluffed its tail and hissed miniature defiance at us, then scampered for the safety of Innogen’s lap. I could have done the same – I wanted to fold my arms around her, lay my head on her bosom and sleep forever.
‘How come you here?’ I asked her when we had greeted everyone. I had planned to present her formally to the Duchess when we returned; Richard and I had discussed how best to explain John to that formidable lady.
But, over-hearing, the Duchess said, ‘The King told me Innogen was returned from Burgundy, so I called on her. I was anxious to meet your wife, my dear. And we have been very pleasant together, haven’t we, Innogen?’
‘Indeed we have, madam.’ She smiled at me, sliding her hand into mine.
‘You look very tired, Richard,’ said Anne.
‘That’s probably because I am.’ He meant no more than he said, but Anne took it as a snub and bit her lip in dismay. Drinking wine, Richard didn’t notice.
‘Dealt with dear cousin Fauconberg?’ asked George, grinning.
‘Yes. Took little doing. Mother, what’s this kitten?’ It had bounced back to the floor and was stropping its claws on his boots.
‘Innogen gave it to me. You can help me think of a name for it.’ Richard picked up the kitten, and for a while we all discussed names. I saw Anne watching Richard under her lashes. He hadn’t spoken to her bar that one remark, nor even looked her way. I wondered if she understood that it was only weariness that made him so uncommunicative. She looked tired too, and not very well. Black did not suit her, although her gown was stylish and flatteringly cut. Nor did Isabel look too sprightly. I hadn’t seen her since the Christmas of 1469, and you would not have known her for that giggly, happy girl. Of course she had always been her father’s pet, and no doubt she missed her mother, still in sanctuary at Beaulieu. It was over a year since she had lost her child on that flight to France, but she had the pinched, listless pallor of a woman who has recently miscarried, and sadly, greedily she watched John bouncing in the Duchess’s arms.
She flinched when George said, ‘This is a fine boy of yours, Richard. Proud of your stepson, Martin?’
The Duchess wouldn’t like it if I punched him in the face. ‘Immensely, Your Grace.’
‘He seems very healthy. Bastards often are, of course. How’s that daughter of yours, Richard?’ I caught him looking covertly at Anne for her reaction, but even if she had not already known about Richard’s children she was too well-bred to show anything but bland interest. ‘Shall you have her to live with you? – I understand you’ve acknowledged her.’
Forcing his eyes open Richard said, ‘She’s with her mother’s family. So, George, what have you been up to since we returned to London?’ He meant, of course, While I’ve been helping the King subdue his enemies.
George flushed, but he put on a jovial face as he said, ‘Oh, this and that. Looking after my two poor girls, my little blackbirds.’ He patted the sisters’ hands. ‘Of course we don’t visit much at present, but Mother was eager to see them.’ Sudden doubt crossed his face: had his mother after all known Richard would return today, and planned to throw him and Anne together? He rose, bowing politely around. ‘And charming though this visit has been, I think it is time for us to take our leave. Going north soon, Richard? Good luck. Mother, Dame Robsart, good-day to you.’ He began to shoo Anne and Isabel toward the door. This seemed to wake Richard up. As Anne passed him he took her hand. I think she would have drawn it away but, smiling intimately up at her, he kissed her fingers and then her palm. Colour flamed in her cheeks, and the sweetest, most tender smile I have ever seen curved her lips. George made a noise like a goose and almost swept her off her feet in his haste to take her away.
‘What was he doing here?’ Richard demanded. Lifting her brows at his tone his mother said tartly that she was not yet accountable to him for her visitors.
‘I worry about those two girls; they have had a very bad
time. They’re my great-nieces, after all, and while Nan persists in staying in sanctuary... And Innogen said she had met Anne at Coventry and I thought it would do the poor child good to meet friends.’ Frowning, she added, ‘I didn’t consider it might be tactless to have John here while Isabel visited. Poor girl, to lose her first child like that.’ I remembered that the Duchess’s first son had died young. Richard remembered too, for he rose and put his arms around her.
‘I was ungracious. Forgive me. And Isabel has seen other children. Are you pleased with your grandson?’
‘He’s a beautiful child, and so like your father! And Innogen has been frank with me about him, so we shall say no more. Richard, when must you go north?’
