Virgin Widow (29 page)

We would soon discover if such mercy existed at his hands.

K
ING
Edward had us brought all the way from Tewkesbury to Coventry, to the royal accommodations where the King’s Council often met. What a desperate little party we were, I decided, seeing us through Yorkist eyes as we arrived. Weary, travel-stained, barely one speaking to the other—how the King could consider us a threat to his safety or the security of his crown I could not imagine. Despite that, the guard about us was strong. The Queen travelled in a litter, curtains closed against the world.

I rode in a black cloud of gloom, at odds with the spring weather, with the prospect of an axe over my neck as I dredged through my memories to piece together what sort of man the King was. Fair in his dealings, Edward had no reputation for blood-letting. If he could pardon Clarence, he could not be all bad. But my mind switched scenes. He had executed the Lancastrian officers without compunction. He had
not saved Warwick at Barnet. He had not saved the Prince from being cut down in cold blood by Richard, his own brother.

So, how would he deal with me?

I had no one to stand for me and plead my cause. I had no confidence in Clarence, and the whereabouts of Isabel I did not know. As for Richard…Who knew what was in his head? I would have to plead my own case.

I shivered in the slight breeze.

Would you wilt and weep before Edward of York?

I straightened my spine as I rode. I would be honest and forthright. What had I to lose? I would disguise my fear and pray that the King was of a mind to be kind to a traitor and widow of his most bitter enemy.

I was escorted by guards into Edward’s presence, where I came to an abrupt halt just within the door of a surprisingly intimate little parlour.

Thank God! Richard was not there. Clarence, yes, legs crossed, arm negligently thrown along the back of a low settle. No one would know how my knees trembled behind my skirts as I curtsied. Edward was lounging, legs extended, ankles crossed, but he immediately leapt to his feet and came forwards to take my hand, to draw me to a seat beside the fireplace. He did not look hostile. I tensed my muscles against sheer fright at the extent of this man’s power over me.

‘Lady Anne. Or should I address you as Princess? You have been greatly elevated since we last met.’ Edward sketched a mock bow. I searched his face to see if there was malice there. There was none that I could see, and when he sensed my resistance, Edward nudged me to sit in his own great chair, looking down at me, his hands clasped around his belt, his stance easy and relaxed. ‘I suppose I have to decide what to do with you. What do you think, Lady Anne?’

So, malice or mischief, he would cast the problem into my lap. I sat and concentrated furiously on my survival. King Edward held my life in his hands.

‘Well, what do you suggest?’ he repeated as if we were discussing the direction to take in a hunt. ‘You are branded Lancastrian. Your father and husband both bore arms against me and are dead, your mother has walled herself in so that she need not face my justice, and thus
you
are the only Neville traitor to fall into my hands. You are my enemy, little Princess. Now how should I deal with you?’

There was a decided twinkle in his eyes. They were warm and reassuring, the deep brown of ripe chestnuts. But I was wary. He might well be playing with me, lulling me to see if I had any knowledge of use to him. To allow me enough rope to hang myself. Or perhaps he simply considered me still to be too young to challenge him, the younger Neville daughter to be treated with condescension. Knowing that I dared
not drop my guard, I decided that attack was the best defence. If he punished me, then so be it.

‘I cannot answer you, for I don’t know your intent, sire. If I were a man, I would already be dead at your hands.’

‘True.’ His mouth twisted as if he might be contemplating the possibility. Then his expression smoothed again into a friendly smile, so that I understood how his enemies could say that he was not to be trusted. ‘So I suppose I should execute you.’

‘But I have no value as a Lancastrian,’ I replied sternly. ‘The Prince is dead. The Earl my father, and my Neville uncle also. The Countess is in sanctuary. I have no one to come to my aid. What value have I?’

‘As you say, lady. A masterful summary.’

He strolled to the table where flagon and cups had been set, poured, pushed one in the direction of the silent and watchful Clarence. When he returned to press the goblet into my hands I had to grasp it firmly, lest the wine splash on my gown. I held tight and waited.

‘You are potentially a very wealthy young woman.’

‘I know, sire. But that fact does not
necessarily
make me a threat to you.’

Edward chuckled. ‘I see. And I think that you would bargain with me, lady, for your life.’

