Nor did she. Gowned in cloth of gold, a jeweled collar about her throat, and with the waist of her gown gathered to delicate slenderness above the sweeping skirts, she walked with head high among the Christmas revelers. On Epiphany she wore the crown with crosses and trefoils, as did Richard wear his own crown to honor the celebration.
At one of the many banquets, with the quiet dignity that she had possessed from childhood, Anne stood, her head heavy under the crown. “I’m sorry Richard, but I cannot stay. Forgive me.” Her face paled as she grasped the back of the chair. She shook her head as Richard rose also. “No, your place is here, my Love.” Her voice was husky and raw.
Nan Lovell was already by Anne’s side. “I’ll attend her, Your Grace. Women are better at these times.”
No one noticed the episode. They were all laughing at the Lord of Misrule as he rode about the Hall on a donkey, teasing all the ladies with a long, plumed feather. Richard followed Anne’s departure as her words re-echoed in his mind. “I cannot stay.” Nor can I endure without you my Love, he thought, and knew he could not burden her with his own sorrow.
Anne left the splendor of Westminster Hall and, leaning heavily on Nan, went directly to the privacy of her quiet, curtained bed. To such a state has my world diminished, she said to herself. Then coughing racked her body and blood filled her mouth.
During the first days after Epiphany, there was a cluster of physicians constantly in the Queen’s suite. They murmured in Latin, voiced vague platitudes, and kept far from the sickbed. With gloomy countenances, they informed Richard the air was full of baleful vapors, obviously of deadly strength since the Queen was dying of lung rot.
Holding linen cloths over their own faces and carrying bezoar stones in their purses to ward off contamination, they recommended the juices of henbane and poppy to give some relief. At their direction, the chamber was kept stifling hot and apprentices threw medicinal herbs onto the hard burning fire, so that the air grew thick and the physicians looked like vultures of death in their long, black robes.
Richard ordered the doctors out. He considered their vaunted learning obscure and worthless. As the last flapping gown disappeared, Phillippa opened the windows and put a cool compress on Anne’s forehead. The Queen smiled and Richard sat down beside his wife and took her hand.
“I’m glad you sent the creatures away, Richard.” A trace of impishness showed in her eyes. “The chamber is brighter without those bats flitting about,” she said in a low whisper.
“Aye, Anne.” The Emerald Chamber glowed like a summer day. The doctors had forbidden him to share her bed, but he bent forward and kissed her lightly. He wanted to pick her up and, with her head on his shoulder, walk into some eternity where they’d be together forever.
Anne was sure Richard knew she’d been dying this past year. But as long as there was hope, her will to live had been stronger than death.
Anne shifted a little against the pillow so as to better see him. “How hard it was to leave Middleham, Richard, when you came to be Protector. I thought we were destined for a safe haven then. Perhaps I always knew it for a dream.”
“You’ll be better in the Spring, Anne. Westminster too can be a haven.”
“No. Not for us, Richard. You must only think of England now. The Kingdom is in danger.
All you have done would be destroyed by Henry Tudor. How can I say it? There is so little left that we both have loved.”
“Anne, how can you still care?”
“Because I love you, and you and England are one.”
A new calm came to Richard’s face. “Rest assured now, my Love. Whatever is needed to sustain that love, I will do the rest of my days.” The harsh solution had come. He would live--or die--for England.
IV. CHAPTER 13
February of 1485 arrived cold and damp. Each day passed in endless misery. Anne’s time grew shorter. Richard came and stayed long intervals of days and nights that all blended together. He sat by Anne’s bed, holding her hand in prayerful silence. The brief, glorious moments following their coronation and Ned’s investiture grew distant in time and place and meaning.
Anne sensed Richard’s unsaid thoughts. He bent close to hear the whisper of her words. “We had our walk in the sun, my love, days bright with promise and hope. Together, we made a difference for the good of the realm.”
