The Queen of Last Hopes (36 page)

And so we did. We waited, and waited, while others came home. Edmund Beaufort, who’d assumed his brother Henry’s title of Duke of Somerset, came home, having been released from the Duke of Burgundy’s service. His brother John came home. The Duke of Exeter came home. Everyone who lived in England was coming home, except for my mother and me, England’s queen and her Prince of Wales.

Finally, in late February, John, Lord Wenlock, and Sir John Langstrother arrived to fetch us home—Warwick having been too wrapped up in England’s affairs to escort us himself. But bad weather had kept us at the port of Harfleur, and when we finally did set sail on March 24, we were constantly knocked back to shore. It was not until April 13 that we at last caught a favorable wind.

While we had waited at Harfleur, however, yet one more person had come home. Edward, with ships paid for by the Duke of Burgundy, had sailed for England. And the winds were in his favor.

Anne’s eyes widened as we approached the hillside near Cerne Abbey in Dorset. “I cannot be seeing what I am seeing. Edward? Is it—”

“Yes,” I said, gazing at the hillside, which bore a huge chalk figure of a man holding a club. It was not the club, however, that was his most prominent feature, but the appendage that left the figure’s gender in no doubt whatsoever.

“I have never seen so crude a sight! So vulgar! How do the monks bear it? Can we ride closer?”

I was ready to oblige when William Vaux galloped up to us. “Your graces, the Duke of Somerset and the Earl of Devon are at the abbey. They rode out from London when they heard that you had embarked from France. It is most urgent that you return to see them immediately.”

“Do they have news?”

“Yes.” William’s eyes glanced at Anne, then fixed and held mine. “They do.” He hesitated. “Perhaps I should not be saying this, but it seems cruel to delay saying it. My lady, I have ill news for you. The Earl of Warwick has perished in battle.”

***

“When Edward first arrived in England, he said he only wanted to recover the dukedom of York,” Somerset said, staring at the ground. “He was even wearing the prince’s badge. He began collecting men to his side, so many that when he reached Coventry and found the Earl of Warwick staying there, he offered him battle. But the earl was waiting for more troops from his brother Montagu, and refused. Edward moved on and proclaimed himself as king. Soon after that, the Duke of Clarence deserted our cause.”

“Mother of God,” whispered my mother.

Somerset nodded grimly. “It seems that all of his womenfolk—including his wife—had been at work on him.” He went on, ignoring Anne’s strangled sob. “After that, with Edward all the stronger from the forces that Clarence had raised, he again offered to do battle with the Earl of Warwick. When that failed, he offered Warwick terms. Warwick refused. He had sworn his loyalty to King Henry at Angers, he said, and he would not break his oath.”

My mother crossed herself. “I did not trust him, and yet he kept his word,” she said sadly. “Forgive me.”

Somerset went on wearily. “Just a few days ago, Edward then entered London in great state. The citizens offered him no resistance; indeed, they greeted him joyously.”

“Of course they did,” my mother said flatly. “They have never been our friends, those vile Londoners. What of the king?”

Somerset reached for my mother’s hand. “Edward took King Henry into custody. I am very sorry, your grace, but he is a captive once more.”

My mother put her head in her hands. She did not weep, but I saw her shoulders shaking.

“Where were you and Devon?” I asked. “You came from London, Vaux said. Could you have not held it for us?”

“When we heard that your grace and the queen had taken ship, we came to meet you,” Somerset said. A flush spread over his handsome face. “We felt it more important to meet you safely than tarry in London, as you are but a small party. And we had small forces in London, and could have been overwhelmed. We felt we could raise more forces in our own dominions.”

There was more to it than that, I thought. I’d been but a babe when Somerset’s father was killed at St. Albans by Warwick’s men, but I knew there was no man Somerset hated more than Warwick. Had Somerset been unable to face the possibility of fighting alongside Warwick? And alongside Warwick’s brother John, who’d executed Somerset’s brother Henry after Hexham?

“Edward was crowned again at Westminster,” Somerset said grimly. “After collecting more men, he rode out of London on April 13 and encamped on a field near Barnet. He even brought King Henry with him, as a captive, to flaunt in Warwick’s face.”

My mother moaned.

