Anne of Warwick The Last Plantagenet Queen

by Paula Simonds Zabka

  “The scent I wore on our wedding night.”

  Richard’s arm tightened about her. “Anne, I love you so. You are my secret strength.”

  III. CHAPTER 17

  On June 6, her first full day in London, Anne walked the short distance to the Church of St. Michael. Her ladies stood back waiting, as she knelt before the gem-encrusted altar. Middleham was far away and tuned to a different life beat than the bustling vitality of London. St. Michael watched over the sick. The Duchess stared at the silken banners along the communion rail, the pure white of the altar cloth, and the sacred golden vessels. The votive candle, given to her when she had made an offering upon entering, flickered in her hand. It was heavy. She turned slightly to the triptych of the Last Judgment, looming bitter and stern to the left of the altar, and put the candle in the tiered rack. For Ned, she said in silence. If there is mercy, let it be for Ned.

  Two women in black placed their candles alongside hers. A portly gentleman with tears upon pitted cheeks took her place as she left the communion rail. Anne walked down the nave toward the transept where Margery Howard waited with attendants. Her husband was Lord John Howard, who fought at Barnet and Tewkesbury with King Edward, and then became close to Richard after he helped defeat the Scottish navy during the Scottish campaign.

  “I hope you said a prayer for yourself as well as others.” Margery was brisk.

  “I pray for strength, Margery.” Anne thought how much her friend had changed. The ruddy glow of vigorous living had roughened her cheeks, and there were wings of gray in her hair.

  “Come with me to breakfast, Margery. I must go to Baynard’s Castle to meet with Richard’s mother, Cicely. She doesn’t like to wait.”

  “It wouldn’t be an imposition?”

  “Not to Aunt Cicely. She’d prefer multitudes if it could be arranged. And I am tired today. The journey is catching up with me. I don’t wish to face my mother-in-law alone. She can be a dragon.”

  At Bayard’s Castle, Cicely’s greeting was abrupt, as usual. “You’re too spindly, Anne.”

  “I had a cough which cut my appetite, Aunt. I feel much better now.”

  Cicely waved for some breakfast: ale, bread, herring, and oatmeal with saffron. “I suppose Richard made it all sound golden as honey here in London.” She tore off a piece of bread.

  Anne fought a dull lassitude. The ale was cool. “Richard has many concerns. I worry too.”

  “The Woodvilles I suppose. Did he speak of Lord Hastings?”

  “Not in particular.”

  “Rotherham, Morton, Stanley?” Cicely shot forth each name.

  “Proud Cis” enjoyed herself. She flourished in London.

  “I know that Rotherham is Archbishop of York and a Woodville sympathizer.”

  Cicely responded in an upset tone. “Yes, and he rushed the Great Seal of England to the Queen when she practically tore down Westminster fleeing to sanctuary there with all her earthly possessions.”

  “He’s an old man and afraid of change.” Margery Howard spoke quietly.

  Anne saw her aunt wince at the word old. Well, she was old. Well past sixty. She’d probably live to be ninety.

  Anne went on. Stanley. Lord Thomas Stanley.” Anne continued more slowly, “I remember him also. He was married once to my father’s sister, Eleanor, God rest her soul. He deserted my father’s cause at Manchester. Now he is wed to Margaret Beaufort. I don’t care for him.”

  “And what do you know, Anne, of Margaret Beaufort, second wife of Thomas Stanley?”

  “Nothing really.”

  Margery Howard frowned and put a hand gently on Anne’s arm. “She’s the mother of Henry Tudor from a childhood marriage to the Earl of Richmond. Henry Tudor now claims to be the Lancastrian heir to the throne.”

  “What nonsense,” Anne sighed. “The Lancastrian heir, Anjou’s son, died at Tewkesbury. Still, I don’t trust the Stanleys.”

  Margery speared a herring. “No one does, Anne, but they are fat and prosperous and seeking power. I despise the leeches. They are traitors to their souls. I think they’d like the Tudor whelp on the throne.”

  “You don’t speak lightly of such matters, Margery. I’ll ask Richard.” Anne set down her glass with careful control, for her hand trembled. “What else can I do?”

