Chapter 48.

Baynard's Castle, London April 3rd 1461 On the third day of April, I received a letter from Edward. I called my household together and read it to them from the steps of the dais of Baynard Castle's great hall.

Well-beloved Mother, we greet you well. It has pleased G.o.d to grant us a great victory at Towton this twenty-ninth day of March, in the first year of our reign. We now advance on London, where I shall soon greet you in person.

"Edward the King!" Cups and tankards clanked and everyone toasted my son. The noise they made carried outside, and an excited crowd gathered. I ordered my steward to proclaim the news of Edward's victory and provide a cup of ale for anyone who wanted to toast him. Then I mounted the stairs to my bedchamber to read the rest of the letter.

On the twenty-eighth day of March, I sent Cousin Warwick to secure the bridge over the River Aire, but we were ambushed, and many of our number were killed. Cousin Warwick was wounded in the leg, but it was just a graze. When the news spread, the soldiers were full dismayed. But Cousin Warwick saved the day by killing his own horse, in full view of the army. He told them that he would fight on foot and die with his men, rather than yield another inch.

I lay back against my pillows. How proud my father would have been to see how indispensable the Nevilles had become to the House of York. Just as Salisbury had supported my lord, so now his son Warwick supported my son.

Though the Lancastrians destroyed the bridge, we managed to cross the Aire and set up camp that night on the other bank. Did I forget to mention that the weather was atrocious? My men had to endure driving snow and hail. Baron John de Clifford, whom you well know was responsible for brother Rutland's murder, died.

I shivered and crossed myself, trying not to think of another bitter winter day when my son, husband, and brother had been cut down by those Lancastrian beasts.

That night, I stayed in Pontefract castle. The next day, I drew my men up in battle formation near unto the village of Towton. We fought all day long, from around eleven in the morning, to well past compline, in the midst of a thick blizzard. As dusk came on, Norfolk sent in a strong force, and the Lancastrians fled in a rout. Maybe forty thousand souls perished that day, the bloodiest day on English soul. I have given the gravediggers extra wages, for their labor will be long and hard.

I crossed myself and murmured a prayer. How like Edward to remember the common folk. My heart swelled; he had endured a hard and bitter fight, and he had won. Now, I would be able to summon George and Richard home from their exile in Burgundy.

Written at Towton, the thirtieth day of March, by your most loving son, Edwardus Rex.

A month before his nineteenth birthday, Edward became King of England, styling himself Edward IV. Henry of Lancaster and Marguerite d'Anjou were in York when they heard the news of their defeat. They fled north. Exeter was in their train.

Edward had won an important victory, yet it was incomplete. Henry of Lancaster, his wife, and her son were still at large, Marguerite vowing she would be revenged on the House of York.

Chapter 49.

April to November 1461 Throughout April and May of 1461, I received numerous letters from Edward telling me of his affairs.

Well-Beloved Mother, I write to you from the fair city of York, where I shall rest to celebrate Easter. My first act on arriving was to order the decent burial of my beloved father, uncle and brother. I hope, dearest Mother, this will give you some peace...

I felt the now familiar rise of bile at the hideous way my menfolk had been treated. I retreated to the privy.

After murdering them, the Lancastrian beasts struck their heads off their bodies and put them atop pikes above Micklegate Bar, the main gateway into the city of York. These beasts even put a paper crown on my lord's severed head before moving off.

Later, propped up in bed with a cup of Jenet's soothing mint potion, I read the rest of the letter.

We are to set off north tomorrow in pursuit of the b.i.t.c.h of Anjou. My scouts tell me she is making her way towards Scotland with her family...

In early May, Edward left the north and returned to London, where he received a hero's welcome for saving the city from the savagery of the northerners. Unfortunately, he was unsuccessful in preventing the b.i.t.c.h of Anjou, Henry of Lancaster, and others from reaching refuge in Scotland.

On the twenty-eighth day of June, in the year 1461, Edward was crowned in Westminster Abbey. On that day, he made his younger brother George the Duke of Clarence. Richard was allowed to remain under my care.

I was determined to do something for my eldest daughter Nan. When Marguerite d'Anjou and Henry of Lancaster fled north into Scotland, Exeter had followed, leaving his wife and daughter behind. Edward declared him to be a traitor, and in the normal course of affairs would have confiscated his lands. Yet he offered to restore Exeter's lands to Nan that she might live comfortably for the rest of her life and provide for her daughter, who would now be a wealthy heiress.

Nan was at first unwilling to agree, certain that her husband would eventually return. She gave in only after seeing Edward's coronation. I wanted her to stay awhile in Baynard's Castle, but Nan refused.

"I must manage my lands, madam," she told me. "There are many out there who would take Anne's inheritance away. I must ensure that does not happen."

