The Beggar's Throne Page 12

  “My father would be king today if he had waited for me before engaging Clifford. I will not make the same mistake, you may be assured.”

  “Be that as it may, we have the time to meet with the mayor and aldermen. We will gather a large crowd at St. John’s field with many of my men scattered about to assure a friendly response to our entreaties. My brother will deliver a forceful sermon extolling your virtues and claim to the throne, and after we get an acclamation from the crowd, we will have the Archbishop of Canterbury crown you at Westminster.”

  “Can you be sure that the archbishop will side with us?”

  “He will not deny me,” Warwick responded.

  Events were moving faster than Edward had anticipated and that made him uncomfortable, but he could not deny that as king he could force those of the nobility who had not taken sides to do so. To shun him as an earl meant that they could lose their lives, but to defy him as king meant that they could lose all of their estates and titles as well, a fate truly worse than death.

  “Very well, good cousin. Proceed with your plan at first light. We’ll stay here in London for a few days longer, but after that I’ll brook no further delay for our journey north. Sir William, you will devote your time here to making preparations for our next encounter with haughty Margaret.”

  “As you wish, my lord,” said Hastings.

  Edward looked into the roaring fire and watched as the flames leaped from the logs and disappeared up the chimney. He had no illusions that this forced ceremony would actually make him king. But still, it was a giddy feeling. With the heat of the fire full on his face, he closed his eyes and tried to remember Edmund’s face.

  *

  Two days later, events unfolded exactly as the Earl of Warwick had predicted, and Edward found himself surrounded by every dignitary within a day’s ride of London in the great hall of Westminster Abbey. Assisting the archbishop was George Neville, the bishop of Exeter, and the Earl of Warwick himself. Together they had placed on Edward’s shoulders the royal robes with ermine collar and escorted him to the king’s chair, where the golden circlet used to crown many kings before him was placed on his head.

  The archbishop then heard Edward’s oath once again, in which he swore to keep the realm justly and to maintain the laws. Edward, for what seemed to him the hundredth time in the last two days, repeated his claim to the royal seat. After hearing the loud acclamation of all those in attendance, he was handed the sacred scepter, and every lord present knelt before the new king to pay him homage. Finally, Edward made offerings before the tomb of Saint Edward the Confessor. When he returned to the throne, he was proclaimed King Edward, fourth of that name.

  After the festivities in the abbey were over, the lords and prelates retired back to London and the tower room of Baynards Castle, while various heralds proclaimed the news of the coronation throughout the City. Now Edward knew it was time to reward those who had backed him, whose support he would continue to need if his throne was to become secure.

  “My most gracious lords, prelates, and friends,” he said as he rose from his seat. The revelers came to an abrupt silence as they waited on the words of their new king. “We thank you all for your loyal support and promise you that you shall reap the rewards thereof. We all recognize that the struggles are not over yet, and to that end we must be diligent, but for now let it be known that we hereby create our cousin of Warwick our chamberlain, and his grace, the bishop of Exeter, our chancellor.” Both positions guaranteed membership in the king’s inner circle of advisors.

  “Now if it please you, we will retire, as we would be fresh to make our necessary preparations for war with bloody Margaret.”

  Everyone in the room rose and bowed as Edward left. Warwick also made his egress with his brother after receiving congratulations for their new positions. They made their way out to a large balcony that overlooked the city.

  “You see, George? Our fortunes grow with each day, and the young king will grant us further boons as well, when I request them.”

  “I do not share your taste for power, my brother. My desire for strong leadership for our country has driven my actions thus far, and God strike me down if my motives become less pure.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Warwick hated it when his brother began to preach. Especially now that he was on the verge of attaining that for which he had longed ever since these wars began: the power to match his wealth.

  “And I see that I must warn you again not to underestimate Edward. Did you not see how the commons and nobles alike admired him? He wears the crown like he was born to it, and royal robes lie on his back with ease.” The bishop turned to his brother. “And I need not remind you that he was successful in battle when we were not.”

  Warwick stiffened at the words but otherwise showed no emotions. “His youth and inexperience will keep him under our sway until we can strengthen our position. Soon we will be ensconced in every important position in the kingdom and, regardless of how our new king feels about it, too strong to defy.”

  “As you say,” said the bishop with a sigh. He was growing tired of the verbal sparring, which, in any event, did not seem to be doing any good. “First there’s the small issue of dealing with Margaret’s army. If we survive that test, then we can debate what is best for the kingdom.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  Lord Rivers held his daughter, Elizabeth, in his arms while she wept, her body limp from consuming grief. Sir John had been her life. The news of his death at St. Albans left her empty and desperate. Around them stood her mother and her brother, Anthony, as well as the steward, all with drawn faces hoping that words would come to console her.

  “Be comforted, my daughter,” said Rivers at last. “He loved you dearly, and died defending the realm. What more could a knight wish? His sons will stand tall in the shadow of his memory as they grow to manhood.”

  The duchess took her daughter away from Rivers and led her into the sitting room.