She felt the rush of blood above the pain, forever burning in her chest and throat. She coughed and vainly tried to cover her mouth but could not. Blood was everywhere. A hot flow from her lips spattered on the sheets. It became a torrent of life pouring forth before exhaustion brought release. Anne, coiled like a child among the stained bedclothes, wept. She’d hoped Richard would never see this. She wanted to die in dignity, not coughing blood, helpless and soiled.
Richard wrapped her in clean blankets and, pressing her to him, carried her to a bench in front of the fire while her ladies changed the bed linen. Softly he stroked her hair and whispered words of love, of comfort. “You are my life,” he murmured. “My soul is entwined with yours forever.” Anne held to him. Only he could keep away the haunted dreams during her nightly fevers.
After the hemorrhaging, she slept only in moments of total fatigue between the torment of her coughing. Except for Richard, everything became distant and unimportant. Once she thought of Isabel who was spared this long dying by childbirth. Often, her mind reached toward Ned. He had passed on so easily. Perhaps there was purpose for her lingering, but it escaped her.
The first of March, Richard urged Anne to send for her mother, but the Queen silently shook her head, for she seldom spoke now. Later she said simply, “My mother...too many sad memories.” She paused, and Richard thought she’d fallen asleep again when she said so low he understood by the shaping of her lips, “Richard.” She struggled for breath and then, finding she couldn’t speak further, she slowly unwound the ribbon binding the emerald ring to her hand.
Richard tried to put the emerald back on her finger. “Wear it yet, Anne.”
She shook her head and looked at him. Then, still in silence, she put the ring on his little finger and Richard, watching her face, knew she pleaded with him to wear it so she might see it on his hand and touch it there. A shared memory now his to cherish.
“I’ll wear it as long as I live, Anne, in memory of our time together in this world.” He kissed the ring and the pale hollow of her cheek. “We are one.”
On March 16, Anne sensed that the time was near. In the early afternoon, she asked for Richard. “ Stay near, my Love. All is becoming dark.”
Richard ordered candles lit, the curtains pulled back on the bed. He went briefly to the window. “It is midday, Anne, yet the sun is being covered in shadows of night. An eerie darkness is filling the sky. People are going to the churches praying in fear. They think it an ominous omen that the sun is dying with their Queen. Soon the whole world will be dark,” he said with apprehension.
Anne stared beyond him. “Why don’t you have candles lit, Richard?”
Richard glanced at the ones already burning so brightly in the dimness. He feared that Anne was slipping away and sent for the priest who had been waiting in readiness for days. The priest’s white robe glowed in the light, and he held a crucifix before him. Motioning Richard to leave, he bent over Anne, who looked at him with dark, unseeing eyes from a face of alabaster. Gently, he took her hand and asked for her confession before she received the Viaticum.
Anne stared up at the cowled face and crucifix. Her lips tried to form the words. Wearily she forced one word, “Forgive.” She had no confession for this man. She had lived and loved a Christian life with all her being. God had not cared. As with the outside world, her inner world was fading into darkness. She felt the priest touch her forehead with the sacred oil. There was a murmur of voices, of prayers. Somewhere bells rang. She heard laughter in the bells. They became a medley of voices: her father, Ankarette, Edward, Isabel and others that had been part of her life. Dead. All dead. She counted the be
lls. Surely they tolled in rounds of eleven. Ned! Ned! She struggled further into the depths of the darkness searching for him. If she could but hear Ned’s voice.
The holy rites were finished. Richard returned, took her limp hand, and bent over her. With the final strength of her dying, she turned from the beckoning reaches of the darkness to see his face once more.
Suddenly the darkness was gone. About her all was light. The tolling bells grew silent. She was in Yorkshire. The sky above was the azure blue of a lovely summer day. Clover was at her feet. In the far distance, she could hear the river. Somewhere, someone chanted prayers. Never had a day been so bright. She shaded her eyes and strained to see into the light. Now she could see it. Middleham. Silver in the sunshine.
She hurried forward. Ned stood on the south curtain wall near the Prince’s Tower. He waved, his golden hair part of the incredible light. The wind blew across her face, pulling her toward the castle until she ran in joyous fulfillment. The rush of the river grew louder. “Middleham,” she said. “Home.” She ran toward the castle. Ned waited for her, his arms outstretched. “Ned,” she cried in her ecstasy as she embraced her son. The eclipse reached its totality. The prayers for the dying rose and fell in rhythmical beauty. Death marked her face with joy.
