The Sun in Splendour - Plaidy Jean. Страница 18

George, who was already at the Castle, told him that she had been so since she had heard the news of Edward's marriage.

'She says she will never take second place to the low-bom Elizabeth, even if she is the Queen.' Clarence was amused. Richard had always known that he enjoyed discomfiture in others.

'And why should she?' he demanded. 'She is of our royal blood. And this woman . . . she is a nobody. I cannot understand what possessed Edward.'

'Edward would not have married her unless he had a very good reason for doing so.'

That made George laugh. 'He has his reasons most certainly. She must have something very special to tempt him.' His eyes were speculative. 'I wonder what.'

Richard hated any references to Edward's sexual life. It did not quite fit in with the noble qualities with which he had endowed him.

'I am sure,' he said staunchly, 'that Edward has acted wisely. We shall discover that to be so in due course.'

'You are a foolish boy, Richard. You see no farther than your nose. What are all the noble families going to say? What is the King of France going to say? And what is Warwick going to say?'

'He will serve the King as all good men should.'

'There is one thing I know. Edward's most faithful subject is his brother Richard. You're going to wake up one day, brother, and you will find that your god is only human after all.'

Richard was silent. There were times when he heartily disliked George. He himself was certainly uneasy about the marriage but he had made up his mind that if Edward wanted it he was going to want it too.

He turned away from George and looked out at the Thames flowing by just below the castle walls. He gazed along the water to the grey walls of the Tower and prayed fervently that all would go well for Edward and a resentment arose in him against George who seemed so pleased at the prospect of trouble, at his mother who was so haughty and declared she would not see the low-bom Queen, and towards Warwick who dared to think he knew better than the King!

Edward meanwhile was delighted with his bride. He was relieved too that the secret was out. If he had a chance to go back he would do exactly the same again. It was hard to define what it was about Elizabeth which so enthralled him. She was by no means passionate; she was aloof, cold even; he sometimes wondered whether her hold over him was that she presented a continual challenge. He was always attempting to arouse something which was not there. And of course she was incomparably beautiful—strangely enough in a different mould from beauties who had attracted him in the past. Her clear-cut features were as Hastings had once said, like those of a statue; and he was never quite sure what was going on behind those beautiful blue-grey heavy-lidded eyes. With her long luxuriant hair falling about her firm white body she moved him as he had never been moved before and he could say to himself: A plague on Louis. A plague on Warwick. Neither of them is going to stop my having Elizabeth.

Rather unexpectedly Warwick had decided not to offer any reprimand and long lecture on the harm that had been done. That was wise of Warwick. Edward would have been ready for him and Warwick would have learned once and for all that the King was no longer his to command. Warwick stayed silent, and when presented to Elizabeth showed all the respect that Edward, or even Elizabeth, could have asked.

Warwick had given his anger time to simmer down and it was

no longer at boiling point and therefore dangerous. It was there, as deep and strong as ever, but under control. He could see what had happened and blamed himself for not realizing it was coming. Edward was on the point of breaking away and would do so on this delicate matter of his marriage. The weakening chain must be repaired quickly and an appropriate moment chosen to slip on the leading-reins.

In the meantime he would show Edward that he accepted Elizabeth as Queen and would do his best to repair any damage that had been done to relations with France. He would try not to show how bitterly he resented having been made to look foolish in the eyes of the King of France who by this clandestine marriage had proved that he, Warwick, was not in the King's confidence.

'I made him. I put him on the throne. He would be nothing without me.' So he had ranted to his Countess.

To Edward he smiled affably and discussed the arrangements for the Queen's coronation.

First Edward wanted to present her to the nobles of the land and he would do that in Reading Abbey.

Tt is meet and fitting,' he said, 'that Clarence should lead her in. As heir presumptive to the throne it is his place to do that.'

Edward was smiling complacently. He was certain that soon there would be an heir to push Clarence aside. Both he and Elizabeth had proved—as he had told his mother—that they were not likely to be barren.

Warwick smiled grimly to himself. He could imagine Clarence's feelings. That boy had ambitions. He had half hoped that Edward would never marry and then his own great ambition would be realized.

Not you, thought Warwick. I would prefer Richard—a good serious boy, loyal to his brother. I could mould him. But Clarence . . . no, too vain. Too much superficial charm that is soon shown to be worthless. Clarence is no good. But that woman and Edward will have a brood of children I doubt not, for Edward will go to the making of them with an enthusiasm he has for little else.

So Clarence was to lead her in. His mother was furious, but he had to do it. He had to obey the King rather than his mother. It was an amusing situation. They'll not endure it, he thought. Warwick is seething. So are some of the others. They are setting up together against the Woodvilles already.

And here was the Queen. There was no doubt of her beauty. It

was breath-taking. She was the sort of woman who was naturally regal. She was tall and therefore looked well beside Edward. He dwarfed most women. Her glorious hair fell about her shoulders and down to her knees and on her head was a crown of gems the points of which were formed in the shape of fleur-de-lys. She held her head high but her heavy lids were drawn down over her eyes and she looked at no one. Her gown was of blue, that colour which suited her above all others, and it was decorated with stripes of gold brocade; the sleeves were tight and the bodice close-fitting; and there was an ermine border about the skirt. Her shoes were very pointed and she picked her way daintily but with sure-footed resolution towards the nobles who were waiting to do homage to her.

Everyone's eyes were on Warwick. He knelt before her. He took her hand and kissed it.

Clarence was disappointed. He was hoping for trouble.

Warwick could not have behaved more agreeably if the bride had been of his choice. No one would guess from his attitude how deeply the resentment was smouldering within him.

Just over a year after the secret marriage Elizabeth was crowned in Westminster Abbey.

It was Whitsunday and Elizabeth had been staying at Eltham Palace. Edward was keeping Court at the Palace of the Tower where he awaited the arrival of the Queen. As she came into London the mayor and the city leaders in all their colourful uniforms met her at Shooters Hill in order to form part of the procession which conducted her through Southwark to the Tower.

Edward was so proud of her, and he was delighted, too, that Warwick had after the first shock accepted her. If it occurred to him that Warwick might not be quite so reconciled as he appeared to be, Edward dismissed the thought. He hated trouble and all through his life he had pretended it did not exist, until the last minute when it had to be faced. Then he faced it with a nonchalance which was characteristic of him. He believed he could overcome every difficulty with his charm and grace—and often he did.