Trinity (41 page)

York removed his hand. The tension in the room vanished instantly and the chancellor came across to speak, his voice barely a murmur as the rest chattered like birds.

‘My lord York, the king lives,’ Oldhall murmured into his ear. ‘As does his heir. These men dare not accept you as things stand, but be assured my work has borne fruit. The good fellows of Parliament have debated the best course forward. If you would take your place, my lord, I promise you, you will be pleased at the result.’

With ill grace, York left the lectern and the royal seat and stepped down to the benches. Salisbury made a great show of welcoming him, as if they had not witnessed anything untoward at all.

Oldhall guided them through the opening prayer and then gave florid thanks for the reversal of Attainder on the houses of York, Salisbury and Warwick. That formal announcement brought forth a cheer from the gathered lords, going some way to ease York’s glowering mood.

‘My lords, it is my pleasure to pass on the will of the Commons in this matter. The members have sought some way to show their gratitude to Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York, for his service to the king, for keeping King Henry safe and rescuing His Highness from traitors. An Act of Accord has been proposed, naming York as heir to the throne of England. The vote will be held at sunset tonight. If it is successful, the new law will be drafted tomorrow for the king’s Seal.’

York’s brow smoothed and he sat up straight, hardly hearing the congratulations of all the men who had frowned at him only moments before. The cowards in either chamber would not allow him to claim a throne, but they were willing enough to place Henry’s fate in his hands and leave any action to him. He felt only disgust for them all in that moment, though they had delivered his greatest ambition. He looked back to the bench behind him, catching the eye of his son. Edward knew what it meant and he was beaming, gripping the wood with his big hands.

York settled back into his seat, feeling a rush of vitality and fresh strength. He had been forced to run at Ludlow. He had seen his castles and his lands given away or sold to men with no right to take them. His very name and arms had been ripped from tapestries and chairs, hacked from wood and scoured from iron and stone across the country. Yet if he would be king in the end, all that would be no more than a bitter season. He knew the presence of an army infesting London was the heart of why the men of Parliament were suddenly so meek and helpful. Lord Scales had survived the wall of the Tower being broken, barricading it from within and escaping bloody vengeance by the London crowds. Scales had held out long enough to surrender to Warwick when they brought the king back. It had not saved him from the vengeance he had earned. It had taken just two days for someone to reach him in his cell in the Tower. York had seen the body, though he had no sympathy for the man after the orders he had given. There was still blood on the streets. More importantly, there was only one force in London that day, and they were loyal to York. He had the king and the city in his grip and Parliament knew it.

He closed his eyes for an instant, feeling an old pain. He had visited Henry at the Palace of Fulham further along the river, praying for hours with him and trying to understand the young man and his weakness. In all their years of dispute, York had never spent enough time with Henry to truly know the king’s character. He felt his eyes tighten at the thought of killing him. It would be the murder of a true innocent, the most terrible of sins, no matter how he brought it about. He would be damned, without a doubt, though being damned would make him king. Dredging for the will to see it through, he remembered again how mercy had nearly cost him his life and his house. York opened his eyes once more, the decision made. For propriety, he would do nothing for a time. Parliament would make him heir and before the year was out, Henry would slip silently into a sleep, never to wake. York would be king, as his great-grandfather Edward had been. His son would be king after him.

A further thought came as he drew in a breath, filling him with joy. His son would not be damned for the murder of an innocent. Edward would rule the house of York and all England – and what father would refuse to make such a gift, no matter what it cost? York told himself he would write to Cecily that very day, busy at Ludlow with repairs and overseeing hundreds of craftsmen. He smiled as he imagined her reaction. One more Act of Parliament and they would have everything they had ever wanted. The world would have been put right, after too many years with a weak house on the throne. He might even take back the lost lands in France. Who could refuse his right, when he was king? York felt his mind fill with glorious imaginings and it took Salisbury’s sharp elbow jabbing into his side to bring him back and make him listen to William Oldhall and the discussion still going on.