  Cicely laughed sarcastically. “Anne, you’re the only one who can persuade Richard that he’s in great peril. And remember, too, Morton, Bishop of Ely; he is in this mix somewhere. He was with the Anjou witch at Tewkesbury as you may remember.”

  “Aunt, surely Richard is aware of all these things.”

  “Anne, do not sit there looking like an innocent child of sixteen. Richard is in mortal danger. Plots everywhere. And if any succeed, if there is a moment of weakness, Henry Tudor is ready to claim the Kingdom with French gold, a French blessing, and allies within England.”

  Anne felt a cold perspiration covering her body. She looked at Margery who nodded, her lips a tight line. “You also mentioned Hastings. But it was Hastings who urged Richard to London. Why do you mention him?” Anne puzzled, as Hastings had been King Edward’s closest confidant.

  Cicely was already into a second serving of food. “Hastings has only befriended Richard because he seeks to be Richard’s closest ally in the new shape of things. Richard has never liked him because of his cavorting ways with the King. Instead he prefers Lord Howard and Henry of Buckingham as his counselors. And, of course, Lovell and Ratcliffe, his northern followers.”

  Anne coughed, clutching her throat. “I am very weary this morning, Aunt Cicely.”

  Cicely shoved the ale closer. “You do look ill, Anne. One more name then, Robert Stillington, Bishop of Bath and Wells.”

  “Clarence’s friend?” Anne heard her own voice, a hoarse whisper.

  “Aye, and now Richard’s. He is about to burst with some great secret.”

  Anne drank of the glass of ale, forcing more awareness.

  “Hastings, Stanley, Rotherham and Morton all conspire with the Woodvilles against Richard.” Cicely rushed on. “That is the essence of the matter. They will weaken Richard and become the power behind the throne.”

  Anne suddenly felt heady and faint. “I must get back to Crosby Hall.”

  “Richard must act Anne. He will know what to do.”

  Margery took her friend’s elbow. “Let me take the Duchess home Madam. She’s weary.”

  “You will talk to Richard? Tell him the danger is real, and immediate?”

  “Yes!” Cicely’s face became a blur. Before meeting with her aunt, the world was bright with excitement and promise. Now that world was coming under a cloud behind which was peril for her Richard. She knew Richard was great in battle and Lord of the North, but could he withstand the conspiring and backstabbing at the Royal Court?

  III. CHAPTER 18

  The fine summer weather, which had marked Anne’s earlier arrival in London, disappeared in a dull, dripping shower during the late afternoon. Leaden clouds, born of the city’s soot, hung in a heavy sky. In the warmth of their solar at Crosby Hall, she waited for Richard’s return from the Star Chamber at Westminster, where the whole Council met this day to attend to the heavy press of business.

  She listened to the bells ring Terce-Sext, and finally Vespers and thought it had grown dark early. She was in no hurry. What could she say to Richard about her conversation with Cicely when he did come? He must surely know. She twisted the emerald ring. It was loose on her finger now. Richard would recognize betrayal when he saw it. God, he had seen so much already. She didn’t care about Hastings or plots. But she was worried for Richard and their son. Endless day, she thought, no, it would be endless night if something happened to Richard.

  He was angry when she told him. Angry that Cicely had alarmed her so. Distressed, too, that she was even now being caught up in his affairs. “If they strike, it will be before Parliament meets to confirm my status as Protector on June 25.”

  “Then your mother has cause?”

&nbs
p; “Aye. They, the ones she named, want no Protectorship. Buckingham has informed me that they want the boy crowned and in their control. I did not want to worry you over the matter at this time.”

  “Chaos looms again.” It was more a thought than an expression for Anne.

  “Damnation, I know.” Richard moved restlessly about the solar. “Power is the great corrupter. Edward left the realm in my care and already others seek to control it.”

  Anne consoled him. “Edward had foreseen this, Richard. He chose you because he knew you were above the petty lust for power and would do what was right for the Kingdom. Protect yourself. Don’t let these small men pull you down.” She began to unbind her hair. “Your mother and Buckingham sense that you are in great peril. You must take steps to stop this conspiracy.”

  “You are probably right, Anne. I tend to be too trusting. I will dispatch a messenger to the North for support. I know Northumberland will send men should my actions create an uprising.” Richard hesitated before going on. “But there is still a more serious development, Anne. Bishop Stillington tells me....”