“Yesterday at dawn, his forces encountered those of the Earl of Warwick’s. Exeter and Oxford were commanding alongside Warwick. There was a fog, so thick it was difficult to see past your own nose. The Earl of Oxford’s men overcame the men led by Lord Hastings, but Oxford’s men began pursuing Hastings’ men to London until Oxford could get them back into good order. When he did, they ran into Montagu’s men and mistook them for Edward’s. There were cries of treason, and that spelled the end; our own forces began attacking each other. Montagu was killed. Oxford is believed to have escaped after the battle; someone saw him and his brothers riding off. Exeter is believed to have fallen in battle, but no one has seen his body. The Earl of Warwick was killed in the rout.” Somerset nodded at Anne. In a kinder tone than he had used previously, he said, “Your father fought bravely, your grace.”

Anne had not fainted or cried when Vaux gave us the news when we were out on our ride. Since our return to the abbey, she had sat like a stone figure. Now she rose from the stool a monk had brought in for her and pointed straight at my mother, sitting on another stool. “You did this. You killed my father.”

“I, girl?” My mother rose.

“Anne—”

“Don’t touch me!” Anne struggled to free herself from my grasp. “You did! You tarried in France, enjoying yourself, while we all begged you to return home. But you would have none of it; you had to wait for my father. If you’d come sooner, Somerset and Devon could have been fighting alongside of him instead of bothering with us. You could have left at any time! But you didn’t, and you left my father to fight. And you used my father to make your pathetic husband king again. You used your son. You used me, you used all of us. You should rot in hell. I hate you! I hate all of you! I—”

Anne sank senseless upon the ground. For a moment, we did nothing but stare at her motionless figure. Then John Morton stooped beside her. “The Princess of Wales is merely in a swoon,” he said, after lifting her wrist. “Your grace, I would ask that you not be too hard upon the girl when she awakes. She is suffering under the shock of extreme grief.” He shook his head as I started to reach for my wife. “I would advise leaving her alone for a while, your grace.”

My mother said nothing, but sank back upon her stool. John Morton beckoned to Anne’s ladies, who followed him as he lifted Anne and carried her off to the tiny chamber we shared at the abbey. “The Lady Anne is right,” she said dully when they had left. “I should have left France earlier.”

Devon spoke for the first time. “Your grace, you cannot blame yourself for being unable to foretell the future. And you cannot control the winds that blew you here so tardily.”

“I failed to march on London after the second battle of St. Albans, and I failed to come from France in time,” my mother said. “And now my dear Henry is a captive once more, and Warwick dead.” She rose. “Tomorrow we leave here. I have failed miserably at this man’s game of war I have been playing, and I shall play it no more. I will return to my father’s lands, and I will beg Edward to allow my husband to return to me there. This comedy is at an end.”

“Your grace, you cannot give up!” Somerset caught her by the wrist as she began to walk from the room. “I know our fortunes seem at their lowest, but think! I will not lie to you, your grace. In the absence of the Princess of Wales, I may be honest with you: I have had the utmost difficulty in resigning myself to living under a regime under the Earl of Warwick. I would not be surprised if once Edward was driven out of the country, Warwick would have found some excuse to get rid of me. And there are others like me who mistrust him. With him gone, our cause may well be strengthened, for those who have shied away from it because of Warwick’s presence there may now rally to it. And there is something else: Burgundy. Your grace is well aware that I have served him faithfully for some years and that he was a good friend to my late brother Henry, and that Warwick’s waging war against him stuck in my craw. With Warwick gone, we can make peace with Burgundy.”

Mother shook her head. “I will not play games with fate anymore. Tomorrow my son and I return to my father.”

“No, we do not. I am going to stay here.” I took my mother by the shoulders, not roughly but firmly. “Mother, I am the Prince of Wales! I am not going to spend my days as a pathetic exile, being pointed out as a curiosity by those around Koeur or wherever we eke out our days. I am going to fight for my rights, and for those of my father. You are right; a woman has no place in these affairs. But I am a man now, and I do. I have not come here to turn tail and head to France without seeing battle.”

“The prince is right,” Somerset said. “This is our moment to seize. Think of those who have died for our cause. My brothers and my father, Devon’s brothers, Oxford’s father and brother, the men who fell at Blore Heath and Northampton and Towton and Hexham and Barnet—all of them. They will have died in vain if we give up now.”