‘I did not choose to wed Edward of Lancaster, sire.’

He tilted his head, assessing, inscrutable in inner debate, like a fox deciding if the chicken in its sights
was worth the effort. Discomfited at his knowing stare, I dropped my gaze to the dark wine in the cup. Beside him, Clarence took my attention as he stretched his arms in indolent self-satisfaction, yawning as if he felt the whole episode tiresome in the extreme. I despised him more than ever. I would not look at him. Had not his defection caused the Earl’s death? Yet I discovered the strength to push aside my hatred that simmered and threatened to burst into flame. I could not allow myself to be distracted. Other concerns would wait, even my own future, but Edward could at least ease my heart of one of its burdens, the heaviest of them. I took another sip of wine against the dryness in my throat.

‘I have one request, sire.’

‘Only one?’ Edward’s mobile brows rose. ‘Ask it, then.’

‘That you would tell me of the manner of my father’s death.’

It obviously surprised him. ‘I thought we had agreed that your head could be forfeit, lady.
That
should be your one request, should it not? To beg for mercy?’

‘Perhaps it should, sire. But this is a wound that will not heal.’ On an impulse, knowing Edward’s turn for the dramatic, I placed the cup on the floor, and pushed myself from the chair to fall to my knees at his feet. ‘I wish to know of the Earl, sire.’ I raised my eyes to his and held them, pleading, compelling.

‘What a determined young woman you are,’ he remarked, not unkindly. ‘It will only bring pain.’

‘Not as great as the not knowing. Not as great a pain as the version that was given to me, that I cannot believe.’

‘Very well.’ He nodded briskly. ‘But come, you mustn’t kneel as a petitioner for something that demands nothing of me.’ He urged me to my feet, placed me back in the chair, the cup in my hands. ‘What do you want to know?’

It poured out, the terrible shame I had lived with, of the Earl’s flawed leadership, his cowardice, his betrayal of his men. That at the last he tried to bargain for his life when flight became impossible.

‘Your informant lied,’ Edward spoke gently. ‘Or deliberately misled you. So you want the truth? I’ll not lie to you, so brave a Princess as you are.’ He hooked the toe of his boot around the leg of a stool to pull it forwards, to sit close before me. Removing the cup again, he closed his hands around mine, a warm comfort. Without emotion, he told the tale.

‘Listen, then, lady. This is how it happened. I attacked early, when a man at twenty paces was only a glimmer in the dawn. It took them by surprise.’ He glossed over his own skills quickly, I noticed. ‘It was all over—after three hours of hard combat. I saw the Earl in the thick of it, fighting bravely. To the end the Earl remained at his command, dismounting to fight
on foot with his household knights until there was no hope of victory. His conduct was exemplary.’

I nodded, feeling his hands tighten around mine. ‘That was not the action of a coward,’ I said quietly, almost to myself.

‘No. It was not. His conduct brought honour to the Neville name.’

I sighed a little. The Queen’s informants had given her the truth as she would wish to see it. A truth that was twisted and despoiled out of all recognition.

‘Did you have to kill him, sire?’

Edward shifted on his stool. ‘I gave orders to spare his life—but Yorkist troops got there first and hacked him down. So, no, I did not save him and if that is to my blame, then you must place it squarely on my shoulders.’

The honesty in that handsome face was uncomfortably disarming. I could not speak. His fingers were gentle now on my wrist and I thought there was no little grief in the lines of his face. But I shook my head, wilfully refusing to be comforted.

‘Then did you have to display him naked? Humiliate him so?’ I choked a little over the words as the image leapt to life in my mind of that final humiliation.

‘Yes.’ Now the King’s lips narrowed and I saw the implacable will to protect his power. I had asked for the truth and I got it in all its raw realism. ‘Yes—and I would do it again tomorrow without a second
thought. It would be a fatal mistake to allow Warwick to be resurrected as a figurehead for malcontents. Did you not know? There were already claims being circulated that he yet lived, within an hour of his death. That he would return to raise the banner of Lancaster once more. Warwick, dead and a spent force, had to be seen. It was necessary and I’ll not excuse what I did. All I would say is that his body was not desecrated. He was taken to Bisham with all honour for burial.’ I nodded knowing the Augustinian Abbey there to be the resting place of past Nevilles. ‘I could have dismembered him as a traitor. Many advised me to do it, but in death I would not treat him with disrespect.’

