Виктория Холт: The Reluctant Queen

"I do not want to go to Calais again."

"Alas, Isabel, it might not be what we want but what is thrust upon us."

I wondered why my mother was so apprehensive, and it occurred to me that it was because she was so much wiser than Isabel.

"S." she went on.

"We must pray for victory while we prepare for defeat."

After that she talked to us often about the situation.

"It was a pity Edward the Third had so many sons," she said.

"It makes too many claimants to the throne. Strange, is it not, that men crave for sons." She looked a little sad and I felt I ought to apologise for being a daughter as well as Isabel, but I was glad to be reminded that some men could have too many.

Poor Henry. She felt sorry for him. She was sure he did not want the crown. He would have been happy with religion, a life of contemplation. She had heard it said of him that he wished to be a monk or enter the Church. Perhaps if he had done that he would not have gone mad in the first place. And now he suffered from periodic attacks of insanity. It was the case of his grandfather, Charles the Mad of France, all over again. She wondered whether if his madness had come to him through his mother, the family that lady was reputed to have had with Owen Tudor was equally affected.

She ended up by telling us that our father was a very clever man; he was the most important and powerful man in England and while he was in control England would be safe. On the other hand, we must not think it would be too easy. There were enemies all around us and we must be prepared.

But on this occasion we were saved from disaster. Messengers arrived at the castle. When news had reached Margaret that the Earl of Warwick, with the king, was marching on Bamborough, she immediately abandoned all thought of fighting and took to her ships. God must be looking after the Yorkists, for He sent a storm which shattered her fleet.

It was victory. But not entirely. More news came. Margaret had escaped and had arrived at Berwick with her son: she was well and ready to fight another day.

Having seen the magnificent Edward, I wanted to know more of him and his family, and Richard was not averse to telling me about them, which surprised me, he being so reticent about most things. But he was very proud of his family.

I said: "I thought your brother, the king, was all that you said of him." That pleased him, of course, and put him into a communicative mood.

"I have another brother, too," he said.

"George. He is almost as wonderful as Edward ... only just not quite. And I have a sister Margaret. She is a wonderful person."

"How lucky to have so many brothers and a sister when I only have Isabel."

"There were seven of us," he said.

"Four boys and three girls."

"Seven! Quite a large family."

"Large families are good to have."

"Sometimes there can be too many sons who claim the throne," I said, remembering my mother's words.

He ignored that and went on: "It is those about my own age whom I saw most of. My brother Edmund was with my father when he was killed at Wakefield." His voice shook a little. I doubted he would ever forget that terrible event.

"Then I had two sisters, Anne and Elizabeth. They were sent away to be brought up in some other noble house. Edward and Edmund were at Ludlow. I stayed at Fotheringay with the younger ones George and Margaret. George is three years older than I. My brother made him Duke of Clarence when he made me Duke of Gloucester."

"Tell me about George and Margaret."

"George is very handsome and everybody loves him."

"As tall and handsome as Edward?"

"Oh, not quite. Nobody could be. But he is very good-looking and clever."

"And Margaret?"

"She is three years older than George."

"And beautiful, I suppose."

"Yes, she is very beautiful."

"But not as beautiful as Edward."

"Not quite."

I laughed.

"It is always "not quite"."

"Well, although they are very handsome, they are ..."

"... not quite as perfect as the king."

"If you are going to laugh at my family, I shall not tell you any more about them."

"I was not laughing. I was only admiring. Please tell me some more."

"Well, what do you want to know?"

"I want to hear about when you were a very little boy."

"My father was always away from home fighting."

"Fathers always are."

"My mother was often with him."

"What is your mother like?" I stopped myself saying, "Beautiful, of course, though not quite so beautiful as Edward." But I restrained myself. I did not want to anger him. He was rational about most things, though perhaps taking a somewhat morose view of life, he was fanatically devoted to his family and appeared to consider all the members of it far above ordinary mortals.

"My mother is truly beautiful," he said.

"When she was young she was known as the Rose of Raby. She and my father were devoted to each other and she travelled with him whenever it was possible. She could not be with him in battle naturally, but often when he was fighting, she would be somewhere near, so that she could see him often."

"And she had all those children?"

He nodded.

"We were all in awe of her ... more so than we were of our father. Edward is very like her ... in looks, and George perhaps more so. He was Margaret's favourite. I used to wish that I were. Margaret was very kind to us both but it was clear that she loved George best. He was always doing something which was forbidden and although she used to scold him she would make excuses for him and she always told him that, however wicked he was, she loved him just the same. She was good to me. Oh, but it was different with George. Well, he was tall and strong and golden-haired. I was never like that ... not like him and Edward ... Margaret did not mean it to show ... but it did."

Poor Richard, I thought.

"Well, you were lucky to have a big family," I said.

"I wish I had some brothers."

He admitted that it was good.

"Especially in war," he added.

"Families stand together."

"Not always. Brothers fight over crowns and things."

"We never would. We are a united family. Oh, how I wish I were old enough to go and fight with Edward!"

"Well, you will one day."

I used to think a lot about Richard. What a pity he was not tall and handsome. It must be particularly galling, having been born into such a perfect family. I wanted to see them all ... George, Margaret and the Rose of Raby. It all sounded so romantic and exciting.

Christmas was on the way. My father was absent most of the time, for although Margaret had eluded capture at Bamborough she was still around to make trouble, and there were several castles in the North which were still in Lancastrian hands. My father and the king were making war on these.

A messenger came to the castle with news from the king. He was ill and at Durham Castle. It was not a serious illness but his physicians said he should take a short rest. He wanted his brother, Richard, to come to Durham and spend Christmas with him.

To my chagrin and Richard's great joy, he left Middleham to spend the festive season with his brother.

My mother was growing less apprehensive. The storm had passed, but she was ever on the alert for danger.

I said to Isabel: "I suppose there could be times when people do not have to worry and the king who is on the throne is left in peace."

"That would be rather dull." she replied.

"And what about our father? How could he be a kingmaker if there was not any need to make a king and keep him on the throne?"

"I think our mother would like it better."

"And every day would be the same. Lessons, needlework, riding, walking. Whereas now people come here. One never knows when the soldiers will come ... and you can wonder what will happen next."