“And there is Father! Do you really think Edward would allow him to join us in exile? He will spend the rest of his life in the Tower.”

“They say that he was ill-clad and unkempt when Warwick first freed him from his long imprisonment,” Devon added. “They are bound to treat him wretchedly now.”

“We must free him, Mother! All these years, you have never given up fighting for him—and for me. It will throw him into despair if you abandon him now. It may even kill him.”

Mother raised her palms. “I cannot stand against all of you,” she said quietly. “Stay here and fight, then. And I will stay here alongside you.” She gestured toward the direction of Anne’s chamber. “Go to your wife, Edward, and give her what comfort you can. And I shall go to my chamber and pray. God knows, we need all of the heavenly assistance we can get.”

***

“Go away.” Anne, her chalky face blending in with the coverings of the narrow bed she occupied at Cerne Abbey, spoke in barely audible tones.

“No, Anne. I am your husband.” I approached the bed and sat beside it. “Anne, I am very grieved about the death of your father. So are the rest of us.”

Anne stared at the ceiling for a long time. Finally, she said, “I never thought it would end so. It had been so easy for him in the past. He demanded what he wanted, and he got it. He seemed invincible to me.”

“Yes, I can see where he would.” Perhaps I was lucky, in a way, that any illusions I might have had about my own father’s invincibility had been shattered so early.

“I don’t remember much of what I said out there. The words just poured from my mouth. Is your mother angry at me?”

“No. She is in despair. She wanted to return to France.”

“Will we?”

We
, she had said. “No. We are going to stay here and fight. Mother gave in.”

“And me? Now that my father is dead, you won’t want me anymore. What use can I be? Your mother will want to try to marry you to someone whose father can help your cause. She will annul our marriage.”

“That’s rot.” I stroked Anne’s golden hair. “You will stay my princess, and when my father runs his course on earth, you will be my queen. I promise you that. Even if my mother does try to part us—and I do not believe she would be so cold as to do so—I will not let her. We will celebrate our marriage at Westminster, just like we talked about.” I kissed her gently. “Now go to sleep. I will hold you close as you do.”

“And you will keep fighting? Even if your mother doesn’t want you to?”

“Yes. It is my duty. To my father, and to myself. And to my mother, even though she doesn’t appreciate it at the moment.”

Anne managed a very faint smile. “You are like your father in some ways, Edward,” she said. “But in many others, you are very like your mother.”

***

While we were still at Cerne, more news arrived: Anne’s mother, who as Warwick’s countess had required a separate ship for herself and her entourage, had arrived in Portsmouth on the same day that we had arrived at Weymouth—the day of Barnet. Hearing of Warwick’s death, she had fled into sanctuary at Beaulieu Abbey.

My own mother, having agreed to remain in England and continue our fight, showed no signs of the doubt and despair that she had shown at Cerne. We traveled to Exeter, where we spent hours each day raising troops and studying maps.

“We have two viable choices: to go to London or to the North, through Wales,” Somerset said early on. “I prefer to go north. The Earl of Pembroke has been active for us in Wales, and can bring us a mighty force. And though the Earl of Northumberland has yet to commit to anyone, he is more likely to commit to us now that the Earl of Warwick is deceased.” Had my wife not been present, he would have probably said “out of the way.”

“Northumberland did nothing to stop Edward from landing, though,” I said. “And he owes his freedom and his restored earldom to Edward.”

My mother chewed her lip. “We shall go north,” she said finally. “If Northumberland didn’t stir himself against Edward, at least he hasn’t stirred himself in his favor, either. I’ll not put my faith in those around London. I’ll enter its gates only when I have that Edward’s handsome head to put upon its bridge. And his faithless brother Clarence’s as well.”

Anne nodded vigorously.

***

On May Day, we arrived at Bristol, where we got not only money and men, but artillery. “Guns,” my mother said fondly as our men hauled them into their places among our train. We had about six thousand men now, and that was without the Earl of Pembroke, waiting for us in Wales. It was a far cry from the small entourage we had had when we arrived at Weymouth just three weeks before. “We have needed them so badly. And we shall get even more, perhaps, at Gloucester.”