The Red Rose of Anjou - Plaidy Jean. Страница 65

Who was this boy? She did not know. In any case he looked very young and could not do her the harm these men could.

‘How...’ she began.

‘Let the Prince come first,’ he said.

‘Edward,’ she whispered. ‘Go!’

She could stand there watching the robbers while Edward might well slip into the trees unseen. He went, accustomed to obeying his mother without question.

Her heart was beating wildly. She kept her eyes on the men. They were not watching her. They thought it would be quite impossible for her to leave without a horse and if she attempted to mount and her son with her they would immediately be aware of it.

‘Now, lady...’

She was in the trees. Edward was already mounted. Hastily the boy helped her to get up beside him. Then he was up and they were off.

They had gone a little way through the trees when she heard the shout.

She clung to the boy and Edward clung to her; her lips were moving in prayer.

The boy was right. He knew the woods far better than the robbers or her own servants could. In any case those men would rather lose the Queen and the Prince than the contents of the saddle bags.

So they rode on, all through the rest of the day and the night.

The boy told her that he was fourteen years old, and had always wanted to serve the King and the Queen. His name was John Combe and he lived in Amesbury. He had been riding through the woods when he saw the robbers and realized what was happening.

His eyes shone with devotion and loyalty. ‘It was my chance, my lady, to do you good service. I thank God for it.’

‘You are a good boy and you shall not be forgotten for what you have done this day.’

Nor should he be. Margaret was as fierce in her devotion to her friends as she was in her hatred of her enemies.

‘There are many who lurk in the woods to rob, my lady,’ he told her. ‘I am ever watchful when I am there. But I have my

secret ways through. It is easy to be lost there. The trees are like a maze.’

‘I thank God that you came when you did. You have saved the life of your Queen and your future King.’

The boy was clearly quite moved, so was Margaret and all through that arduous journey she marvelled at the fortuitous appearance of John Combe. She had told him that she wanted to go to Wales.

‘That is a journey through mountainous country, my lady.’

‘Nevertheless I have loyal friends there, and that is where I must go.’

John Combe then turned the horse westward and they rode on.

It was easier when he was able to acquire two more horses and they could dispense with the need to ride all three on one.

Even so the journey was long and had it not been for the ingenuity of the boy they would have been lost.

What joy it was when they came in sight of Harlech Castle.

Margaret was very happy with her reception. Warmly she told of John Combe’s courage and skill in bringing her and the Prince out of an acutely dangerous situation. It was not long before she was joined by Owen Tudor.

She had been right to come here. There was strength in these Tudors. It was a great tragedy that Edmund had died but Jasper soon joined them and he gave a good account of how young Henry was living in Pembroke Castle with his mother.

‘A bright child, my lady,’ he told her. ‘A Tudor every inch of him and a touch of his royal grandmother without a doubt.’

Margaret had only a little patience to spare for young Henry Tudor. She wanted to know what help she could get here in Wales.

They understood at once.

Owen said: ‘Jasper has a great fondness for his nephew, my lady. You would think the boy was his own son.’ And then he went on to discuss what troops they could muster and what would be the best plan for taking an army into England.

‘The victory was Warwick’s, I’ll trow,’ said Owen. ‘Warwick is the one whom we have to battle with. York is a good administrator but I believe he lacks that which a leader needs.’

They were a little outspoken, these Tudors. No one could lack that quality more than the present King. Ah, but the King had a Queen.

It was to the Queen that the Lancastrians would have to look in the future.

###

She was desperate. She needed help. Henry had deserted her, his wife, and what was worse their son, so she believed. He had promised the throne to York when he died. There could not be a worse betrayal.

Everything depended on her. The King of France had always been fond of her. Some might have thought he was attached to her because of the good she could bring to France, but Margaret was guileless in such matters. Most of her difficulties throughout her life had come from her habit of judging everyone by herself and believing they would act in such a way because she would.

Now her fierce energies were concentrated on her son, and she would use any method to regain the promise of a crown which Henry had so wantonly thrown away to their enemies.

Why should not the King of France help her? That he would for a consideration she was sure. With help from France she could defeat Warwick, York, Salisbury, the whole lot of them. But Charles of France would want a very big prize to supply the sort of help she needed. What was the biggest plum she could offer?

Even as the idea had struck her she turned away from it. It would be a little too daring. But suppose she said to Charles: ‘Help me to defeat Warwick and make the crown of England safe for Edward and I will give you Calais.’

Calais! That port so dear to the heart of Warwick and the English people! That centre of trade right on the edge of the continent of Europe! Calais was of the utmost importance to the prosperity of England. Wool, leather, tin and lead were all sent to Calais to be sold into Burgundy. In Calais these goods were taxed and sorted. For trade and for defence Calais was essential to England. The French could not attack it without first coming through Burgundy to do so and as the King of France was on uneasy terms with the Duke of Burgundy, Calais was comparatively safe. Warwick as Captain of Calais had shown its worth. Calais had made it possible for him to increase his power. It seemed likely that Charles of France would do a great deal for Calais.

And yet without help how could she defeat her enemies? How could she make the crown safe for her son?

Calais. She dreamed of it.

She sent a messenger with a tentative suggestion to her old friend and supporter Pierre de Breze.

While she was in Wales the Duke of Exeter arrived. He had fled from the battlefield, lucky to be alive. But he was determined to fight on and he believed that he could rally men to his banner in the North of England.

‘It is help we need,’ said Margaret. ‘We want to overwhelm them with our strength. If my good uncle the King of France would only come to my aid...’

She thought of the message she had sent to Breze. She eagerly awaited the response and every morning when she awoke it was with the word Calais on her lips. Sometimes she was appalled by what she had done; and yet she knew that if she had the chance to go back she would do it again.

With the Tudors raising an army in Wales and Exeter going to the North, the scene was hopeful. But what she must do was outnumber Warwick and York; she must meet strength with greater strength; she must let the men know that if certain people in England were determined to destroy her, she had friends in other places.

They would hate to lose Calais; but better that than that young Edward, Prince of Wales, should lose his throne.

She decided that she would go to Scotland and seek help there. A ship was found for her and on a cold December day she set sail from Wales with her son.

The weather was even more bleak when she arrived in Edinburgh, but the warm welcome of the Queen Dowager, Mary of Gueldres, gave Margaret new hope. The late King’s sister had been the Dauphiness of France and Margaret had known her in the past. She felt therefore that she was going among friends.