‘In a day or two.’ But his mother looked at him with painful intensity, and before Innogen bent to give John his toy horse I saw the same emotion in her face.
The Duchess took Innogen’s hand. ‘You have married a soldier, my dear. Your life will be a succession of partings.’ Sadly she went on, ‘And when your sons grow up, you will spend your life saying goodbye to them too.’
‘Oh, come now, Mother,’ Richard said unwisely, ‘the wars are over now!’
The Duchess gave him a bleak blue glance. ‘Tu dis?’
~~~
Two days later we rode north to read the Scots their fortune. What applied to the Welsh and the Lancastrians went also for the Scots, and by August King Jamie was suing for a truce. In September, therefore, we were back in London, and at Baynard’s Castle, where Innogen was now living with the Duchess of York. You see, back in June Innogen had written to me that she was to bear a child in December – our honeymoon, although brief, had been productive. Richard had written this news to his mother, and of her kindness the Duchess went to visit Innogen. And, apparently, took one look and whisked my wife off to her own household.
‘Please don’t think I am not perfectly well,’ Innogen wrote, ‘for I am, but the Duchess doesn’t care to think of a pregnant woman alone with no female kin around her and only hired women. I don’t remember my own mother, but it is very pleasant to be cosseted. So here I am, my darling, until the child is born.’
When on my arrival I tried to thank the Duchess she laughed at me and said Innogen was good company for her – ‘So it is quite selfish of me, Martin. And the little boy is a delight. Wilful, though. Takes after Richard.’
‘And after Jenny. You’re sure she is well, madam? The baby? You didn’t bring her here because you’re worried?’
‘Never think it! She’s of good strong stock, she’ll give you a dozen children. She shall have the best midwife when the time comes, and I shall attend her childbed.’ So nothing would dare go wrong. I longed to ask the Duchess if making love would do harm, but the Church teaches that it is a sin during pregnancy. Well, it would, wouldn’t it? Sex is for the procreation of children, not pleasure. And the Duchess was a devout lady and might be shocked at the idea.
Innogen had no such qualms. ‘Of course there’s no danger. But I thought you might not want to, many men find pregnant women repellent.’ Stripping me, she discovered the proof I was not among them.
‘After four months on the Scottish border, my love... Oh Innogen, Jenny, darling sweet, oh Innogen... ’
Afterward she held me against her breast, stroking my hair and playing with my fingers. In battle and the skirmishes on the border I had acquired a number of scars and bruises, and her clever fingers found them all out, and soothed them. She was six months gone, and I could feel the baby moving. Looking at that splendid swelling, stroking it, I felt primitive male pride: I had done this, created this child. I was nineteen, married to my heart’s love, a knight, an honoured soldier, about to be a father. Life was good.
Less good for Richard. The following day he went to visit Anne at George’s house, and came home in a filthy mood, lashing the tail again. ‘They said she doesn’t want to see me!’
‘Tell us, darling,’ said the Duchess. ‘And sit down, no prowling, please!’ I saw Innogen hiding a grin by sorting through the sewing silks. Peering magisterially over her spectacles the Duchess asked, ‘Is Anne ill?’
‘Don’t know. Probably not. George looked like the cat that swallowed the canary – you know, Mother.’
‘Only too well. And stop kicking your chair, Richard, I trained you out of that when you were five.’ The Constable and Admiral of England stopped kicking his chair. ‘Have you thought that perhaps Anne really doesn’t want to see you?’
‘Why not? Back in May she – we – I thought we had agreed to marry when we could. Has she changed her mind?’ Motherless myself, I was interested to see that a man can command armies and rule vast territories yet still need his mother’s reassurance.
‘Well, darling – Innogen, the blue silk please – maybe she is of the same mind but needs a little time. After all, think what she’s been through: her father turned traitor, and betrayed everything she was brought up to believe in – she was wrenched from her home and everything she knows then sold into marriage to ensure that betrayal – her father and uncle died, her mother bolted into Sanctuary – then Anne was dragged back with that Anjou creature, forced to watch a battle in which everyone she knows and cared for could have died – dragged a prisoner before the King. Might she not need a respite from men, and war, and politics?’ She watched Richard fiddling with his rings. ‘And don’t fidget.’ He stopped fidgeting. ‘Think about it, my dear.’