I blinked so that I would not weep for my loss. I believed him. What use in harbouring resentments? Those who played the card of traitor, as the Earl had, risked all on its turn.

‘Does that satisfy you?’ he asked.

And I nodded at last. I hesitated. ‘Can I make one more request?’

‘Another?’ The amusement had resurfaced through the sharp regret. ‘Ask, then.’

‘It is about my mother that I would speak, sire. I miss her. If you would pardon her so that we can be reunited…’ The hands around mine suddenly clenched. I glanced up through my lashes, instantly warned by the tightening in his jaw, his abrupt release of my hands. I did not think he was angry, but his reply was short.

‘I haven’t decided and will make no promises. The Countess can stay at Beaulieu for now, as it is her choice, guarded there by my own men.’ He pushed back the stool, stood when I would have spoken, looking down at me so that I had to look up. ‘She is powerful and wealthy, unless I decide to strip her of her money and lands under attainder. But don’t fear. I’ll not execute her.’ His smile was thin-lipped. ‘I don’t make war on women. And now, little Princess, if all your requests are at an end, what do I do with
you?’

‘I’ll answer that.’

The intervention startled me. And Edward. For the first time Clarence spoke, thrusting himself to sit up and lean forwards, elbows on the table. I thought his eyes gleamed in some sharp anticipation.

‘If I can make a suggestion, brother? Why not give Anne into my keeping? I’d like nothing better than for her to live in my household, in the care of her sister. The Duchess is settled at Warwick. No doubt Lady Anne will enjoy a return to her old home. Certainly she can stay with us until you’ve decided on a more permanent settlement. I know that Isabel has missed her sorely and would be pleased to have her company again.’

I could feel my brain dissecting his words, as smooth and innocent as new cream, but as suspect as a deep dark pool where the bottom was unfathomable, dangerous, for the unwary traveller. They seemed
harmless enough, although I could not imagine Isabel welcoming me with open arms in light of our recent disaffection. Nor did Clarence’s claim to brotherly delight ring true.
A more permanent settlement.
That meant my marriage. Since I was to be allowed to live, as an important heiress I could not be allowed to remain unwed for long. Someone would be found by Edward, whose loyalty it was necessary to cultivate with a marriage to a Neville heiress. It would all be out of my hands, just as it had in the past. After the strains of the morning I felt the energy drain from me, leaving me strangely hollow and unresponsive. The arrangements for my future suddenly did not interest me—they could do as they wished.

Edward beamed. ‘A family solution. Very neat.’ He thought for a minute, then stooped to take my arm and raise me to my feet. ‘It is decided, little Princess. You will live at Warwick and will be free to come and go under your sister’s jurisdiction. She will be responsible for your security and safety. Life will not be intolerable for you, sister.’

Intolerable? I did not want to be at the mercy of Clarence and Isabel, but it was the best I could hope for. ‘My thanks, your Majesty. I am grateful for your pardon and your generosity.’

My voice was colourless. My curtsy impeccably formal. The audience was clearly over and I would have turned to leave. When the door opened…

Not now. Not this.

I was too weary and emotionally drained to deal with this now.

I think he did not at first see me, preoccupied with the bundle of scrolls he carried, complete with royal seals. There he was, when I would rather not have had to face him until I had ordered my thoughts, considered my response. Richard, Duke of Gloucester. Constable of England.

When he saw me he froze on the spot.

He has a presence.

Beatrice’s observation leapt starkly to mind. I had seen the changes from a distance, when peeking through the carvings at Tewkesbury. Now I experienced the maturity that had only been hinted at in the Abbey. And I was not pleased. His stare was deliberate, questioning, first at the King and Clarence. Then, after one single glance that slid from the crown of my head to my shoes, doubtless disapproving of my dire appearance, he performed a somewhat sketchy bow in my direction.

‘My lady. You have travelled safely.’

His words, his face, were blandly impersonal. He had obviously mastered the art of dissimulation to perfection. It slashed bright colour across my cheeks.