The Red Rose of Anjou - Plaidy Jean. Страница 76

Edward had shrunk near to her and she had put a protective arm about him. The touch of her own son gave her an even greater courage than was usually hers, though she had never been easily afraid and had always trusted in her own powers of survival.

He was a robber, this creature, an outlaw...living apart from his fellows, bearing a grudge against them for making him an outcast because of his grotesque appearance. He approached, a knife in his hands.

She dared not show her fear. She had to protect her son. Instead of retreating, she held Edward firmly by the hand and approached the robber.

‘My friend,’ she said, ‘this is the son of your King. We are lost in the forest. We are in retreat from our enemies. I know you will save him.’

The robber had paused. That he was astonished was clear. He must have been startled to find himself face to face with the Queen.

He stammered: ‘You place yourself in danger wandering through these woods.’

‘That we know, and we do it because there is nothing else left to us.’

‘If you go on you will be captured by soldiers. The woods are full of them.’

I know,’ said Margaret.

‘Would you trust me?’

She looked at him fearlessly. ‘I would,’ she answered.

‘Then follow me.’

She had done so fearlessly because oddly enough she did trust this man, robber that he was. In time they had come to a cave. He went into it, giving a low whistle as he did so, and within a few moments a woman had appeared. She stared at Margaret and the Prince and Margaret said: ‘Good day to you, my friend.’

‘It’s the Queen and her Prince,’ said the man.

‘What’ll she be wanting with us?’ asked the woman.

‘Shelter and a hiding-place from her enemies.’

The woman nodded.

There were sounds in the woods. Yorkist soldiers were at hand. What would they not give to capture the Queen and the Prince? They should not! She would risk anything rather than fall into their hands. Better be robbed of everything she possessed. Not that she had much.

So she and Edward had entered the cave. The home of the robber and his wife was divided into two apartments. One of these they gave up to Margaret and her son, and for two days she and Edward had stayed there; they had eaten with the robber and his wife until that time when the robber came in to report that it would be safe for her to emerge.

How strange that helpers appeared in unexpected places. The outlaw had taken her to her friends and she had parted with him with tears of gratitude in her eyes. She had little to give him, she told him, but she would never forget him. She could give him only a ring in exchange for his services.

‘Of all I have lost,’ she told Breze, with whom she was delighted and greatly relieved to be reunited, ‘I regret nothing so much as being unable to reward in a manner suited to their deserts those who are of service to me.’

They had found their way back to Scotland, but what a cool reception she had received there. It was as though everyone but herself considered her cause to be hopeless. Being unwelcome in Scotland, what was she to do?

Breze advised her that she should return to France. There surely she would find more sympathy than anywhere else. Her father must help her; and the Duke of Burgundy could, she believed, be persuaded to do so.

She said goodbye to Henry. He was bewildered, scarcely aware of what was happening. He reiterated that he wanted only to be left in peace with his books and his prayers.

Exasperated, but in a somewhat tender manner, she had taken her leave of him. ‘I shall get help,’ she had said. ‘It is the only way.’

He had nodded, scarcely listening.

So she sailed once more for France with Pierre and his son Jacques, with Exeter and Sir John Fortescue, those faithful few whom she could trust. And this time with her was Prince Edward. She was never going to be separated from her son again.

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Looking back she saw that in her determination she had followed will o’ the wisps—any little lights in the darkness which might offer some hope. She should have known that the wily Duke of Burgundy would not want to help a cause which he, like so many, thought to be a lost one.

But leaving Scotland, where could they go? Her hope had been the Duke of Burgundy. Breze did not think that they could look for much help there but she was adamant, for if not to Burgundy, where else? Louis had shown her that he was not inclined to help.

She had very little money; she must get a loan quickly. They could not afford to waste time so as soon as she landed at Sluys she sent a message to the Duke of Burgundy telling him where she was and asking to be received by him without delay.

The Duke was astounded and dismayed. He had no wish to see her. The position with the King of France was delicate; he knew that Louis was watching him more closely and that Edward, backed by Warwick, was becoming a power to be reckoned with.

He immediately sent Philippe Pot, one of his most reliable followers and a man of immense tact and diplomatic talents, to Margaret with the message that the Duke was unable to receive her at this time because of pressing duties.

Margaret had snapped her fingers at such limp excuses and retorted that she came from King Henry of England and she was determined to see the Duke.

‘My lady,’ said the diplomatic Philippe Pot, ‘do you realize the hazards of the journey? To meet the Duke you would have to pass close to Calais. It would be known that you were travelling there and your enemies would make every possible effort to capture you.’

Of course she had brushed aside his warnings. He should know better than to tell Margaret of Anjou what she must or must not do, and even the great Duke of Burgundy discovered that he would have to do as she wished.

But though she had forced herself into his presence in such a manner that his natural gallantry would not allow him to repulse, she was quickly made to realize that there was little he would do to help her. He managed to intimate that although he was happy to receive her, the King of France was not very pleased that she should be his guest.

How humiliating! A Queen of England to be so treated! To make her feel again and again that her presence was unwanted. They all seemed to have accepted Edward as King of England and showed clearly they had no wish to be embroiled in her quarrels.

There was nowhere she could turn; Scotland, France, Burgundy; she was an embarrassment to them all.

A message came from her father. She must retire for a while to his estates in Bar. There she could live quietly while she decided what she would do.

And so to this little town of St. Michiel she had come. She could not be more isolated. The town seemed to be cut off from the world. There was peace there, but when had she ever wanted peace? She knew the countryside well because she had been born not very far away at Pont-a-Mousson. She remembered the days of her childhood when she had ridden along the banks of the Moselle.

Rene had given her a small pension. She was grateful for she knew that he would have had to borrow to provide it. It was not much, but adequate for her to rent a house and form a little court there. But even he had little time to worry about her and her affairs. He was absorbed by his pretty young wife and he had always been a man to live for the moment and it would be a somewhat self-indulgent moment at that.

So here she was in the little walled town living the life of an impoverished gentlewoman and yet somehow maintaining what appeared to be a Court. She would be ever grateful to her friends and in particular to Pierre de Breze and Sir John Fortescue. Pierre had spent the larger part of his fortune in her service and his admiration and devotion was a constant prop to her in all her troubles; as for Sir John she knew he was ready to follow her whither her ill fortune led her. What especially endeared him to her was his devotion to the Prince. Being a scholar himself—judge and lawyer—he was well equipped to undertake the Prince’s education and this he did. For the Prince he had written De Laudibus Legum Angliae, a work which explained the Constitution of England and royal behaviour, because he feared—he had secretly confided to Margaret—that the Prince was more interested in martial excellences than in learning.