I could not fault her reasoning. Nan was like a whipped horse. Only time and the greatest patience would enable her to trust anyone again.

On the thirty-first day of July, Edward appointed Warwick to be Warden of the East and West marches on the northern border, thus combining the Percy's share of the defense with that of the Nevilles, for the Percy Earls of Northumberland were Lancastrian still. This was a rich and well-deserved reward for the cousin who'd proved himself a loyal friend. Edward also made him chief advisor, giving him the responsibility of defending the kingdom and of foreign policy.

Not more than a month pa.s.sed after Edward's coronation before King Charles VII of France died. He was succeeded by his son Louis, who had been friendly towards the Yorkists. But matters between the new kings of England and France did not proceed smoothly. One September day, Edward was closeted in his study with his cousin Warwick, tackling the numerous problems facing England, when a young man flew in and bent at the knee, sweat pouring down his face.

"My lord King: I have here a letter to the queen." He paused and flushed red. "Pardon me, I mean Marguerite of Lancaster."

Warwick swung around. He cut a magnificent figure in a tunic of red velvet, a cloak of purple draped elegantly over one shoulder. "A letter?" he snapped.

"Yes, Your Grace. I mean, your lordship. I'm sorry, good sirs, my wits are that addled-" He gasped for breath.

Edward came forward. At six feet four inches, he was about six inches taller than his cousin. He also dressed magnificently. Today he was wearing a blue satin tunic, slashed to reveal a silver silk undershirt. He placed a large hand on the messenger's shoulder.

"Take a breath, my good man. You look as if you've run all the way from Scotland." He called to his squire. "Bring a cup of ale for this good fellow."

"That's very kind of you sir, I mean, my lord, Your Grace-"

"What is your message?" snapped Warwick, his grey eyes hardening. Now in his early thirties, his fair hair was beginning to grey, and he had lines of experience around his mouth and eyes.

Edward smiled gently and patted the messenger again.

"Have some ale, and tell us how you came by this letter."

"One of your spies intercepted it," replied the messenger, quaffing his ale.

Edward held his hand out and scanned the letter.

Madam, fear not, but be of good comfort, for we have been summoned to see King Louis. Therefore, beware ye venture not your person by sea till ye have other word from us- Edward glanced up as Warwick came forward. His young unlined face showed little emotion, save for a clenching of the jaw. Silently, he handed over the letter.

"Christ's bones!" exclaimed Warwick. "I thought we had the favor of the new King of France. It is said he hates the House of Anjou. But that doesn't stop her from seeking his aid."

Edward moved to the table in the middle of the room and unrolled a large map that showed England, Scotland, Wales, and France. "We could be invaded at any time," he remarked. "Where do you think she's likely to strike?"

Warwick motioned for the messenger to leave and pointed to the Cotetin peninsula of Normandy. "Her plan might be to try and capture the Channel Isles to make a bridgehead to England from France."

"At the moment, she's in Scotland," replied Edward. "She can only attack the Channel Isles if she's in France. And that depends on King Louis giving her money."

"I have it on good authority that she's already exhausted her own funds. That letter can mean only one thing."

Edward looked up.

"She's worn out her welcome at the Scottish court," remarked Warwick.

Edward frowned. "She might strike from the north."

"Aye, she might," agreed Warwick, rubbing his chin. "All we need is more unrest there."

"Therefore, I think that you, cousin, should march to Alnwick," said Edward, pointing to the far north of England, "and capture it."

"Right," said Warwick, nodding. "I'll go there forthwith. We cannot have the b.i.t.c.h of Anjou take a major Northumbrian stronghold."

He bowed and disappeared, followed by his large train of retainers, all bearing his badge of the staff and ragged bear on scarlet tunics.

Warwick captured not only Alnwick but also Bamburgh Castle, thus ensuring that the new king had the most important Northumbrian strongholds to serve as a bulwark against any invasion from Scotland.

On November 1st 1461, Edward opened his first parliament. On that day, he made his youngest brother Richard Duke of Gloucester and sent him to live at Middleham, with my blessing, to train as a knight under Warwick's supervision.

Chapter 50.

Summer 1463 The crowning of my son Edward seemed to be a vindication for all the sacrifices made. I was given my lands back and admitted to the highest councils of the land. Folk said that d.u.c.h.ess Cecylee ruled the king as she pleased. Never before had a lady had such influence, unless you counted the activities of Queen Alainor of Aquitaine of three centuries before. No more would England have to endure a warrior queen who struck terror into the hearts of men with a rampaging army of animals she was unable to control. Instead, I modeled myself on Queen Alainor, known for her fair dealing whenever she dispensed justice at the various a.s.sizes held around the country.

