Lady of the Rivers Read online

  The garrison and town of Calais are at war with themselves, and are no more welcoming to the newly nominated commander, the victorious young Earl of Warwick, than they were to the former constable, his ally, the Duke of York. I imagine, and I fear, that Richard is keeping the York allies out of the castle and holding the town for Lancaster. A forlorn hope, and a lonely posting. I imagine that he is keeping faith with Lancaster and thinks that to hold Calais for the silent king is the best service he can offer. But through the Christmas feast and the winter months, I cannot get any news of him, except to know that he is alive, and that the garrison has sent word that they will never admit the Earl of Warwick to the castle which is loyal to the man he killed: the dead Lord Somerset.

  It is not until spring that things start to improve. ‘The king is better,’ Margaret announces to me.

  I look at her doubtfully. ‘He speaks better than he did,’ I agree. ‘But he is not himself yet.’

  She grits her teeth. ‘Jacquetta – perhaps he will never be as he was. His wound has healed, he can speak clearly, he can walk without stumbling. He can pass as a king. From a distance he can look commanding. That has to be enough for me.’

  ‘For you to do what?’

  ‘For me to take him back to London, show him to the council, and take the power from the Duke of York once more.’

  ‘He is the shell of a king,’ I warn her. ‘A puppet king.’

  ‘Then it will be me who pulls the strings,’ she promises. ‘And not the Duke of York. While we are here and allow the protectorate to reign, the Duke of York takes all the posts, all the fees, all the taxes and all the favours. He will strip the country bare and we will end up with nothing. I have to put the king back on his throne and York back in his place. I have to save my son’s inheritance for when he can come of age and fight his own battles.’

  I hesitate, thinking of the king’s nervous tremor of the head, of the way he flinches at sudden noise. He will be unhappy in London, he will be frightened in Westminster. The lords will appeal to his judgement and demand that he rules. He cannot do it. ‘There will be continual quarrels in the council and shouting. He will break down, Margaret.’

  ‘I will order your husband home,’ she tempts me. ‘I will tell the king to pardon the garrison and allow the guard home. Richard can come home and see his grandson, and meet his son. He has not even seen your new baby.’

  ‘A bribe,’ I remark.

  ‘A brilliant bribe,’ she replies. ‘Because it’s irresistible, isn’t it? So do you agree? Shall we set the king to claim his throne again?’

  ‘Would you stop on this course if I disagree with you?’

  She shakes her head. ‘I am determined. Whether you are with me or not, Jacquetta, I will take command through my husband, I will save England for my son.’

  ‘Then bring Richard home and we will support you. I want him in my life again, in my sight, and in my bed.’

  WESTMINSTER PALACE, LONDON,

  SPRING 1456

  Richard’s recall from Calais is one of the first acts of the restored king. We go in state t

  o Westminster and announce the king’s recovery to the council. It goes better than I had dared to hope. The king is gracious and the council openly relieved at his return; the king is now to govern with the advice of the Duke of York. The king pardons the garrison of Calais for refusing to admit both York and Warwick, and he signs a pardon especially for Richard, to forgive him for his part in the rebellion against the lord protector.

  ‘Your husband is a loyal servant to me and my house,’ he remarks to me, when he comes to the queen’s rooms before dinner. ‘I will not forget it, Lady Rivers.’

  ‘And may he come home?’ I ask. ‘He has been away such a long time, Your Grace.’

  ‘Soon,’ he promises me. ‘I have written to him and to Lord Welles that I myself appoint the Earl of Warwick as Captain of Calais and so they can take it as my command that they are to admit him. When they admit the earl, and he takes up his post, youd can come home.’ He sighs. ‘If only they would live together in loving kindness,’ he says. ‘If only they would be as birds in the trees, as little birds in the nest.’

  I curtsey. The king is drifting into one of his dreams. He has a vision of a kinder world, a better world, which nobody could deny. But it is no help for those of us who have to live in this one.

  The king’s pain at his unexpected wound, his shock at the brutality of battle and the cruelty of death in the streets of St Albans seems to have gone very deep. He says that he is well now, we have given thanks in a special Mass, and everyone has seen him walk without stumbling, talk to petitioners, and sit on his throne; but neither the queen nor I can feel confident that he won’t drift away again. He especially dislikes noise or disagreement, and the court, the parliament and the king’s council is riven with faction; there are daily quarrels between the followers of the York lords and our people. Any trouble, any discord, any unhappiness, and his gaze drifts away, he looks out of the window and he falls silent, slipping away in a daydream. The queen has learned never to disagree with him, and the little prince is whisked from the room whenever he raises his voice or runs about. The whole court tiptoes about its business so as not to disturb the king, and so far we have managed to keep him in at least the appearance of kingship.

  The queen has learned to control her temper, and it has been very sweet to see her discipline herself so that she never startles or alarms her husband. Margaret has a quick temper and a powerful desire to rule, and to see her bite her tongue and hear her lower her voice so as not to confront the king with the usurpation of his powers is to see a young woman growing into wisdom. She is kind to him in a way that I thought she could never be. She sees him as a wounded animal, and when his eyes grow vague or he looks about him, trying to remember a word or a name, she puts her hand gently on his and prompts him, as sweetly as a daughter with a father in his dotage. It is a sorry end for the marriage that started in such hopes, and the king’s hidden weakness is her hidden grief. She is a woman sobered by loss: she has lost the man she loved, she has lost her husband; but she does not complain of her life to anyone but me.

  To me, her temper is not muted, and often she blazes out when we are alone. ‘He does whatever the Duke of York tells him,’ she spits. ‘He is his puppet, his dog.’

  ‘He is obliged to govern with the agreement of the duke, and with the earls of Salisbury and Warwick,’ I say. ‘He has to answer the objection that the Privy Council made against him: that he was only for Lancaster. Now there is a parliament which is influenced by all the great men, York as well as Lancaster. In England, this is how they like it, Your Grace. They like to share power. They like many advisors.’

  ‘And what about what I like?’ she demands. ‘And what about the Duke of Somerset who lies dead, thanks to them? The dearest, truest . . . ’ She breaks off and turns away so that I cannot see the grief in her face. ‘And what about the interest of the prince, my son? Who will serve me and the prince? Who will satisfy our likes – never mind those of the council?’

  I say nothing. There is no arguing with her when she rages against the Duke of York. ‘I won’t stand for it,’ she says. ‘I am taking the prince and going to Tutbury Castle for the summer, and then on to Kenilworth. I won’t stay in London, I won’t be imprisoned in Windsor again.’

  ‘Nobody is going to imprison you . . . ’

  ‘You can go and see your children,’ she rules. ‘And then you can meet me. I won’t stay in London to be ordered about by the duke and insulted by the citizens. I know what they say about me. They think I am a virago married to a fool. I won’t be so abused. I shall go and I shall take the court with me, far from London and far from the duke, and he can give what orders he likes; but I won’t have to see them. And the people of London can see how they like their city when there is no court here, and no council and no parliament. I will see them go bankrupt, they will be sorry when I take the court away and give our presence and our wea