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

She understood. This was a new Edward who stood before her. He had hardened a little. It was natural with the life he must lead, with so many responsibilihes. Not that they sat heavily on him. The same ease of manner, the same beguiling charm. He was over fat of course, which would have been unsightly but his great frame enabled him to carry it off. But it could not be good for him. She had gathered that though he worked hard for his country by day, he pursued his pleasures by night and there were countless mistresses to satisfy his voracious sexual appetite; moreover he was a great trencherman and doubtless needed to be to a certain extent to support that massive frame. He was a connoisseur of wines and could discover the best by a sip.

He was larger than life, this brother of hers. But perhaps he was what men thought a king should be.

First she discussed exports of which her country was in need. She wanted licences to export oxen and sheep to Flanders and she wished to export wool free of customs duty. Edward enjoyed these discussions; he knew exactly what he was talking about. He was as good a merchant as any of his subjects. And because of Clarence, because he wanted to placate her and because he

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wished to kill that reproachhil look in her eyes which was always there when Clarence was mentioned, he granted the licences.

But this was not the main purpose of her visit. What she really wanted was help against the King of France.

'You know, Edward,' she said, 'Louis has one ambition. He wants to bring Burgundy back to the crown of France.'

'It is a worthy ambition, Margaret, and an understandable one. It has always seemed unnatural that Burgundy and France should be at war with each other.'

'Burgundy will not submit to France. There is too much enmity between us.'

Edward nodded. He was thinking: How can I help her? How can I go against Louis now? I have his pension. Moreover young Elizabeth is to marry the Dauphin. On the other hand it was to his advantage to keep Burgundy and France at each other's throats. It was this controversy between them which had been of such value to the English when they had been on the point of conquering France, and doubtless would have done so if a simple country maid had not risen to lead the French to the most miraculous victory ever known.

That was long ago. The picture had changed. Edward had no desire to fight in France. He liked things as they were. He had his pension from Louis—what could be better? As long as Louis went on paying that and kept Edward out of debt, Edward was content. Or would be when his daughter was the Dauphine of France.

'You cannot trust Louis,' insisted Margaret.

'One learns to trust no one, alas,' said Edward with a wry smile. He was wondering how he could refuse his sister without actually saying what he intended to do. He was certainly not going to help Burgundy fight its wars. He was at peace with the King of France and was paid well for it. He was going to let it stay like that. It was not easy to tell Margaret of course. She had come for help, expecting it from him as she had given it to him when he needed it. He would talk round the matter, not saying definitely that he would not help . . . but all the time not intending to.

'So, Edward, what say you?'

'My dear, it is a matter which I have to discuss with my ministers.'

'I seem to feel it is you who makes the decisions.'

'On a matter like this. . . .' He smiled at her ingratiatingly.

'You see, my dear, the country is at peace. It has known peace for some time. It has come to realize the value of peace. . . .'

'So you will not help Burgundy.'

'My dear, it is a matter I need to brood on. You see, I have an agreement with Louis. My young Elizabeth is betrothed to the Dauphin.'

'And you think Louis will honour his pledges?'

'So far . . . he has appeared to do so.'

'I see,' said Margaret with finality. 'You are making a mistake, Edward. You will see what happens if you trust the King of France.'

He lifted his shoulders and smiled at her.

She had turned despairing away. She knew her brother. He always wanted to please, which was why he had not given her a firm refusal; but he meant it all the same. He was too fond of the easy life; he liked his pension; he liked his growing trade, his prosperous country. He could have told her all this for he had said No to her request as clearly as if he had stated that he would not help, but being Edward he could not bring himself to say so directly. Yet none could be firmer than he when he had made up his mind and she would not be deceived by his smiles and smooth words.

She saw that her journey had been in vain.

She repeated: 'You are making a grave mistake to trust Louis.'

He was to remember her words later.

On a dark November day the Queen gave birth to a daughter. She was to be christened Bridget and the ceremony which was to take place in the Chapel at Eltham was as splendid as any that had been performed for her brothers and sisters. Five hundred torches were carried by knights and many of the nobles in the land were in attendance. For instance the Earl of Lincoln carried the salt. Lord Maltravers the basin and the Earl of Northumberland walked with them bearing an unlit taper. Lady Maltravers was beside the Countess of Richmond who carried the baby and on her left breast was pinned one of the most splendid chrysoms ever seen. The Marquess of Dorset, the Queen's eldest son by her first marriage, helped the Countess of Richmond with the baby; and the child's two godmothers were the King's mother, the old

Duchess of York, and his eldest daughter Elizabeth.

As the ceremony was performed the torches were lighted and the little Duke of York with his wife Anne Mowbray together with Lord Hastings were all witnesses of the ceremony. After the baby had been carried to the high Altar the most costly gifts were presented and when the processions to the Queen's apartments took place the gifts were carried by the knights and esquires before the young Princess.

There the Queen, a little languid but as brilliantly beautiful as ever, waited with the King to receive those who had taken part in the ceremony.

The baby was taken to her nursery and the company circulated about the Queen and the King. The beauty and good health of the baby were discussed at length and the King sat back watching them all. He was in a somewhat pensive mood on that day. Perhaps it was the birth of another child and the recent death of little George which had made him so. He had a premonition that this might be the last child he and Elizabeth would have. They had eight now—all beautiful, all children of whom he could be proud. His eldest son would be King on his death; his eldest daughter Elizabeth would be Queen of Ffance. He had much on which to congratulate himself.

As in every assembly of this sort there was a goodly sprinkling of Woodvilles. Elizabeth saw to that, and in any case they now held all the key positions in the country. He had been weak about that . . . letting Elizabeth rule him. But he had liked the Woodvilles for themselves; they were handsome and charming; they flattered him blatantly of course but he liked flattery. Dorset, his stepson, was a rake who had even dared make advances to Jane Shore, but he enjoyed Dorset's company. Hastings was there— dear old William, good and faithful friend since the days of their extreme youth. What adventures they had had then, vying with each other, notching up the conquests.

Then a faint feeling of unease came over him. Hastings could never disguise the fact that he deplored the rise of the Woodvilles. Elizabeth hated Hastings. Richard who was not here today disliked the Woodvilles and had never really accepted Elizabeth. He was pobte and did all that was expected of him, but beneath the courtesy there was suspicion and distrust. And Elizabeth and her family had not endeared themselves to those of the most noble houses in the country. They were still referred to as upstarts.