In all of this, I was ably a.s.sisted by my nephew Warwick. And yet this was a time of peril for the new king, for the b.i.t.c.h of Anjou was creating havoc, both by negotiating with the French and Burgundian princes and by repeatedly taking the Northumbrian fortresses. Finally, Warwick arranged a peace conference between Edward, King Louis XI of France, and Duke Philip of Burgundy in the summer of 1463. The objective was to close France and Burgundy to Marguerite d'Anjou and Henry of Lancaster.

After that, Warwick set about finding a suitable bride for Edward, for in the two years he had been king he'd not had time to think about this matter.

"The Duke of Burgundy has offered his two nieces," I remarked, "Lady Marguerite de Bourbon and her sister Jeanne."

"How old are these ladies?" asked Warwick.

"Lady Marguerite has twenty-four years. Lady Jeanne, her sister, is a little younger. She has twenty-one years."

Warwick steepled his fingers as he leaned back in his elaborately carved chair. How he reveled in his power and influence. Indeed, in those days, Warwick appeared to have so much power that folk called him The Kingmaker. Or as one wit at the French court put it: "They have but two rulers in England, Monsieur de Warwick and another whose name I have forgotten." At that moment he was securing the northern border, negotiating with the French and Burgundians, and helping Edward sort out the country's finances and judicial system. He strode about, followed by his huge army of retainers, always busy, always preoccupied.

"Edward has now twenty-one years," he remarked. "He might be happier with someone younger."

I nodded. "Perhaps you are right. There is a younger lady with whom I have been in correspondence. Lady Isabella of Castile has now turned twelve. She is very suitable, for she is the half-sister of King Henry of Castile and possible heiress to the throne of Castile."

"What of Lady Bona of Savoy?"

My ears p.r.i.c.ked up, as an image of Blaybourne dressed in his finery materialized. I was now so confused about the swirl of events surrounding my lover, that I knew not whether he was a humble archer, a scholar, or a n.o.bleman called Philippe of Savoy.

"Tell me about her."

"She is sister to the Queen of France. Her father is Duke Louis of Savoy, the eldest son of Duke Amadeus of Savoy."

Since Richard's death, I'd made discreet inquiries and learned that Philippe of Savoy was the youngest son of Duke Amadeus. Strangely, he remained unmarried. Lady Bona would be his niece, and thus a possible cousin to Edward.

"She is a little older than Princess Isabella," continued Warwick, "and would now be turning fourteen."

"She would be able to bear Edward sons sooner. But what are the political implications?"

"This match would close France to the Lancastrian exiles," replied Warwick. "As we speak, the Lancastrian usurper Henry is at large in Scotland, while the b.i.t.c.h of Anjou and her son edouard are in Burgundy, pleading for the Duke to give them succor."

"We should do something about that."

Warwick smiled. "We need do nothing, dear Aunt, providing that France is on our side. It is King Louis's ambition to crush Burgundy. And he will succeed. He's crafty and wily, and France is a much greater power than Burgundy."

"That may be so," I replied. "But is Louis trustworthy? King Henry of Castile is weak and therefore malleable. I have it on good authority that he would be pleased to marry off his half-sister Isabella to a foreign power, for he has a newborn daughter to think of and the Lady Isabella is her rival for the throne. I believe he would agree to very acceptable terms."

The door opened and Edward suddenly appeared. "Mother," he said. "What are you discussing?"

"Your marriage," I replied, smiling up at him. He was my golden boy with his unusual height, thick head of golden hair, and bright blue eyes.

"We were just talking of two promising young ladies," said Warwick. "Isabella of Castile and Bona of Savoy."

"And what do these ladies look like?"

"Lady Isabella is highly intelligent and pleasing to look at," I replied, making a mental note to obtain a portrait of her. Of course Edward would want an attractive wife.

"Does she have violet eyes?" asked Edward. "Or hair the color of silver?"

There was only one person who met that description, and that was Lady Eleanor Talbot, the youngest daughter of my dearest friend Margaret and now Lady Butler. She'd been married years ago.

Warwick looked at Edward intently. "Do you have someone in mind?"

Edward shrugged and smiled.

I waited for him to speak, a strange sensation of unease crawling up my spine.

"Do not look so serious, Mother," said Edward finally. "I wish only for a beauty."

"And that you shall have," declared Warwick, rising and slapping him on the back. "I have already turned down two ladies your mother suggested on the grounds they were too old."

Edward grimaced.

"I understand your tastes," said Warwick. He glanced at me and forbore to say more.

I thinned my lips. It was greatly disquieting that every young woman in the land was flinging herself at Edward.

"Find me a bride who is young, lively and very beautiful," said Edward, clasping Warwick's hand. And with a quick kiss on my cheek, he disappeared.