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

Warwick had landed in England and there was great rejoicing in London where he was warmly welcomed. There was trouble in the North, it was said and the King had asked Warwick and his brother George to come to his aid. Warwick had immediately responded. All was well. Warwick and the King were friends.

It was clear, Jacquetta told her daughter, from what was being said that many believed there was a rift between the King and the Earl. The people of London were really alarmed at that. It could mean civil war.

'Civil war! Never. Warwick would not dare.'

'I begin to think,' said Jacquetta, 'that Warwick would dare a great deal.'

The days were tense and spent in waiting for news. It came in frustrating briefness, so that it was not easy to piece the events together and see the picture clearly.

Warwick had been lying, it seemed, when he had said he was going to the King's aid. No such thing. He was joining the rebels.

William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke and Humphrey Stafford, Earl of Devon were marching to Banbury. They had a strong force from Wales and the West Country and they were stalwart adherents of the King. They would soon settle the rebels.

Jacquelta and Elizabeth waited for news of the battle, certain at this stage that the rebels would be crushed and peace restored.

But it was not so, for Warwick's army had joined the rebels and at Edgecot the loyal men were defeated. Pembroke and his brother were taken prisoner and in accordance with the rule of destroying the leaders were beheaded at Northampton the next day.

'Warwick has gone too far this time/ said the Queen, but now she was beginning to be alarmed. She turned to her mother. 'What is going to happen?' she demanded. 'Where will this end?'

But this time the future would not reveal itself to Jacquetta.

The situation was even worse than Jacquetta and Elizabeth in London realized, for when the news of Pembroke's defeat at Edgecot reached Edward's small army, men began to desert him and he was left with a very few followers and to his immense chagrin he realized that he had made a vital mistake. He had delayed too long; he had refused to believe the obvious. Stubbornly he had set his mind against accepting the perfidy of his brother and the furious revenge of the Kingmaker.

There was nothing for him to do but wait in the little town of Olney. Richard was with him, Hastings too.

'Well,' he said, 'we are at the mercy of our enemies.'

'Not for long,' said Richard. 'We shall give a good account of ourselves.'

'We need cunning, brother, rather than bravery. We shall have to meet whatever comes to us with skill. I do not think Warwick or George would want to harm me.'

Richard said: 'George has always wanted to take your place.'

'George wouldn't last a day as King.'

'With Warwick manipulating him?'

'George would never have the good sense to allow Warwick to do that. Richard, perhaps you should make your escape.'

'What!' cried Richard. 'Leave you here? Nay, where you go I go. If you stay I stay here too.'

'It does me good to hear you, Richard,' said Edward. 'You have always been the best brother a man ever had.'

'You have been that to me.'

'This is no time for sentiment. I doubt not that Clarence will be here to speak with me ere long. I wonder if Warwick will come?'

'I will kill him if he does.'

Edward laughed. 'You will not get a chance and I would not

no The Sun in Splendour

allow it if you could. In spite of everything I like the old warrior. He was a good friend to me . . . once.'

'And has become a bad enemy.'

'No, Richard, still a good one.'

'I do not know how you can laugh when this is happening.'

'Sometimes I think that quality in me ... or maybe fault . . . is the reason I have reached the top.' He put his head close to his brother's. 'And I shall stay there, Richard. Rest assured of that.'

Back at Baynard's Castle a messenger had come into the courtyard. Slowly he dismounted and made his way into the castle. He was dreading the moment when he must face the Queen and her mother. Every messenger longed to be the bearer of good news, for messengers were often rewarded when they brought it, which was nothing to do with their efforts, and they were spurned when it was the other way round. It was illogical, and yet understandable.

Now this messenger knew that what he had to tell could not be more woeful.

As soon as Jacquetta heard that a messenger had arrived she sent for him and he came to her and Elizabeth.

He bowed low and hesitated.

'Come,' said the Queen imperiously, 'what news?'

'My lady . . . my ladies . . . I. . .'

'Speak up!' cried Elizabeth peremptorily.

Jacquetta laid a hand on her arm. 'The man hesitates because he fears what he has to say will grieve us.' She spoke gently. 'Pray tell us. Take your time. We know how you hate to be the bearer of this news.'

'My ladies, forgive me . . . but my Lord Rivers . . .'

Jacquetta put her hand to her heart. She did not speak. She kept her eyes fixed on the messenger's face.

He stared at her appealingly as though begging her not to ask him to proceed.

'He is dead,' said Jacquetta in a blank voice.

'He was captured with his son Sir John when they were making their way back to London after the defeat at Edgecot.'

'How. . .'began Jacquetta.

They were beheaded at Kenilworth, my lady.'

Jacquetta put her hands over her face. Elizabeth sat staring in front of her.

It was Elizabeth who spoke first. 'Who ordered this . . . murder?'

It was the Earl of Warwick, my lady.'

Elizabeth nodded her head.

'Go down to the kitchens and refresh yourself/ she said.

When he had gone Jacquetta lowered her hands and looked at her daughter. Elizabeth thought she had never seen such desolation in anyone's face before.

Jacquetta said nothing. She was thinking of the day she had met her husband, of his good looks and his charm, their romance which had swept her, a not unambitious young woman, off her feet. Their marriage had been an idyll. He had been everything she had known he would be. And now he was dead. She thought of that dear head which she had loved so well, being placed on a block and wantonly and so cruelly severed from his body. And John too. Her beloved son! She loved her children none the less because of the great affection she had for her husband. They were a clan the Woodvilles, the triumph of one was the triumph of them all as they had seen on the marriage of their sister. The Queen of England had applied herself assiduously to the betterment of her family from the moment she was able to do so. This dear John who had been with his father when they were murdered had recently married the old Dowager Duchess of Norfolk and become one of the richest men in the country. Now it was of no avail. All that money, all those vast possessions which had gone with the poor old lady bride were nothing to him now.

The sorrows of one were the sorrows of all as with the triumphs and she knew that Elizabeth, sitting there so quiet, so restrained, was fighting an emotion as bitter as her own.

It was Elizabeth who spoke first: 'Curse Warwick,' she said. 'I shall not rest until his head is parted from his body. He shall answer for this. Every time I see him I shall see my beloved father and mv brother and remember what he did to them.'

George Neville Archbishop of York had arrived at Olney close to Coventry and presented himself to the King.

He was most respectful. He came, he said, on behalf of his brother the Earl of Warwick and wished to conduct the King to him. With the Earl was the Duke of Clarence, both the King's

faithful lieges. They were concerned for his safety and had come to guard him.