Rebellion (14 page)

‘She is no commoner. She is the daughter of
Lord Rivers.'

‘And he was the son of a squire. And your
enemy. Have you forgotten that both her father and her husband fought against you?'

‘I have pardoned them,' the king said, and
there was an outbreak of consternation and dismay, above which Warwick raised his
voice.

‘You have married an impoverished
Lancastrian widow, wife of a humble knight –'

But the king broke in angrily. ‘Her mother
is the Duchess of Bedford, as you know. And she is good and fair. And I love her.'

The storm of protest broke like a tidal
wave, for now everyone
had recalled the lady in question. And all cried
out that she was no match for him – however good and fair, she was no match for a
king.

In the midst of all this the king stood like
a wild boar trapped by baying hounds. There passed between him and Warwick a look of ice
and venom, then Warwick said, ‘Be silent! Let the king speak.'

And the king said, slowly and massively, ‘I
have said all I have to say. When you are calm again I will answer any questions you may
have.'

And raising one hand to stem the tide of
noise, he strode rapidly from the room.

This marriage caused the nobles to
turn against Edward – later indeed he was even obliged to make war with them – while
the members of his own house were bitterly offended. His mother was furious
…

Dominic Mancini

I
love her
, he said.

Almost I admired him for the simple romance
of those words.

Could you not have trusted me?

I did not say it, but the words twisted my
heart. How many times could he have chosen to speak, to tell me what was going on? I
would have talked him out of it, of course, oh yes – for hearts are malleable
things.

Could he not have spoken before I spent
months persuading the French king that Edward should marry his sister-in-law?

You have made a fool of me.

I did not say that either.

Who did he expect would break the news to
Louis?

He walked out of the council and the clamour
was like a rising wall of sound. All the questions were directed towards me. What did I
know? Had I not suspected anything? I was the king's closest councillor and friend –
surely he would have told me something? It was my business to know. And to inform the
council.

No consideration of all my efforts in France
– would I have played the fool there if I had known?

There now seemed a different reason why the
king had chosen me as his ambassador: so that I would be out of the way.

What could be done about it? That was the
next question. I should go after Edward and speak to him, I should find his
so-called wife and bring her here, before them all. Royal marriages
had been undone before. How did I propose to end this madness?

There was no reasoning with them – they were
a pack of snarling beasts.

So I left them, walked out of the council.
But not to speak to Edward, or his wife. I went to see his mother, my aunt.

She was at dinner, but I did not wait, nor
take any of the food she offered. I stood before her and delivered my news. She did not
pause, nor flinch.

‘That cannot be,' she said, so confidently
that despite the grimness of the situation I almost smiled. If Cecily Neville says it,
then it must be so.

‘You have misheard,' she said, dipping her
fingers into a small bowl, and I felt a prick of irritation. Was I likely to mishear
such news?

When I did not reply she looked at me. ‘It
cannot be,' she repeated.

‘Yes,' I told her. ‘It is incomprehensible.
But he has declared it to the whole council.'

She pushed away her plate and fixed me with
her meat-skewering glare.

‘If my son, Edward,' she said, talking
slowly and distinctly as if to a fool, ‘had married, do you think I would not know? Do
you think I would not have been invited to the wedding?'

I waited.

‘If this is a jest,' she said, ‘it is a poor
one.'

‘Do I look as if I am jesting?' I said.

Something in my face must have communicated
itself to her then because, just for a moment, a look of uncertainty and horror flitted
across her own. ‘Elizabeth – Woodville,' she said slowly, her tongue working the
unaccustomed syllables that until now she had not bothered to pronounce. ‘He – is the
son of a squire,' she said, meaning Lord Rivers.

‘I know.'

‘And she –' I could see the
awful truth unfolding itself before her. She closed her eyes. ‘Oh my God,' she murmured.
‘Is she pregnant?'

The thought had occurred to me also. I
waited for what would follow, a tirade at least, or a series of instructions. The lady
must be found and disposed of, paid heavily to leave the country. Or even …

Women do die in childbirth
, I could
hear her thinking.

Finally she opened her eyes.

‘Take me to him,' she said.

‘He is in Reading.'

‘Then take me there.'

‘He might not wish to see you –'

But Cecily Neville was not one to sit back
and allow the unthinkable to happen. She was already calling for her cloak and her
barge.

And so we set off together, across the foul
waters of the Thames. And all the way my aunt spoke not one word to me – Cecily Neville
wasted no words. But I knew I had a most powerful ally; that I was taking to the king
the one woman he feared in the world.

Of course, he said he would not see her,
and of course she ignored him, marching past all the guards who did not know how to stop
the king's mother.

He was half sitting, half lying on a couch,
accompanied by Lord Hastings, whom his mother dismissed at once.
You will leave me
to speak with my son.

Hastings somewhat uncertainly left the room,
while the king sat up, evidently too surprised to speak.

‘Well, Edward,' she said. ‘Tell me your
news.'

He went red and pale by turns. I noticed
with some satisfaction how he seemed to shrink before her, while my aunt, not a tall
woman, seemed to grow. But he gathered himself sufficiently to say, ‘It seems you have
already heard it.'

‘Not from you,' she said,
and then she said, in a different tone, ‘It is true, then?'

Of course it's true
,
I
thought.
Would I make up such a thing?