  “Stillington!”

  “Yes. As he probably told Clarence, he tells me that the children of Elizabeth Woodville and Edward are bastards. Edward was previously betrothed. In the eyes of the church, this is as legal as marriage. Stillington swears Edward avowed his troth-plight with Lady Eleanor Butler, the daughter of the old Earl of Shrewsbury.”

  “Edward’s children bastards?” Anne repeated the one significant phrase. “My God, Richard. That makes you direct heir to the throne? Not Protector.” Stunned, she clasped her hand over her mouth and sat heavily in the nearest chair.

  Richard turned a little from her. “I too am shocked, Anne. This is the so-called secret Clarence spoke of and used to thwart Edward’s actions against him. He mentioned it at his execution but I regarded it as his usual drunken ranting. I face a grave situation should I decide to act on this information.”

  Anne was inwardly jubilant for Richard, and yet apprehensive. “What proof does Stillington have? This is a most profound accusation.”

  “Stillington says the Lady Eleanor did indeed know Edward, and the records show he settled a dispute over a manor for her. She died about fifteen years ago in convent in Norwich.”

  “So there’s no actual proof?”

  “No.”

  “Have you told anyone else?”

  “No one, not even John Howard or Buckingham or the Royal Council.”

  “But if it is the truth, you must.”

  “Yes. But Howard already has warned me that, as Protector, I must move cautiously. He’s a man of great integrity, Anne.”

  She was silent. Words could not express her thoughts.

  “Anne, if I take the throne in order to make myself and the realm strong and safe, will you see me as another usurper?”

  “As you will see yourself?”

  “Possibly. But it seems fated that I take Edward’s place. I could meet that destiny willingly, proudly. Yet I am not of London, Anne. It may go ill with me here.”

  “You are of England, Richard.” Anne turned away. She did not want him to see her own inner turmoil. London had never brought them happiness. The Court was a facade of gold over a putrid center. To Anne, it was a place of imprisonment and death. She thought of Isabel and Clarence. If Clarence had not been executed, he would certainly be plotting for the crown himself.

  Richard went on slowly. “All I can see at present is a struggle to keep order in a Kingdom ruled by a child, a child who turns to his mother’s kin for every need. Where is the safety for you and Ned and security for the Realm if I do not assume the Kingship?” He paused, watching Anne’s reaction. “And there are constant threats.”

  “Is a man named Henry Tudor part of the threats?”

  “Yes. He will attempt the crown if I show any weakness. I think he’d consider a child on the throne assailable.”

  “By what right?”

  “None in truth. He’s descended from Edward III, like half the nobility of England. His is a bastard line.” Richard spoke more slowly. “He’s clever. I know he has agents in Wales and probably London. He has everything to gain.”

  It had stopped raining. Anne went to the window and saw the stars among the clouds. Tomorrow would be clear.

  Richard went on slowly, dragging each word. “Henry Tudor would have to kill us all; Edward’s sons; Clarence’s boy, Edward; Ned, and, of course, me.”

  She stood by the window, her back to Richard. He had protected her and cherished her for ten years at Middleham. Faithful, as few men were, and tender. And much-loved in Yorkshire. She turned toward him. “Richard, all I want is your contentment. You’re the center of my life. Yet I can see you as King. I always could.”

  “Anne, it won’t be easy. There are sharp thorns on the York rose. The one called honor will especially prick.”

  “I understand. You must protect and cherish England as you have me. Since Stony Stafford, you’ve understood the need for a strong, secure Kingdom. I know you searched for alternatives and found none. So, then, reach for your future.”

  “And you will be my Queen, Anne.”

  The first excitement stirred in her. Queen of England. Richard touched a deep emotion she had never before experienced. One word encompassed so many imaginings. So the old crone of a fortuneteller had indeed foreseen me as Queen, and not Isabel as I suspected, Anne thought. It was her destiny. She rose and embraced Richard. “Still, I will always be your simple Sweeting, my Love.”

  “Anne, you above all must be totally with me in this. Even melded with desire, is not my obligation to England above honor?”

