Richard thought it pleased them. ‘They like to see the splendour of our lives,’ he said.
‘Which,’ pointed out Anne, ‘could draw attention to the drabness of their own.’
He liked her sage wisdom. It made him feel safe.
There came one day in his life which he would never forget.
There had been small outbreaks of pestilence in several parts of the country but this was a fairly normal occurrence and aroused little comment.
Anne was at Sheen Palace at the time and Richard had been prodded into action to do something about the Irish question which was causing such great concern. He was well aware that some action would have to be taken and with his ministers he was discussing the possibility of taking an army to that troublesome land.
It was in the middle of these negotiations that he received news that Anne had been taken ill.
He left everything and went with all haste to Sheen. Although concerned he was not deeply so. Anne was young and healthy and this must be some minor ailment. Nevertheless he must be at her bedside to assure her of his devotion.
When he reached Sheen Palace he received a shock. He scarcely recognised the pallid figure on the bed. She smiled wanly when she saw him.
He knelt by her bed in bewildered grief.
‘Anne … Anne …’ he whispered. He could find nothing to say but her name.
‘Richard …’
He looked at her numbly.
‘I am dying, Richard,’ she said.
‘No, no! Not you, Anne. You are going to get well. Why only a day or so ago when I left you … you were well. Can I not leave you for a few hours that you must cause me this terrible anxiety by falling sick. Oh it is only a minor ailment. You will be well tomorrow.’
She smiled at him and he tried to fight the cold fear which had come into his heart. It numbed him. He had not thought this possible. Why should Anne, who was so young and so full of vitality … why should Anne die and leave him alone?
An hour passed. He would not move from her bedside, and as he watched there hope started to ebb slowly away … as did her life.
She was dying. His Anne. But how could it have been?
He questioned the doctors. What had happened? Why should she have been so struck?
‘Pestilence is no respecter of rank, my lord,’ said the doctors.
‘What hope is there?’ he demanded.
‘There is always hope, my lord,’ was the answer.
‘Then make her well,’ he cried. ‘I command you. I order you … bring her back to me.’
They went to the sick room. He was there kneeling by her bed.
‘Anne,’ he cried. ‘Anne, don’t leave me. Speak to me, Anne.’
She said: ‘Richard, my love, my king, you must look at the truth. I shall not be with you very long.’
‘You shall not go,’ he cried, clinging to her hands.
‘It is not for us to decide, dear husband. You have made me very happy.’
‘Anne, I cannot go on without you. I cannot live without you.’
‘You will. You must. Oh Richard, take care. It is a rough path you must tread and I wanted to be there beside you. I wanted you to know that I was always there … always with you … no matter what happened.’
‘I did know it. I do know it. That is why you must get well.’
She smiled at him slowly.
‘I shall pray for you, Richard, with my dying breath I shall pray for you.’
She knew that it was time for her to pray for her own soul but she continued to pray for Richard. It was almost as though, there, lying on her deathbed she had visions of evil to come.
She lived only a few hours. Even then Richard was unprepared for her death. He seemed to have lost his speech, his awareness of anything.
He flung himself on the bed and stretched his arms over her body and silent sobs shook him.
At first he would not leave her but at length he was passive as they led him away.
He was in a daze from which he emerged to order that the most magnificent burial must be prepared for her. All the world must know how he had revered her.
Her body was brought from Sheen to St Paul’s where it was to lie in state before burial at Westminster. Richard had sent to Flanders for abundant supplies of wax for the flambeaux which would be needed in the procession. He demanded that every noble in the land should come to do honour to his Queen.
They had taken the body away. He went to the apartment in Sheen where she had died and he cried out in his anguish: ‘I never want to see this place again!’
He snatched at the hangings and pulled them down. They were scarlet velvet and they lay like a pool of blood at his feet.
‘I hate this room. I hate it. I hate it!’ he screamed. ‘She died here. Whenever I enter it I shall see her there on that bed.’
He took a dagger and slit the bed-cover. Then he shouted to his attendants: ‘Come here, all of you. Let us destroy this room utterly. I never want to see it again.’
He lifted a pot which stood on a small table and flung it across the room.
His attendants had appeared. They looked at this wild young man with the longish golden hair which was now ruffled and untidy. His blue eyes stared at them wildly.
‘Come, you dolts. Why do you hesitate? Destroy this room. Nothing shall stand. It was this room in which my Queen died. I never want to see it again.’
He lopped savagely at the bedpost. It came away in his hands and he reeled back as the bed began to collapse.
There was nothing to do but obey the King.
The late Queen’s apartments in Sheen Palace were completely destroyed that day.
Having given vent to his fury against fate Richard felt a little better.
She should have the most magnificent funeral. The whole world should know how he loved her. He summoned all the most noble of the land to come and pay homage to her as she lay in St Paul’s. There was one notable absentee, the Earl of Arundel.
When Richard heard that Arundel had not attended St Paul’s he fell into a rage against him. He wanted to arrest him but was restrained from doing so by his uncle John.
At first Richard would not listen but when John reminded him that Anne would not have wished it he was so overcome with grief that he turned away and went to his own apartments.
Arundel was an arrogant man. He was contemptuous of the King. His new wife Philippa was a forceful woman who continually reminded him of his royalty through her. She was as highly born as the King, she maintained; and she was going to make everyone remember it.
Therefore if her husband did not wish to attend the obsequies of the Queen he need not.
She and her husband decided that he should put in an appearance at the burial service at Westminster, although there was no reason why he should remain throughout. He should tell the King that he had come as summoned but had no intention of remaining and the King should therefore give him official permission to retire.
‘I shall tell him that I must leave for urgent personal reasons,’ said Arundel.
‘That is the discreet way of doing it,’ agreed his wife.
The ceremony in the Abbey had begun. Richard was melancholy, thinking of the day he had first seen Anne and how he had loved her because of her humility and grace. He could not have loved a flamboyant beauty with the same intensity.
Oh Anne, Anne, he mourned, why did you leave me? Why did I allow you to go to Sheen? We should never have parted, even for a day. I hate Sheen, Anne. And I used to love it … because we were there together and now … and now …