The Sun in Splendour - Plaidy Jean (электронную книгу бесплатно без регистрации .txt) 📗

The estates have been confiscated,' Elizabeth said. 'We have nothing at all. Dear Mother, I need to get through that dark wood quickly.'

'You will. I promise you that. These are strange times/

'Warwick has made Edward of York King and he will remain so, they say. Henry has no heart for battle.'

'There is the Queen,' Jacquetta reminded her daughter. 'And the little Prince.'

'Margaret will fight to the death,' said Elizabeth. 'But Margaret is a fool.'

Tt is well that lady is not able to hear you say that.'

'She would rage against me, threaten me with all sorts of horrible punishments, and then, when I reminded her of our friendship and service to her cause, embrace me, forgive me, and tell me she would always feel affection for me. That is Margaret.'

'You should know her. You served in her bedchamber and such service is the best way to know queens intimately.'

'Mother, we are on the losing side. The sooner we face that the better.'

'Dear child, noble families cannot change sides because they are on the losing one.'

'They all say that Edward has come to stay. Warwick will see to that and it is Warwick who makes and unmakes kings.'

'Edward has the looks of a king which is just what poor Henry lacks, but kings are not chosen for their looks.'

'They have some effect surely,' said Elizabeth. 'And while the Yorkists reign I shall never regain my estates, my children will have nothing and I shall remain a widow.'

'My dearest child, you have the greatest asset of all.'

'And what is that?'

'Yourself. Your beauty ... I never saw a more lovely creature. There! How can you despair when you have such gifts!' She came nearer to her daughter, and spoke softly, mysteriously. 'Change

is coming, I promise you. Your fortunes will be reversed. Wait, Elizabeth. Be patient. Trust your mother. Trust the old serpent of the Rhine.'

Elizabeth looked at her mother eagerly, hopefully.

At least I have managed to raise her spirits, thought Jacquetta.

She left her daughter to wash and rest while she went to her own room.

It was good to have Elizabeth and the boys with her. The trouble with children was that they went away—^boys to be brought up in other noble houses and girls to the homes of their future husbands. Life was sad—and made so by absurd conventions. Famihes should be together. Jacquetta had always rebelled against doing what was expected of her. She believed that a woman of spirit should judge for herself.

She had been forced into marriage when she was sixteen years old. A very grand marriage in which her family had rejoiced. She remembered her uncle Louis of Luxembourg, Bishop Therouanne, coming to her rubbing his hands together murmuring: 'Great good fortune, niece. Such a marriage I have arranged for you.'

There had had to be a certain amount of secrecy because the great Duke of Burgundy would have objected. Everybody then had been terrified of offending the great Duke of Burgundy, even the important man they had succeeded in capturing for her husband. And the reason was not only that Burgundy did not want the English to have fresh influence with Luxembourg but because the bridegroom had just become a widower his late wife having been the sister of the Great Duke himself.

An intriguing situation which had appealed to that arch intriguante Jacquetta. Her prospective husband was the mighty Duke of Bedford, the most important man in France at that time, some said, because he was the Regent and had been so since the death of his brother Henry the Fifth who had conquered France and married the French King's daughter. No wonder her family had been eager for the match. She was not averse to it herself apart from the fact that she was being forced into it and Jacquetta always liked to make up her own mind—then she saw him. He was in his forties and he seemed to her a very old man.

However the marriage took place. He was not unkind. He thought her very pretty and charming—and she did not see very much of him because he was always engaged in weighty matters and with the ceremonies over there was another important concern for him—the pacification of the mighty Burgundy.

The marriage did not last long. Poor old man, he died worn out by his troubles and deeply depressed because he saw that the English were losing their grip on France.

And Jacquetta had been free. She had been seventeen when she saw the most handsome man in England. He was not so only in her eyes because she had heard him called that by others. Richard Woodville of the Mote Maidstone until his elder brother died and he inherited Grafton in Northamptonshire.

Richard had served Jacquetta's late husband well and had been knighted by Henry the Sixth at Leicester about ten years before they met. Of course even with his knighthood he was only a humble squire and she was the daughter of the Count St Pol of the reigning House of Luxembourg, jacquetta had known that if she had made known her desire to marry Richard Woodville there would be protests from her family. Protests?—More than that. It would be strictly forbidden and attempts would be made to hustle her into marriage with someone of high rank and very likely no physical attractions for her whatsoever. The fact was that after she had seen Richard Woodville no one else would do for her, so with what her uncle called a wanton lack of consideration for her rank she had married the handsomest man in England in secret, consummated the marriage with such ver^e that before her irate brother and her uncle knew of it she was enceinte with Elizabeth, which made any annulling of the marriage impossible.

Jacquetta had been ecstatically happy and had fourteen children one after the other and looked scarcely a day older than she had been when she had married her beautiful Richard. She knew it was whispered that she was a sorceress, for none but a witch could continue to look so young and beautiful and full of vitality after so much childbearing.

Jacquetta could and did. There were powders and concoctions besides lotions to help the hair retain its colour. She was knowledgeable in such arts and if that was witchcraft, then she was a witch. But she enjoyed her life, except when her husband and sons were torn from their homes to fight these wretched wars of

the roses. But her nature was such that she knew the reunions could not have been so glorious but for the partings. There were great compensations in life.

Secretly she was glad that Edward now seemed firmly on the throne. He might be the enemy but the acceptance of him as king would stop the wars, and more than anything she wanted her family to be safe and with her whenever possible.

T am proud of my Woodvilles/ she would say, 'every one of them.' And once more she would congratulate herself on her wisdom in snapping her fingers at convention and following the path of romance. It was an unwritten law that when a woman married once for state reasons, the next time—if there was a next time—she should choose for herself. And that was exactly what she had done. Poor Richard, he had been bewildered, a little fearful, but she had swept him off his feet, and he had been no match for the demanding determined Duchess of Bedford.

He had been right of course to fear there would be trouble. Her brother the Count of St Pol and her uncle, Louis of Luxembourg and Bishop of Therouanne, had sent bitter reproaches and declared they did not want to see her again. She snapped her fingers at them. She could endure the separation, she declared. They were naturally not the only ones who were angry. There was also the English royal house for in marrying the Duke of Bedford she had become a member of that.

Henry was lenient though and all that had been demanded was a fine of a thousand pounds. It was not easy to find that money of course for Richard was only a poor knight, but they had managed and very soon were forgiven for Richard was firm in his allegiance to the House of Lancaster and he had been raised to the peerage for his services and was now Lord Rivers, a name they had chosen from the old family one of Red vers. Happy years they had been saddened only by separation and the fear of what might be happening to him in those stupid wars. In common with many women Jacquetta did not greatly care which side was successful as long as there could be an end to the senseless killing.