‘… there is as yet no news of Queen Margaret or her son, no, Lord Grey. I have a report that they were seen passing into Wales, but their whereabouts now are unknown.’ Oldhall showed his discomfort as he glanced over at York. ‘There are absences today in these benches, empty spaces that speak loudly enough. If my lord York is made heir, I do not doubt we will hear from those noble lords who have not come to London, to this chamber.’

York looked down, not caring to hear. He knew the names of those who would support the queen well enough: Percy, Somerset, Clifford, Exeter. It gave him more pleasure to think of men like Buckingham and Egremont who could no longer trouble him.

The news of a new heir to the throne would make Margaret tear her hair in rage when she heard. The image of it twitched at his lips, after all he had endured with Attainder. It was a pleasure as simple as a childhood summer, to think of his tormentors suffering in turn. Margaret had lost her husband. When the vote was passed, she would lose her son’s inheritance as well. He chuckled aloud at that thought, interrupting an elderly baron so that he stopped and stared. Salisbury laughed in turn. He had watched York closely as he mused, almost able to follow the meanderings of his mind and enjoying every moment.

Margaret blushed, pleased at the attention and the compliments. Jasper and Edmund Tudor may have been made earls by her husband, but they still stood in respectful silence in the presence of their father.

Owen Tudor took her hand to lead her in, smiling with such amused devilment that she could well believe he had charmed a French queen once before. He was thirty years her senior and though he was bald and white-haired, he had kept a rare vitality, his good health showing in tanned skin, clear eyes and a firm grip. He looked like a gentleman farmer, with little sign of the soldier he’d once been.

Prince Edward ran past them all, exclaiming in delight at the feast laid out before them. He bobbed and jumped around as Margaret was seated at the head of the table, coming to his own chair with enormous reluctance. He was nearly seven years old and saw the ride into Wales as an adventure. As one who had grown up in Kenilworth, he had not been overawed by Pembroke Castle. He’d spent the morning racing around at high speed and bothering the servants, who already seemed to dote on him.

Pembroke had been King Henry’s gift to Jasper Tudor, but he took a seat one place away from the head of the table, deferring to his father with cheerful good grace. Margaret could see the three Welshmen liked each other and she felt something unclench within her as she sipped her wine and eyed the steaming haunch of lamb brought in as a centrepiece of the table.

‘It does my heart good to see a family who are not at each other’s throats,’ she said. ‘If I had not been able to come here, I don’t know what I would have done.’

Owen Tudor looked over at her, his eyes crinkling in pleasure at having such a beauty in his presence. He could not resist smiling at the young queen, despite the disasters that had brought her into his son’s lands.

‘Your Highness …’ he began.

‘Margaret, please.’

‘Very well. Margaret. I am glad you remembered you have friends here. My family owes your husband a great debt. It cannot be repaid with wine and lamb – even Welsh lamb, which is the best in all creation.’

She smiled, and he signalled for another thick slice to be passed to her plate, dripping with juices.

‘When my wife passed, Margaret, news of our marriage and my lads got out. I was captured, did you know that? Oh yes. I was taken to Newgate prison for a time, on the orders of Speaker William Tresham. It was only a few months, but I tell you I have never been happier to feel the sun on my skin as when they let me out.’

‘Why were you taken up?’ Margaret replied, interested despite her own worries.

Owen Tudor shrugged.

‘They were angry about my marrying King Harry’s bride. That was all it took to send soldiers after me. I could have disappeared into the hills, I suppose, but I could hardly see how they’d imprison me for marrying a queen, not after her first husband was in the ground. Yet I think I would still be there if your husband hadn’t signed an order for my release, God’s blessings be on him. He did right by me and held no grudge against one who loved his mother as much as he did himself.’ The old man shook his head in memory. ‘She was the finest part of my life. My Catherine gave me these scoundrels for my sons, and your husband made them earls. I have been blessed beyond anything I could have dreamed when I was young and foolish, though I miss her still.’

To her surprise, Margaret saw a line of tears brighten his eyes, quickly rubbed away. It was hard not to like the man.

‘I wish I had known her,’ she said.

Owen Tudor nodded.