  Dark memories welled up from the past. The future could glisten. She alone knew she coughed blood almost daily now. To live as Queen, even for a short time, would be sweet. And Ned, Prince of Wales; surely he would grow strong to fill such a title. Life’s choices were beyond her. Yet she must, at this moment, be equal to a decision that will change the future. Anne’s voice was steady. “Richard, in this, England and honor are one.”

  Richard kissed Anne’s forehead, lovingly. “Then let us keep this promise between us ‘til the time it can be realized. I must first deal with the most immediate threat of the conspirators. The path to the throne will not be an easy one, my Love, but we will travel it together.”

  III. CHAPTER 19

  In sanctuary at Westminster, Elizabeth Woodville fumed. One hand caressed the Great Seal of England and the other the curls of her younger son, Richard. Her daughters were also with her. She’d mocked the committee Gloucester appointed to negotiate with her to return the Great Seal and release her son. And now Will Hastings was sending her secret messages to solicit her help against Richard. Elizabeth laughed aloud. She had always detested Hastings for cavorting with the King and alienating her affections. It was gratifying to have him grovel. Even more satisfying, perhaps, to use him as a tool for her own plans to retake the throne.

  She detested, even more, dealing with Jane Shore who had come to her. Shore, her late husband’s whore, was now Hastings’ plaything. As such, she was chosen as go-between for the conspirators. Elizabeth remembered with fury how Edward had favored this goldsmith’s beautiful wife more than she in his final days.

  The Dowager Queen smiled sweetly. “So Will Hastings wishes to overthrow Gloucester? He fancies himself the power behind my son and heir to the crown?”

  “He finds the Duke of Gloucester uncongenial and too demanding.” Jane laughed. “After being Edward’s closest friend and companion, he now feels left out of things. Gloucester favors others, especially Buckingham.”

  The familiar use of the King’s name struck Elizabeth like a blow. “Whore. Why don’t you seduce Gloucester like you did the King?”

  “Gloucester is an honorable man and is faithful to his wife.” Jane was warm-hearted, but she had never liked Elizabeth Woodville. “How do you endure all this incense and dampness?”

  “Be damned, harlot.” Elizabeth
wanted to pull out the golden curls the woman flaunted. “What does Hastings plan? Why should I listen?”

  “Simply to seize young Edward V and govern through him. He roams about the Tower quite at will.”

  “And from me?”

  “Support. And you’ll once again preside at Westminster.” Jane glanced about the crowded sanctuary. It was amazing how much the Queen had taken. A fortune in furniture and tapestries lay scattered about the room. She wondered how much treasure the coffers contained. Jane pulled her cloak tightly about her. It was clammy. “Madame, we’re all realists. Warwick didn’t hesitate to unite with Margaret of Anjou. Now is your time to be one in purpose with Lord Chamberlain Hastings and, in this situation, your only friend.”

  “Don’t preach to me, ingrate.” Elizabeth blinked at the younger woman in the candlelight. “I weigh the risks, not just the rightness.”

  Jane scoffed. “Of course, madam, but the danger is small. Gloucester is trusting, like all the Plantagenets. He won’t even feel the knife until it pierces his heart. Hastings has support--Bishop Morton, Stanley, and of course, Rotherham.”

  Elizabeth thought of her past plans. They had all failed miserably. Gloucester had scattered the two thousand men as though they were so many flies on a dead horse. She couldn’t believe how easily he took charge of the young Prince. Hastings might be the answer, though. He knew Gloucester well and could probably deceive him into giving up her son. They’d fought together with the King.

  “Well, Mistress Shore, tell your new bedmate he can have my cooperation if he gets my son crowned and I’m at Westminster. I will not need two thousand men to deal with Gloucester afterwards.”

  Jane Shore laughed to herself. She might sell her body, but the Queen would sell her own soul to regain the Kingdom.

  III. CHAPTER 20

  Anne slept late on Friday, June 13, a day that was to be ominous for the superstitious. It was Phillippa Mitford who wakened her anxiously. She was down from Warwick to take over the details of Anne’s new wardrobe and to look after Clarence and Isabel’s two children, Richard and Margaret, both of whom were now housed in Crosby Hall. Since her arrival a calm had come to the house, as the men who were now at the center of government, gathered preferably at the Tower or Westminster.