The Queen of Last Hopes (6 page)

There was nothing left to do but arrest him and bring him to trial. If he were found guilty by his peers, so be it. Henry’s soft heart would ensure that he spent his life in comfortable confinement or in exile rather than face execution. If he were found innocent…well, I hoped he wasn’t.

***

On February 18, 1447, eight days after Parliament opened, Gloucester arrived at Bury Saint Edmunds, trailed by eighty men, including his bastard son. It was a modest entourage for a man of his rank: Henry had instructed him to keep it so. The streets and lodgings, however, were overflowing with Henry’s own armed men: we were taking no chances.

It was the coldest day of the year. When the king’s treasurer, Sir John Stourton, and his controller, Sir Thomas Stanley, met Gloucester upon his entry into the town and told him to go rest at his lodgings at St. Saviour’s Hospital instead of proceeding immediately to the abbey, he was only too glad to agree. It was then that I sent out the delegation I had assembled to arrest Gloucester: the Duke of Buckingham, Somerset, the Earl of Salisbury, Viscount Beaumont, and Lord Sudeley.

An hour or so later, they appeared in my chamber. I stared at their ashen faces. “What happened?”

The men hesitated, as if wondering who should speak, and then Buckingham, the senior among them, said, “Suffolk, something has gone horribly wrong. Gloucester collapsed. We fear he is dying.”

For a moment, I thought I might collapse myself. “Tell me of it.”

“We asked to see him in private, and then we told him that he was under arrest,” Buckingham said. “He laughed at first, and when we didn’t laugh back, he asked if the cold had snapped our wits. We told him that we were in possession of our senses and that he was being charged with treason, but that because of his high rank, the cruel weather, and his long journey, he would be allowed to remain in his lodgings, under guard, until the king sent for him. He looked at us as if he were about to laugh again, and then he started shouting. ‘Sends for me? I’ll not wait to be sent for! The boy can see me now! I’ll have it from his own lips, and his alone, what he means by this. Not your lips, not from the Wool Merchant’s. Do you understand? Do you understand? I’ll not have him treat me so, the ingrate! By God, if his noble father could see this, he would strike him dead!’ And that’s when he clutched his chest and went down in a heap on the floor. His son got on the floor beside him and held him in his arms. Gloucester was conscious, but nothing he said after that was intelligible. He could manage only a few words here and there. They took him to his bed, and that is where he is now.”

“Is he under medical attendance?”

“Yes. His own physician is there. But he holds out little hope.”

“Does the king know of this?”

“Not yet. We thought you’d want to be there, it being your—business.”

Being your scheme
, he meant.

***

To my surprise, Henry took the news of his uncle’s illness quite calmly. He even ordered that others in Gloucester’s household be arrested, as we had intended based on the information I’d received. The plotters included Gloucester’s bastard son, Arteys. I at least saw to it that he was arrested out of the sight of his father, who rallied for a couple of days. Gloucester even plucked up enough spirit to demand that the king be brought to him to explain himself. Henry, naturally, refused, but it gave me hope that Gloucester would recover.

It proved futile. On February 23, Henry’s sergeant at arms Thomas Calbrose came to me. “My lord, Duke Humphrey is dead. He rallied sufficiently at the very end to receive the sacrament.”

I crossed myself. “Thank you. Convey your news to the king.” I hesitated. “Did he say anything to you before he died?” Calbrose hesitated. “Well, did he?”

“Yes, my lord. He said that the charges were false and that he had never meant any harm to the king or to his little French bauble, as he put it. ’Twas all talk, he said, and if the king had the sense God gave a sheep he’d realize that. And then he said—”

“Say it.”

“He said that all of the sorry buggers who arranged this would pay, my lord. And then his chaplain came in, and I left the room. He didn’t last long after that.”

“Thank you for bringing this news. Have them lay him out; we will display his body tomorrow in the abbey church so that it can be seen that he died by no foul play. After that he shall be brought to St. Albans; it is my understanding that he had a vault built for him there during his lifetime.”

“Yes, my lord.” The man bowed and walked out.

Alone, I knelt and tried to pray for Gloucester’s soul. But I could not concentrate on my task. I kept hearing the words,
All of the sorry buggers who arranged this would pay
.

I was sitting in the garden at my beautiful manor of Greenwich—once the great pride of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, and now mine—when I saw Suffolk heading toward the landing, his shoulders slumped. “Katherine, run and fetch the marquess for me before he leaves. I must see him.”

