Virgin Widow. Anne O'Brien
‘—that you show him that you have grown up at last and bear no grudges!’
I could not smile at the heavy levity, but turned my face away as I stroked a hand down the shoulder of his horse. ‘My father is a traitor, and therefore, by association, so am I. What matter that I have grown up? I have no hope at all.’
King Edward is free! The King has escaped! He is marching to London.
The words were on the lips of every traveller, every merchant and common peddler who came past. I remember standing with the Countess in the shadow of the barbican at Warwick, listening, asking. Terrified. Dreading the next bout of news.
Warwick is dead. Warwick is captured. Warwick is in hiding.
We heard none of this, thank God, only: Warwick is at Middleham.
Had I thought that the world was turned on its head, with the King a prisoner at my father’s hands? That was not the half of it. Within a week of Francis’s visit, all had collapsed about us, in a quagmire of apprehension. Our security in Warwick Castle might be transformed into an imprisonment at any moment, with Edward laying siege at our door.
‘We shall all be put to the sword. Our lives will be forfeit!’ Margery knew what would happen, of course. When did she ever not? Hysteria rose in her voice like a squall at sea. ‘We shall all be imprisoned in a dungeon in the Tower for the rest of our lives.’ Margery hunched her shoulders. ‘We’re traitors. We’ll be called to account. You see if my words don’t come true!’
‘Don’t speak like that!’ the Countess snapped, her eyes on Isabel’s extreme pallor. ‘If you cannot guard your words, then remain silent. In fact, I think you should take yourself off to the kitchens.’
Margery exited with the flounce of a misunderstood loyal retainer of long standing, leaving the Countess to try to mend the harm. ‘All has been restored as it was, Isabel. Edward will not be driven to revenge.’
Empty words, as the Countess well knew. Isabel might nod in relief, grasping at straws, but I was not convinced. Only time would tell.
We were summoned, all of us, to journey to London to meet with Edward on the sixth day of December.
‘Why did you release him?’ my mother asked fretfully. ‘Why put us in this danger?’
The Earl, returned to us, his face sharpened by frustrated ambition, admitted his failure in bald terms. ‘It was simple in the end. I couldn’t rule without him. I could not raise an army to put down the rebellion without Edward’s co-operation. And, typically, Edward drove a hard bargain. No freedom, no army!’
‘And shall we pay the ultimate penalty?’
I held my breath, sick to my stomach, already imagining the edge of an axe graze my neck.
‘It depends on how essential he sees the Nevilles to his government and the peace of the realm. ‘The Earl took my mother’s arm and led her towards the stairs to their private apartments. ‘True, the Woodvilles are fewer on the ground—’ his smile as he recalled Rivers’s execution held no humour ‘—but with Hastings and Gloucester snug at his side, I would say we’re not essential to Edward at all.’
Which was in no way comforting.
We were to present ourselves—the Earl and Countess, Clarence and Isabel and even myself—before the King at a Court reception at Westminster, in the magnificent Painted Chamber used to impress foreign dignitaries. I understood what awaited us, what he was about. We all did, without words being necessary between us to explore Edward’s intentions. If Edward was intent on revenge, it was to be before the assembled nobility of England. Humiliation was the order of the day.
Fear gripping hard, my heart thudding beneath my breast bone, I wished it to be over, our fate decided, whatever the outcome. Edward had deliberately set the scene to awe and impress. Oh, yes, he was the master of such display and grandeur. It was difficult not to stumble to a halt in dismay, for the whole Court was assembled before us, all damask and silk, feathers and jewels. The crowd might be festive, but this gilded room with its high beams and stained windows was as heavy with authority as any place of law. Rebellion was a dangerous commodity that should be stamped out. I thought Edward would have no mercy.
Once I had been persuaded that Edward was in the wrong and that one day he would see the light and restore the Earl to pre-eminence. How could he now, when the Earl had raised his sword against him? What price would we pay? Exile? Death? I glanced at the Countess for reassurance, but found no help there. Her composure hid a fear as sharp as mine.
And here was Edward himself. Magnificent, towering well above six feet, his pre-eminence vaunted in cloth of gold, a gold coronet to rival the gold of his hair and a heavy chain on his breast catching the light. Whatever debt he owed to my father for past services to the Yorkist monarchy, now he stood in judgement and awaited our coming. He would make no concessions to the man who had ordered his arrest at the point of a sword, had kept him behind stone walls and locked doors. By the end of this night I too might have a taste of the horrors of the dungeon.
But then my heart leaped, breath caught. Suddenly the splendour of Edward, for me, paled into insignificance. For my attention was caught by the man standing at Edward’s shoulder. Of course, I knew it must be, that I would see him here. Was this not one of the main reasons for my dry-mouthed anticipation? He had been at Court for almost a year now, experienced enough to be at his brother’s side. Taller, more substantial, his shoulders broader beneath the gleaming tunic, but that was not the change that struck me. In those few months his ability to dissemble had hardened so that his hooded eyes and firm line of mouth revealed nothing. As St George, and in my dreams, I had remembered a dark maturity there. Now I saw that he had an authority that had nothing to do with his clothing or his surroundings, but all to do with his direct gaze and the proud tilt of his head, the set of his shoulders. Did he see me? I thought that he did, but his eye did not linger, instead coming to rest on the Earl. I was of no account to him.
We halted within the encircling ranks of the Court. I could actually hear it, the moment that the whole Court held its breath. I held mine too, aware of every sensation, every little movement in the air around me. A tight band squeezed around my ribs. Beside me, my mother straightened her spine. It seemed that the tension would break, to shatter into sharp crystal to cut and tear. I could feel it screaming through my blood. The Nevilles would pay for their defiance.
But Edward smiled. Bright and warming, like the sun from behind a bank of storm-cloud. Where he might have drawn his sword as a symbol of his righteous anger, instead he raised both hands, palms up, in open-handed acceptance. His voice might carry to every corner of that vast room, but the tone was gentle, softly persuasive.
‘My lord of Warwick. My brother Clarence.’ He stepped forwards to obliterate the divide. ‘You are right welcome. We have missed you at Court since my return here. Welcome indeed.’ He clasped the hands of the Earl and Clarence as if there had never been enmity between them. ‘You have always been my best of friends and will be again. I swear there’ll be no ill will between us…’
As smoothly as a length of Florentine silk against the skin, we slipped back into the stream of noble society. The rigid ranks opened, then closed around us as if nothing were amiss, taking the tone from their king, whilst Edward laid his plans before my father. So carefully constructed. So clever. So magnanimous in his victory. How could the Earl of Warwick do anything but accept this offer of reconciliation? Whereas Edward, cunning to the last, spoke openly of his intentions towards his dear cousin so that the whole Court might know his desire to clip the Earl of Warwick’s political wings. Alliances, dispositions of land and titles. All designed to chain the Earl to Edward’s side through slippery gratitude. But what did I care? Everything in me was caught and held by that quiet figure at Edward’s side who was wilfully, bloodchillingly ignoring me.
‘Gloucester…’ Edward drew him forwards. ‘I have been telling my lord of Warwick