A week later and with great ceremony, while bells tolled in rounds of twenty-eight, Anne, once Queen of England, was buried near the south entrance of Westminster Abbey, close by St. Edward’s Chapel.
ANNE NEVILLE
1456-1485
QUEEN OF ENGLAND
Younger daughter of Richard,
Earl of Warwick called the Kingmaker;
Wife to the last Plantaganet, King Richard III.
“In person she was seemly amiable and beauteous....
And according to the interpretation of her name
Anne full gracious.”
Requiesat in pace
Inscription on placard marking Anne’s Gravesite, Westminster Abbey
IV. CHAPTER 14
For Richard the despair was total. What does it matter, he told himself, if he gains a kingdom to rule without his beloved queen. Yet, he had promised Anne to carry on for their common love, England.
The London they knew now seemed cold and lifeless. The loss of Anne’s presence left an aching void in his life, and the sights and sounds of the bustling city were dim and muted without her. Crosby Hall now became a lonely place of hollow memories. He missed Anne’s counsel and her gentle persuasion whenever she suggested a course of action different than his own. Most of all, she helped to allay the sense of guilt for taking the crown which was, once again, seeping back into his thoughts. He must try even harder now, he reasoned, to justify his rule and carry on--for England, and for Anne. Twisting the emerald ring on his finger, he sat for a Royal Portrait and noted when it was finished how the artist had captured the grim countenance of a man who had lost his wife and son.
It did not help that the rumors persisted and became compounded. Initiated most likely by Thomas Rotherham, Bishop of York, the charge that he caused Anne’s death so that he could wed Edward’s eldest daughter, Elizabeth, spread quickly and was fueled by Lancastrian supporters of Henry Tudor. “You must publicly deny this rumor as quickly as possible, m’Lord,” suggested William Catesby, one of Richard’s closest advisors. He and Richard Ratcliffe had sought out the King to advise him on a course of action. “As you know, Henry Tudor made a vow to wed Elizabeth, and word has it that he has become maddened at the thought of your marriage to her,” Ratcliffe reminded Richard. “It would be better still, to have Elizabeth and her sisters wed to deprived the Tudor of a hopeful alliance with the House of York,” he continued.
Richard was grateful for assistance of these two men at and respected their judgment. “It is an indignity that such a denial need be made. But I will do so publicly, and to the Council as well, so that my efforts can be directed toward the possible invasion by Henry Tudor. It is reported that Henry is preparing a fleet at Honfleur with moneys provided by the young French King Charles VIII. As to offering Elizabeth and her sisters to marriage, it will be taken as a sign of weakness on my part and a lack of confidence in my rule. I plan to leave for Nottingham soon and will send them on to Sheriff Hutton at that time to be safeguarded.”
The two advisors were relieved that the King was willing to humble himself to stop the rumors. Catesby detected a note of depression in Richard’s voice, however. “May I suggest, Sire, that you try some hunting to ease your mind. I can send for falcons and hawks for your pleasure. It is a most exciting and fascinating sport.” Richard was ready for a diversion and in the following weeks, he sought comfort in the relief the hunting brought, and the opportunity to confront his demons in the refreshing air of the forest and fields.
In June, after his short respite Richard departed London for his castle in Nottingham to prepare, once again, for the defense of the Kingdom. Leaving behind his Chancellor, John Russell, he was accompanied by his secretary, John Kendall, his intimate advisors, William Catesby and Richard Ratcliffe, Lord Stanley and knights and squires of his household. There was a sense of resolve in his attitude and a feeling that he was fated for what lay ahead. The conflict between Henry Tudor and himself would decide, once and for all, whether he was meant to be King and Guardian of the Realm. The battle would bring a cleansing of his soul, and a victory would be the ultimate confirmation of his decision to take the throne. He would take the necessary risks and let God decide.