Katherine Peniston ran as bidden, and I watched, frowning, as she came back with her quarry. The past months had aged my dear Suffolk by years, and he had lost some of the confident bearing I’d first seen at Tours. His brown eyes were downcast as he approached me. “I hope nothing is amiss, your grace?”

“No. I simply wanted to see you before you left. Sit, my lord.” I indicated a place on the bench beside me. Suffolk sat, leaving a respectful space between the two of us, which I promptly filled by scooting over so I almost leaned on his shoulder. “I have a surprise for Henry, my lord. No, not that!” I added as Suffolk looked surreptitiously at my belly. “Henry would be the first to know if that were the case. But I hope he will like this.” I handed Suffolk a parchment. “Read.”

Suffolk obeyed. “You wish to found a college at Cambridge?”

“You read quickly, my lord! Yes, I do. I have read about the ladies I mention there who founded colleges, and it shocks me that no English queen has done so before. Why should I not be the first?”

“It will please him immensely, your grace.”

“It was the rector of St. Botolph’s who gave me the idea. I only hope the king will not be jealous of my foundation! Queen’s College will have to be a little less grand than King’s College, I suppose.” I laughed, then put a hand on Suffolk’s arm. “Walk with me, my lord.” When we had proceeded out of hearing range of the others, I said, “You look strained, my lord, and seem listless. I do believe you were going to leave just now without even bidding me good-bye. Has the king been working you too hard?”

“No, my lady. It is Greenwich, I fear. I know it is a pleasure spot for you, but for me it holds ghosts.” He sighed. “I cannot come here without thinking of that scene at Tyburn. Soon Gloucester will be the most popular corpse in England.”

Two months before, the men who had been arrested at the same time as Gloucester had finally been brought to trial at the King’s Bench and had been sentenced to die the traitor’s death of hanging, drawing, and quartering at Tyburn in London. Henry had pardoned them, but at the utter last moment. The condemned men had already been half-strangled, and their bodies stripped naked and marked for quartering, when Suffolk galloped up with their pardons. Carried off by their friends, the freed prisoners had been too dazed from the hanging and their sudden reprieve to show any emotion, but the crowd had hissed at Suffolk as he rode off, and someone had shouted “Murderer!” before disappearing into the throng.

“They received a fair trial, and it is all over now,” I said firmly. “They have been restored to their lands and positions and are free, and your mind should be free as well. I want you to leave court for a couple of weeks, my lord. Go to Ewelme and rest for a while. I will make your excuses to Henry; I’ll tell him that you’ve been in ill health. As you will be if you keep brooding upon what cannot be changed.”

“You sound like my daughter Jane, your grace,” said Suffolk, smiling reluctantly. “She is always trying to mother me.”

“As someone should. Is Alice not taking care of you properly these days?”

“She is, but I am afraid I try her patience sometimes with my melancholy.”

“I will have to have a word with her,” I said, so gravely that for a moment Suffolk appeared about to remonstrate. “No, I will stay out of it, but I do wish to see you more cheerful. I do not forget how kind you were in my first days here, when I was lonely. It meant a great deal to me.” I touched his arm. “If you cannot leave court—and knowing how diligent you are in Henry’s affairs, that is probably the case—at least come back now and listen to my new musicians play. They are superb, and the music is bound to soothe you. And then I wish to consult with you about my college, assuming, of course, that Henry will approve of it. I know you helped a great deal with Eton and King’s, and have many good ideas.”

Suffolk smiled. “I will obey you, your grace.”

***

During the Christmas festivities of 1447, a new duke appeared at court at Windsor—seventeen-year-old Henry Holland, Duke of Exeter. He was clad in black for his father, who had died just that August. “I believe you are the Duke of York’s ward now?” I inquired as we sat down to a game of cards together one evening. I had invited him to play with me, having noticed that out of respect for his father’s memory, he was not dancing.

Henry Holland scowled. “Unfortunately.”

I looked to see if York was within earshot, which was more than Exeter had done. “Why unfortunately?”

Exeter, taking the hint from my low voice, lowered his as well. “Well, he’s married me to his daughter, for one thing.”

“I remember his daughter from Rouen. Lady Anne, was it? She was a little girl.”

“Aye, there is the problem. She is only eight years of age.” He leaned too close to me, and I realized belatedly that he was rather tipsy—a rare sight at Henry’s court, for he of course never overindulged, and his courtiers naturally followed suit. “I would have preferred someone of my own age.” He smiled again. “And wealthy too.”

“You are honest, at least,” I said. “But she was a pretty child, as I recall.”