  “Bring aqua vitae,” she said to the steward, who nodded grimly. Anthony could not sit still for long and began pacing in front of the windows as the rest sat in silence.

  Elizabeth wiped the tears from her face with her napkin.

  “What shall I tell the children?” The steward returned, and the duchess helped Elizabeth sip some of the mild liquor.

  “The truth, Elizabeth,” said her father. “You must tell them how their father gave his life for his king, as is every knight’s duty. And he died most bravely, leading the final charge against the Yorkist positions.”

  “But what has been gained?” Anthony blurted out. “The queen has abandoned our gains by retreating back to York. And now Warwick has crowned his puppet, Edward.”

  “I am certain that this is not the correct time to discuss this, Anthony,” said the duchess crossly.

  “No, I want to understand what has happened.” Elizabeth sounded determined. “If my husband has died in vain, then I wish to know why.”

  “Do you see, Anthony?” scolded the duchess. “Now you’ve upset her, and for reasons that escape me.”

  “Mother, please don’t treat me as a fragile flower,” said Elizabeth.

  “She has the right to know, Mother. As king, Edward has the power to have us all declared traitors and confiscate all of our titles and estates. Sir John’s children would have nothing.”

  “I can’t believe it will come to that,” interjected Rivers. “The queen has not surrendered, only gone back to York to regroup.” He was addressing his comments to Elizabeth more than to his son. “We will join her there and, as I know that God will protect our cause, we will be victorious. Margaret has strong support in the north.”

  “Every time I hear assurances of victory we seem to be drawn further into this senseless war,” Elizabeth said sourly. “And you continue to promise us that the next bat
tle will be the last.”

  “It is true that this rebellion seems to have the many heads of Homer’s serpent,” Rivers answered dejectedly, “but it cannot last forever, and in the end we must prevail.”

  “We must indeed,” the duchess said sharply. “The fate of the Woodville family wafts in the midst of this storm, and we had best find safe harbor if things go awry.” She had seen too many families like theirs vanish into oblivion after ending up on the wrong side of similar conflicts. “When the vultures circle after the last battle, it won’t be our carcasses that they pick over. We have been through too much to come to such an end.” She wondered if her husband had the strength to find the right path for the family through these dangerous times. His pleasant and easygoing personality did not lend itself well to such hard decisions.

  “It has been so long since a strong king has governed,” said Anthony, “that many of the great houses have suffered no restraints upon their activities. These wars between York and Lancaster are only the culmination of many squabbles between the magnates. If we prevail, will this change?” It was a troubling question.

  “We can only hope for a victory on the field, and then we will be in a better position to work for a more stable government,” said Rivers. But he did not exude confidence. He saw that Elizabeth was staring into space with no light in her eyes. “Bring our cloaks,” he called to the steward. “Elizabeth and I will walk for a spell in the garden.”

  He helped Elizabeth to her feet and into her cloak. They walked into the manicured hedgerows of the Bradgate gardens. In the summertime when the roses were in constant bloom, perfuming the warm breezes that wafted off a man-made lake, the gardens were a delight. At this time in early March, however, there were no flowers and the trees were without life. But the evergreen hedges still defined the paths and the twigs of the trees made delightful patterns against the midday sky. A mist rose off the lake as if shielding some dark secret in the opaque waters. Rivers held Elizabeth’s hand as they wound to the left of the waterless fountain beneath the main stairs.

  “I have not faced death as you must now,” Rivers spoke softly, “and I pray each night that all of the family will long outlive me, which would be good and natural. To be honest, I have doubts about the House of Lancaster. They have flaws and strengths, and they look after their own as do we all. But regardless of who sits upon the throne, our honor as a family must be maintained at any expense, and I know that Sir John believed that with all his soul.”

  They arrived at an ornately carved marble bench on the shore of the lake, commanding a sweeping view of fields and hills beyond. They sat and let the sun warm them.

  “Do you remember,” continued Rivers, “that day when you were so much younger — only nine or ten years old, I believe — when Lord Fitzwalter brought his daughter to Grafton?”

  “How could I forget that insufferable brat?” said Elizabeth with a scowl. “And I was ten, she some years younger.”

  Rivers had to smile as he remembered the visit. “She spent the better part of a fortnight denigrating you and trying to make you feel inferior. You were quite miserable having to entertain her, I knew that. But you still kept her company without complaining.”

  “I thought that she would never leave,” said Elizabeth. It had indeed been one of her most vivid childhood memories. The girl’s name was Katherine, and she had been raised to feel superior to most. It shamed Elizabeth to remember that she had wished at the time that her father had carried the status of her mother’s first husband, the Duke of Bedford, instead of a simple baron. But Elizabeth had been firm in her resolve to maintain her dignity.