‘And I wish your husband had kept his strength. I am more than sorry to hear of his illness. Every year brings worse reports. It is a cruel thing he has endured, hard for any man, but much worse for a king. I know, Margaret, how dogs will gather around a wounded deer. They can be cruel.’

It was Margaret’s turn to feel tears sting her eyes. She looked away, fiddling with a cup of wine rather than allow her grief to turn to sobbing at the pity she could see in him.

‘They have been,’ she said softly. ‘Henry was captured and good men were killed trying to save him. York has him now, hidden away. It breaks my heart …’ she made herself stop before the grief overwhelmed her.

‘And yet you could have stayed in Kenilworth, my lady,’ Owen went on.

Margaret sensed his sons leaning in, their interest sharpening.

‘I am pleased and more honoured than you know that you came here to us, but I do not yet know why.’

‘You do,’ Margaret said, dabbing at her eyes with a cloth. ‘If I had stayed where I was safe, it would have meant giving up. It would have been the end. Instead, I came to you for an army, Owen. It is like a hot iron against my skin to have to ask, but if you feel a debt, I must call it in.’

‘Ah. There is the heart of it,’ Owen Tudor murmured, his gaze unblinking. ‘Though it is no choice at all, for me or my sons, my lady. We’ve talked before and there was never any doubt, not if you asked. Is there, lads?’

‘None at all,’ Jasper Tudor said firmly.

His brother Edmund echoed his agreement, the three men made grim by her grief. Prince Edward had fallen silent, staring around him at the serious adult voices. One of the servants stepped in with cut fruit for him to enjoy and he tugged his mother’s sleeve to show her. Margaret smiled down at him through tears that would not stop coming.

‘I am grateful to you all,’ she said. ‘I hoped for it when I thought to come here, but you must know that York and Salisbury, Warwick and March, all threaten my family. I will need to find and raise every man in England and Wales – and beyond – to stand against them.’

‘Beyond, my lady?’ Owen Tudor asked.

‘If you will provide the ship, I have thought to sail to Scotland and speak to King James there. He has supported York’s cause in the past, but I think I can make him an offer he’d find hard to refuse.’

The Tudor sons waited for their father to consider this development. At last, he spoke, nodding.

‘I would not like to see Scots come down from their highlands, my lady. They are a fierce race, right enough, and they will certainly be a terror on the battlefield. You must know their king will drive a hard bargain for his aid though. Whatever you have in mind – and I will not ask such a private thing – he’ll want all that and a penny more, if you understand me.’

‘There is no price too high to pay to see my husband’s enemies broken,’ Margaret replied.

‘I wouldn’t say that to him, my lady, or King James will ask for London – and a penny more,’ Owen Tudor replied.

She saw his eyes twinkle and smiled back despite herself. She had no doubt then that Queen Catherine had loved him, the bluff and solid Welshman who had eased her grief over the death of her first husband.

‘I’ll have a ship made ready for you, my lady,’ Jasper Tudor said. ‘The storms can be terrible later in the year, but while the summer ends, you should be safe enough. I’ll send twenty of my own guards with you as well, to impress the Scots.’

‘Good lad,’ his father said. ‘We can’t have the queen and our prince turning up in the wilds of Scotland alone. King James will expect a fine show. Now don’t you worry. I’ll bring the men of Wales out, my lady. I might even ride with them myself, to show these young pups what an old dog can do.’

Jasper snorted and Margaret was touched at the visible affection between them. It was something she had never known and it seemed to bring her close to tears at every moment until she was exasperated with herself. It had probably not hurt her chance of winning their support to have wept at their table, she understood that much. Some men will move heaven and earth to aid a woman in distress.

‘You give me hope, Owen,’ she said, her breath coming in shudders. ‘I pray my husband will be able to thank you as you deserve.’

‘It would be my honour,’ Owen Tudor replied. ‘He is a good man. The world doesn’t need more cunning devils, Margaret. We have enough of those. Are you listening, lad?’ He addressed the last to Prince Edward, who nodded in reply, his eyes wide. ‘I said we need good men to rule. One day, it will be you as king, did you know that?’