Edward himself said nothing, while my aunt
drew in her breath and closed her eyes. Then they snapped open and she upbraided him for
his monstrous foolishness and demanded that he drop this charade, using words that only
a mother could use to her son.

‘What have you done?' she said, when she ran
out of breath. ‘You could have had your pick of all the princesses in Europe. This –
woman –' I could see her groping for an adequate word, ‘is not even a
virgin
–
she has two sons!'

This was not as well played as I had hoped.
The king could have chosen to marry Mary of Guelders who was no virgin either, and who
had several children. He saw this and was quick to press his advantage:

‘Yes, she has children, and so do I – so at
least we have proof that neither of us is barren. By God's grace she will soon have a
young prince, which should please you.'

Now it was his mother's turn to go pale.
‘She is pregnant then,' she said, so low that she could barely be heard. The king looked
discomfited.

‘She is not,' he said, and his mother was
able to recover. ‘But by the grace of God she soon will be.'

‘Do not speak of God in this!' his mother
said. ‘You have brought catastrophe upon this nation. Everything your father hoped for,
fought for – died for – you have thrown away. These –
people
– conspired to
kill him – fought him to his death – and now you would reward them – and betray
him!'

This was better. For who in the country
would not remember that the Woodvilles had fought on the enemy side? The king looked as
if she had struck him through the heart.

‘I have not betrayed my father!' he shouted,
and I smiled. Yet he mustered himself sufficiently to say, ‘Is it not better that we
should bring the warring factions together?'

‘Is it not better that you
should honour your father's memory?'

‘What I have done,' he said, stricken, ‘is
done already.'

‘Is it so?' she said, nodding. ‘What of your
prior engagement?'

He looked blank, as if memory had deserted
him.

‘Have you not already given your oath? To
one already carrying your child?'

He looked horrified, as well he might. He
had no idea his mother knew. He looked at his mother, then to me, then to the windows,
as if he might find help there.

‘There is no contract,' he said eventually.
‘It was not – not any kind of formal betrothal –'

‘No?' said his mother. ‘Well, let us see.
Let us hear the lady in question speak for herself.'

The king looked away as she was brought in.
She seemed terrified, as well she might.

‘Do you know why you are here?' said Dame
Cecily, and the poor girl shook her head.

‘Well,' said Dame Cecily, leaning forward,
‘I will tell you. We are here to establish who the father of your child is.'

‘Mother,' said the king warningly, but she
ignored him.

‘And whether or not any promises were made,
by him, to you.'

Elizabeth Lucy looked devastated. ‘The
father?' she said, glancing towards the king. ‘I do not know who you suppose could be
the father. I did not know it was in question.'

And she started to weep.

‘There is no need to distress yourself,'
said Cecily, but it was too late for that. Faced with the barely concealed scorn of the
king's mother, and her erstwhile lover's refusal to even look her way, the poor girl
could only wring her hands and sob until even Cecily Neville was discomfited by her
abandoned grief.

‘Come now,' she said, while her son turned
his back in disgust. ‘You have nothing to fear. Tell the truth, that is all.'

More passionate crying.

‘Who is the father of your child?'

‘Oh, for God's sake,
Mother,' Edward cried, turning round at last. ‘I am the father of her child. And no – I
did not offer to marry her.'

‘No?' said his mother incredulously. She
leaned towards the girl. ‘Did you hear that? Your most unchivalrous lover denies ever
offering to marry you. What do you say to that?'

The girl's sobbing quietened at last. She
pressed the tips of her fingers to her eyes, so that none of us could see her face, and
shook her head, but it was not clear what she meant. Cecily raised her voice.

‘He is saying, child, that you were whore
enough to let him use you without any offer of marriage. That's not what you said to
me.'

‘Mother!' Edward said again.

‘Well?' she snapped, and the girl flinched
and started crying once more. ‘Did you understand that there was a contract between
you?'

‘You do not have to answer,' Edward said,
but his mother thundered,

‘Let the girl speak!'

Aye, do
,
I thought.
Or
we shall be here all night.

‘Mistress Lucy,' Cecily Neville said. ‘Tell
us in your own words what happened between you and my son, the king.'

At last the girl managed a few gulping
words. ‘He spoke so kindly,' she whispered.

‘And made you fair promises?'

‘I promised nothing!' shouted the king.

‘Mistress Lucy,' said his mother. ‘Did you
or did you not understand that there was a contract between you and the king?'

The girl glanced anxiously at Edward then
away. ‘N-not exactly,' she began and Edward shot his mother a look of violent
triumph.

‘That is not what you told me,' she said
evenly.

‘No – I mean – he spoke so kindly that – I
did truly think he loved me – and meant to marry me – and so –'

‘So you kindly let him get
you with child,' said Cecily Neville, her words dripping scorn, and Elizabeth Lucy
became a veritable fountain of tears.

‘I have had enough of this,' said the king.
‘I do not see what you hope to accomplish.'

‘I hoped,' said Cecily, ‘to establish that
if there was a pre-contract between you and this foolish girl, then what you present to
us now as your
marriage
could not be valid.'

Elizabeth Lucy gasped.

‘Ah, I see he has not told you either,' Dame
Cecily said pleasantly. ‘How surprising. Edward – how long were you planning to keep
this little matter secret?'