  Katherine and her father were traveling home from London, where Lord Fitzwalter had spent some time at court as a member of the king’s Privy Council. While in London, they had taken delivery of an exquisite porcelain figure of an angel, which Fitzwalter had ordered all the way from Venice for his daughter on the occasion of her birthday. The flowing, half-unfurled wings were so delicately crafted, they appeared as soft as a swan’s, and if she died and found herself in heaven, she was certain that she would never see a face so beautiful. It was the present of a lifetime and Katherine wasted no time having it unpacked long enough for Elizabeth to be amazed by its beauty. Indeed, Elizabeth had never seen anything quite as stunning.

  “What ever possessed you to go riding that day?” asked Rivers.

  “Katherine insisted, and I was not about to let that wretchedly pompous girl claim that she was better trained in horsemanship. We were not far from Grafton before the thunder started, but she continued on.” Elizabeth shivered, remembering the look of the sky that afternoon.

  “I did not know you had been so foolish.”

  “Still, if she hadn’t tried to cross that ravine, we’d have been all right. Its banks must have been yards above the channel. But when the lightning struck, she was the one to be thrown, not I. It was the loudest noise I had ever heard. I found Katherine at the bottom of the ravine. Her horse bolted back to the stable.”

  “That’s when we knew something was terribly wrong. When we set out to look for you, the rain began to fall in sheets.”

  “When I slid into the ravine after Katherine, it was obvious that her leg was broken. She could not put any weight on it at all. I had to drag her up that embankment by myself. By the time you arrived to help, I had carried her for an hour.”

  “It was a miracle, we all agreed. And Lord Fitzwalter could have not been more grateful.” Rivers shook his head in silent amazement.

  “She didn’t talk to me for the rest of the time that she was with us, and she never left her room, not even to eat. I was so happy when they finally left.”

  “But she left you that porcelain angel as thanks. She evidently learned a great lesson that day.”

  “I still can’t believe she did that.”

  “I was never so proud of any of my children as I was of you that day.”

  She took his big hand in hers and squeezed it.

  “I feel so empty,” she said, leaning against her father.

  “It will pass. You must be strong, as you always have been.”

  “Please be careful, Father, when you go to York. It would be too great a burden to lose you as well.”

  “I will return, I swear it,” he said with conviction. The sun dipped behind a billowing cloud that raced across the sky, and the light breeze turned noticeably colder. The mist shifted slowly over the lake. Rivers stroked his daughter’s golden hair and closed his eyes. “You never go anywhere without that angel, do you?”

  Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Katherine and I served together as ladies-in-waiting for Queen Margaret two years ago, before these wars broke out. When I told Katherine that I had the angel with me, she didn’t even want to see it. I never could understand her, but I was sure that she loved that angel dearly.”

  CHAPTER IX

  The flickering glow of a torch and an occasional moan coming from somewhere beyond the iron grill of his cell door were Samuel’s only connection to the outside world. He had no way of knowing how many days had passed since they had been left within the bowels of Pontefract Castle, but he guessed that it must have been many nights based on the number of times bread and water had been shoved through the bars. Samuel and Oliver sat over his father as Sally slept on the stone floor, its hardness eased only by a thin layer of filthy straw.

  John Miller was dying. His wounds had not been tended, and Samuel doubted it would have made any difference. His face was badly swollen, and he frequently coughed blood. It was certain that several ribs were broken. On the awful trip from Richmond, Sally had begged for help but was threatened into silence. It was apparent that Sir Hugh was quite content to see John Miller dead for what he perceived to be unpardonable crimes against his authority. Inflicting additional anguish on Samuel was a bonus.

  On
the trip to Pontefract, Sally was able to tell them that it was only through the intervention of Sir Toby that the entire family was not imprisoned with them. Apparently, he wanted to ensure that Northumberland was not deprived of his only miller in Northwood, and it was simply too distasteful to drag the pregnant Emma into the wagon in chains, so she was left behind as well.

  Now, as Samuel sat next to his father with his back to the uneven stone wall, he could not comprehend the course of events that had led his family to these dire straits. His family had been ripped asunder, and his father would most likely die because of him.

  “I think this damn place is where I belong.”

  “Stop blaming yourself,” chided Oliver. “You did what you thought was right.”

  Samuel did not, at first, respond. The occasional moan that came from out of the blackness beyond seemed to emanate from within himself. “When I was with Northumberland’s guard, the captain told us a story about this place. Apparently it was here where King Henry’s grandfather murdered his cousin, King Richard, and usurped his throne. Aren’t we lucky, getting to suffer the same fate as such a great king?”

  “Are you there, son?”

  “I’m here, Father.”

  “Water,” he croaked painfully. Samuel groped in the dark for the bowl that they were keeping full of water for him. He held the bowl to John Miller’s lips until he had managed to swallow a mouthful. It appeared to give him the strength he needed to speak.

  “Don’t blame yourself for this. It’s a burden you need not bear.”

  “Father.” A lump swelled in his throat. “Can you ever forgive me? Every time I follow my conscience, we come to harm. Did you know I killed someone on the road south of Northwood? I tried only to save a man’s life from a murderous thief, but in the end I managed to get Oliver caught along with myself. And the man I saved probably betrayed us.”