‘But Anne and I always have been friends; we’re cousins. Surely she can be honest with me?’
‘But you’ve changed,’ Innogen said gently. ‘You have no idea how different you are now. And perhaps to Anne you represent things she doesn’t care to think of.’
I said, ‘What did you mean about George’s cat-and-canary look?’
‘He’s up to something. Isabel looked nervous. I can’t help remembering what Edward said at Coventry. If Anne is pregnant, sorry Mother but I wouldn’t put it past George to have another go at rebellion, using the child to win Lancastrian support.’
The Duchess dropped her sewing in her lap. ‘Surely he wouldn’t!’
‘Do you really put any trust in George’s commonsense? Or loyalty?’ Very sadly the poor Duchess said no. ‘And,’ Richard went on, ‘think how much support there still is for Lancaster. Louis of France would adore helping to overthrow Edward in Lancaster’s name. Even a feigned child – all George has to do is keep Anne out of sight, then in a few months trumpet the birth of Prince Edward’s child. And that makes Anne very dispensable.’
Aghast, the Duchess crossed herself. ‘But what possible benefit would it be to George?’
‘Oh, a nice long regency – he’d be Protector, sixteen years of feathering his nest – or the Lancaster heir would fail and it’s King George again. Of course he’d be finished off within a month, but George never thinks that far. No one is going to rebel for his benefit.’
Innogen took the embroidery hoop and set a few swift stitches. ‘When I was here last year I saw how strong the Lancaster support is; you’re right, Richard. They would use poor silly George. But not for some suspect child said to have been born to Lady Anne, oh no. They’d focus on quite another candidate – for instance, that brat of Lady Margaret Beaufort’s.’
‘What, Harry Tudor?’ I scoffed. ‘Never!’
‘Oh yes.’
‘But his father was a bastard – some say Queen Katherine married her Welsh harpist, but no one believes it – and his mother’s descended from a bastard. England would never see him on the throne!’
‘He would do as a focus for rebellion, though.’
‘Yes,’ the Duchess agreed, ‘and Margaret Beaufort is fanatically devoted to her son – the more so because she has lived apart from him most of his life. How old is he? Let’s see... Margaret was fourteen when she bore him, so he’s nearly fifteen.’
‘I thought her older!’ Innogen said. ‘Horrible little cockroach of a woman.’ Then she put her hand over her mouth, blushing. ‘Madam, forgive me:
I forgot she is your cousin.’
‘It’s something I try hard to forget. Margaret Beaufort cuts no ice with me. But you are right, Innogen, any meddling with Lancastrian heirs makes a chance for those people. Therefore,’ she began to fold away her sewing, ‘I will go to the Erber tomorrow to visit George, and I will insist on seeing both Isabel and Anne. Now bring out the rest of that peculiar Scots drink you brought back, Richard, I will give it a second try.’ And with that Richard had to be content.
But his mother returned the next day looking grave. Anne had sent a loving message but begged to be excused; Isabel had looked ill with misery; George smug. ‘Though I doubt he is plotting rebellion. He was very bitter about you trying to get the Warwick lands, Richard. He’s furious that Edward has given you so much.’
‘Should have thought of that before.’
‘But as you yourself say, when did George ever think? No, he is holding out for all those lands, or at least the greater share – he says it is Isabel’s right as the elder sister. Oh, I know, I know – I told him it is entirely a matter for the King. In law, I think I’m right in saying, neither girl has any legal right to any part of their father’s estate?’ Richard nodded. ‘The thing is, darling, George’s nose is well and truly out of joint. He’s jealous. You are the King’s loyal brother, you are the clever soldier who led the vanguard in battle, you are the King’s favourite and the darling of the people – and you will reap the harvest.’
‘Well, yes,’ said Richard coldly, ‘but then, I didn’t rebel, did I.’
~~~
A few days later he paid another call on Anne, taking me to show this was merely a pleasant social visit from concerned friends. Again he got only a message that she was too ill to see him.
‘What’s wrong with her?’
‘Oh, little enough,’ said George with an airy laugh. ‘You know what women are.’
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