“Pretty, but she and I do not suit. She is a little shrew.”

I remembered little Anne tossing a fine tantrum during my stay at Rouen and could not gainsay him. “Perhaps she will change when she gets older.”

“I very much doubt it. Girls grow up to be like their mothers, and they don’t call the Duchess of York ‘Proud Cis’ for nothing. She’s arrogant, as are all of the Nevilles.” He reached for a cup of wine, which I neatly intercepted before he could clasp it. Frowning, then shrugging, he continued, “And the Duke of York will be going to Ireland as the king’s lieutenant. I suppose I will have to go with him there. Ireland, with the savages and an eight-year-old wife! I don’t like it.”

“Perhaps Ireland won’t be so bad,” I said. “After all, your countrymen have been there and must have civilized it a bit.”

“That’s not what my father-in-law thinks. He’s not at all happy about being sent there, though he puts a good face on it in public. He says that Somerset has no business running our possessions in Fr—”

A firm hand suddenly landed on Exeter’s shoulder, and the Duke of York glared down at him. “I beg your grace’s pardon for my ward’s ill behavior. He has monopolized you long enough. Come along, Henry. You have overindulged. It is time you retired.”

“But the queen invited me herself! You can’t order me about like one of your vassals. Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Your guardian, for one thing.”

York began to haul his ward up by force, but I stopped him and placed my hand on his gently. “Do retire, Henry. I shall be retiring soon myself. Tomorrow we shall have another game.”

“Yes, your grace.” Henry stood shakily but still managed a reasonably proper bow. Ignoring his father-in-law, he let a page escort him from the hall.

York sighed. “I beg your pardon, your grace. My ward is a foolish young man sometimes.”

“I expect he must be grieving for his father, my lord.”

“Yes, that is this week’s excuse. I should follow him to make certain he does not talk his page into taking him elsewhere.”

I watched as the Duke of York departed, then smiled as the Marquess of Suffolk approached and motioned toward Henry Holland’s vacated seat. “Is this free, your grace?”

“It certainly is. Do you play, my lord?”

“No, your grace must forgive me. I know some games, but I associate card-playing with my captivity, and have avoided it since.”

“It is sad to think of you as a captive.”

Suffolk shrugged. “It is self-indulgent of me to even mention it, for I was a prisoner for a very short time, compared to the Duke of Orléans and some of your grace’s other countrymen. And your grace was not even born at the time.” Suffolk pushed Henry Holland’s discarded playing cards aside, then picked them up and laughed. “Pity the young duke left when he did. He had an excellent hand, better than any I had in my day.”

“See, you should have not said anything, and then you could have started where he left off and won a pretty sum.”

“Chivalry is not dead yet, your grace.” Suffolk grinned and settled more comfortably in his chair.

“You look more yourself, my lord, than you have in months.”

Suffolk glanced around. “Yes, well, Humphrey has been a quieter ghost than I anticipated, for one thing. The rumors of foul play seem to have died down. And for another, Somerset finally has agreed to accept compensation for Maine, and we can at last make the arrangements to cede it. Your uncle Charles has been extraordinarily patient under the circumstances, but that patience is beginning to fray.”

“What is his compensation?”

“Ten thousand livres a year from the wine tax in Normandy. And”—Suffolk bent closer—“I shouldn’t be surprised if he is made a duke.”

I frowned. “If anyone deserves a dukedom, it is you. You have served England much longer, and are much old—”

“‘Seasoned’ is the word a native English speaker might have chosen, your grace, but I get your meaning. I don’t begrudge the man his dukedom if it will settle this business. But enough of this; it is Christmas.”

***

In March 1448—after my impatient uncle Charles brought troops to the very gates of Le Mans—Henry’s agents at last surrendered Maine. At the end of the month, Henry formally granted me a license to found Queen’s College. “You have indeed been a lady of peace,” he told me that night as we lay in his bed together. “I could not be happier. There is just one thing I wish.”

“What, my love? I will get with child soon. I know I will.”

“I was not thinking of that, my dear. We must trust in God and continue doing our part for that.” He smiled; we had just done our part very happily. “No, I was thinking of my old friend, Gilles of Brittany. He was raised in my household, and is now the prisoner of his brother the Duke of Brittany.”

“I have heard something about this.”

“I would like to see him released. Suffolk knows of my desire, and has a plan for it.”

“Oh?” I asked sleepily.

“I shan’t bore you with it,” Henry kissed me on the cheek. “By the way, I believe it is time we made Suffolk a duke.”