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

There was one thing he had discovered . . . only a few hours before his arrest, and he had been pondering on it during the whole period of his incarceration. It was the most important bit of luck which had ever come his way.

He had kept it to himself wondering when would be the best time and place to use it.

Now in his muddled state, to see Edward standing there, so big and strong and with all the advantages which he had always had, he could not contain that valuable piece of information to himself any longer. He wanted to see how Edward would receive it.

He stood up unsteadily.

'You . . .'he pointed to Edward, 'Edward . . . have no right to the throne. . . .Bastard.'

'Be silent! If you say that again I will kill you with my own hands.'

'I'll say this,' cried Clarence. 'Your son whom you call the Prince of Wales has no right to the throne. And why not? I'll tell you. It's because Elizabeth Woodville is your mistress . . . not your wife . . . not the Queen. . . . She's another such as Jane Shore and the rest of your merry band of women. The Queen's just one of them. . . . Your children are bastards. . . .The Prince of Wales is a little bastard. The Duke of York . . . .'

Edward had strode to his brother and had him by the shoulders.

Clarence laughed. 'Shake me. Kill me if you will. You're strong

US The Sun in Splendour

enough, are you not? The great King . . . the mighty King . . . and what when the people know that your marriage to the Woodville witch was no true marriage, eh?'

Tt was a true marriage. You utter treason. By God, George . . . .'

'Aye,' he said. 'Do you remember the name of Eleanor Butler . . . Shrewsbury's girl. . .? Do you remember that betrothal? She was alive when you went through a form of marriage with the Woodville ... so that makes proud Queen Elizabeth just another of your women and the little Princes ... oh and proud Madame la Dauphine . . . bastards . . . bastards all of them.'

Edward had turned pale. If he had been less drunk Clarence would have seen his pallor beneath the ruddy weather tan.

'Edward,' went on Clarence, 'I have seen Bishop Shlling-ton. . . . Just before I was arrested. Too late to act then. But I'm clever ... I keep the information locked in here. . . .'He patted his chest. 'I know all about it. Bastards . . . because you had a previous contract with Eleanor Butler and she was alive in her convent when you went through a form of marriage with the Woodville.'

Edward pushed his brother back onto his pallet. He was glad he was drunk for he himself was more shaken than he wished him to see.

He turned away and went through the door. He did not notice the guards outside. He walked straight out of the Bowyer Tower and mounting his horse rode along by the river.

His mind went back years. He could see Eleanor now. She had seemed very beautiful. . . rather like Elizabeth and of the same proud nature. The daughter of the old Earl of Shrewsbury. They had met and he had desired her as desperately as later he had desired Elizabeth. There were many women, there always had been, but here and there would appear one who was completely irresistible and he must pay the price for her whatever it was. So with Eleanor; so with Elizabeth.

Eleanor had gone into a convent afterwards. He thought he would never hear more of her. . . and he had married Elizabeth.

There was no longer any uncertainty. His mind was made up now. George Duke of Clarence had signed his own death warrant.

He was to be executed but the King did not want a public execution. Let him be killed in his prison and let it seem as if it had

come about by accident. The Duke had been drinking heavily . . . more so than he usually did since his entry into the Tower. It would not be difficult for some accident to befall him.

The next morning Clarence was found dead. He was hanging over the butt of malmsey which had been brought to the cell the day before.

The news spread. The Duke of Clarence had been drowned in a butt of malmsey.

That very day another arrest was made and Bishop Shllington was lodged in the Tower.

No sooner was Clarence dead than Edward was filled with remorse. He could not shut out of his mind memories of their early days when he had strutted through the nurseries and his brothers had looked at him as though he were the perfect specimen of manhood. He had been devoted to them; he had visited them when they were in London, always making time to sit with them and to answer their questions; he had loved his family, and it was he who had given the order for George's death.

Elizabeth knew that he suffered; so did Jane Shore. Elizabeth watched him covertly; she had her own reasons for wishing Clarence out of the way and although she said little she could not hide her relief that he could no longer plague her.

Jane was different. He softened thinking of Jane. She was his comfort nowadays. Who would have believed that he would have found such a woman among the merchants of the city? Jane was different from all others. That incomparable beauty for one thing and with it her tender nature. People marvelled that he had been faithful to Jane for so long—well not exactly faithful for there had been scores of others; what he meant was that Jane had continued over years to hold a fascination for him. The fact was he loved Jane. He loved Elizabeth in a way. She was a Queen to be proud of in spite of what those of the first nobility insisted on calling low birth. She was as beautiful in her way as Jane was in hers. Elizabeth was the cold cold north; Jane the warm and glowing south. Elizabeth was aloof, secretive; Jane was intimate and impulsive. Jane never thought of holding back what she thought; she had no ulterior motives, no high honours to seek. That was scarcely the case with Elizabeth.

He was a man who needed many women and none could say he had not had his share. He needed Elizabeth—cool calm mother of his children; and he needed warm and loving Jane; and it was to Jane he would go at times like this.

Jane knew at once what ailed him. She was no fool and she interested herself in state affairs because they were his concern. She knew of the trial George had been to him and how he had to wrestle with himself before he could give the order to kill.

She stroked his hair; she was motherly on this occasion because it was what was needed. Instinctively she knew that was the phase of their relationship which was required. She must soothe him, repeat that he had been over generous, as he had.

'How many would have despatched him long ago?' he demanded not for the first time.

Jane could assure him that few would have been so lenient. He had forgiven Clarence again and again. Had his mischievous brother not joined Warwick and come against him? He had forgiven him then, which was magnanimous.

Jane assured him that he had only done what was necessary for his own safety and for that of the country.

Oh yes, it was indeed soothing to be with Jane. He was lucky to have found such a woman. Others sought her, he knew. That rake of a stepson of his, Dorset, had his eyes on her. Sometimes Edward wondered about them. Dorset was very good looking . . . and young. He was a cynical young man; inclined to be brutal, and he hoped Jane would never go to him.

Hastings had his eyes on her too. Well, Hastings was as profligate as Edward himself was. They had been companions in many nocturnal adventures and they still pursued them with the same gusto—or almost. Yes, Hastings undoubtedly had a tender spot for Jane. Oddly enough he believed that Hastings' feelings were similar to his own. They both realized that there was something special about Jane.

Poor Hastings! He had to keep off. Edward had made it clear that he was in no mind to share Jane.