Before he left London, Richard sent Sir George Neville to patrol the Channel and guard the harbor of Kent. He guessed that the invasion by Henry Tudor would be along the southern and southeastern coasts, as this was where he made previous attempts to land. Accordingly, Richard sent Viscount John Lovell to prepare the defense for that region and to ready the fleet. He left Sir John Brackenbury in charge of the Tower arsenal in London, and relied again on the Duke of Norfolk and his son in Essex to guard London against intrusions from the east, as they did in the Buckingham revolt. As planned, he dispatched to Sheriff Hutton: Edward’s daughters, Elizabeth and Margaret; the Earl of Warwick, Clarence’s son; the Earl of Lincoln, Richard’s nephew and heir; and others of his household
In his fortress castle on the huge rock dome above Nottingham, Richard met with his officers to plan his campaign. His financial circumstances were more dire at this time. The Royal treasury was bare, having been spent thwarting the Buckingham rebellion and naval operations against the Scots, French and Brittons. His main source of funds came from loans from London merchants, grudgingly given. Accordingly, he sent Commissions of Array to all the shires and asked them to prepare for the defense of the realm. In July, having been informed by French agents that Henry was preparing to set sail for England; Richard sent word to his Chancellor, John Russell, to have the Great Seal brought from London. Then he gathered his officers and waited for events to unfold.
Richard’s motto, Loyaulté Me Lie, now came full circle. It was the foundation of his character and his guiding principle. Could it carry over to his officers? The success in meeting his most important challenge in the coming confrontation with Henry Tudor would be determined by those on whom he could depend. His kingdom was weary of the constant warfare among the various factions. The citizens were being asked once again to choose between two contenders for the throne. Richard was confident of the men of York, who even now were prepared to take up arms to support his cause despite a plague in their cities. York lands were loyal to Richard, but of the other counties of England, he was not so sure.
The South and East were secured by Richard before he left London. Loyal districts to the North were controlled by Lord Scrope of Bolton. Wales to west posed few problems. It was the Northeast that concerned Richard the most. Its leaders there, Lord Percy, the Earl of Northumberland, and Lord Stanley were powerful and unpredictable. He summoned them to Nottingham, along with James Tyrell and other officers in the area who would form the nucleus of his army along with the Duke of Norfolk wh
om he had summoned from East Anglia.
Richard spoke in a subdued but steady voice. “As you all are aware, Henry Tudor is preparing to invade England. I call you together to affirm your allegiance to the crown and give your oath to defend the realm.” He placed his sword on a massive oak table. “Place your hand upon my sword and once again, pledge your honor and your men to its defense. You have given much already for the good of England, for which I am grateful, and on your continued support will England continue to stand. The Tudor has given up all his claims in France and promises all your land and titles in England to his followers. You must not allow this to happen. I have ordered a proclamation against Henry; his uncle, Jasper Tudor; Edward Woodville, and other traitors who would join him.”
James Tyrell, one of Richard’s most trusted knights in control of key districts in Wales, was the first to speak. “M’Lord, you have my promise, and should the Tudor come through Wales, he will meet the same resistance from the Welsh as did the traitor Buckingham. The Welsh Chieftain, Rhys ap Thomas, has also vowed to me that Henry Tudor will have to pass through his lands over his dead body.”
Richard placed his hand over the knight’s, which was resting on the sword. “I have never questioned your loyalty, James.” Richard was particularly concerned about Wales because Henry Tudor was half Welsh and related well to the national desires of the Welsh people. His uncle, Jasper Tudor, the Earl of Pembroke, had been a popular lord of the land, fighting for the Lancaster cause there.
Lord Percy, Earl of Northumberland then stepped forward. He had not been endeared to King Edward, but Richard had shown him many courtesies and endowed him with many gifts of land and titles. He had supported Richard’s claim to the throne and marched with him against Buckingham. “I vow my allegiance, m’Lord, and pledge my arms to your service.” Percy laid his hand on the sword but harbored within himself resentment at Richard’s popularity in the North among the men of York.
Anne of Warwick The Last Plantagenet Queen Page 34