Here was triumph. Proud Cis was beside herself. She gathered her children and while she held young Richard in her arms—he was only a year old -she told them how their great father, who should really be King, was now head of the country.
‘We must make sure that he remains so,’ she said and her words were directed in particular to her tall, twelve-year-old son—handsome Plantagenet in looks, already earning a reputation for wildness—the son of whom she was most proud.
Edward declared he was ready to fight for his father’s rights and the Duke laid his hand on his shoulder and said, ‘When the time comes, my son. When the time comes.’
And it would come. They were all sure of that.
The Queen was furious. They had slighted her. She was the Queen; she had produced the heir to the throne. The Regency should have been hers.
The Duke of York wanted to play the game with caution. He declared to the Parliament that he accepted office only because he considered it his duty to do so. The King must know that— as soon as he returned to health—he, York, would stand aside.
As a man who believed he would one day be King he wanted to show his determination to uphold law and order. Kings could not rule satisfactorily without that, and he had made up his mind that one day he was going to rule.
He appointed his brother-in-law Richard, Earl of Salisbury, Chancellor. He would surround himself with friends in high places and the first thing to do was to be rid of Somerset, who was impeached and sent to the Tower.
It was hardly likely that his enemies would stand aside and allow York to rule in peace. It was soon necessary for him to march to the North and suppress disturbances where certain noblemen led by the Duke of Exeter had raised their standards against him.
During those months of his Protectorate York showed himself to be the strong man the country needed. He was cautious and well aware that there was a great deal of support throughout the country for the Lancastrians. The King was the King and the people were fond of him—imbecile though he might be. There were many stories in circulation about his clemency and his gentleness. ‘Poor Henry!’ they said. His Queen was a virago. She was French; she was extravagant; she ruled the King; but still she was the mother of the heir to the throne. York knew that the time had not come to make the great bid. In the meantime he contented himself in governing the country, which all had to admit he did with more skill than his predecessors. He had captured Exeter, and Somerset was his prisoner, but he brought neither of them to trial. He was not sure what effect that would have on the people.
Meanwhile Margaret, secretly furious that she had been passed over as the Regent, saw clearly that if she was to keep her power it could only be done through the King. Henry was her salvation. He would do as she said. All her strength had come through him. If he remained in this state of idiocy that would be the end of her hopes to rule.
Henry must get well.
With characteristic energy she set about the task of nursing him back to health. In the first place she believed that he could never get well while he was at the centre of affairs in Westminster where there were too many people visiting him and too much talk about his condition. People would keep on talking of his grandfather and expecting him to go raving mad at any moment.
It was not Like that. She thought she was beginning to understand what might have happened. Henry had never wanted to be a king; that office on which men like York—and even Somerset—cast covetous eyes was a penance to Henry. He hated the ceremonies, the conflicts, the desire to maintain his position; even the progresses through the country which he seemed to think were the answer to all evils were not so very agreeable to him. As Margaret saw it a resentment against a fate which had made him the King had culminated in this complete collapse, this shutting off of responsibility, this rejection of a crown.
Of one thing she was certain—the potions, the syrups and the fomentations were not what was needed at all. It was Henry’s mind which had deserted him; his body was not really sick.
She had found a new doctor, a certain William Hately and he agreed with her theories.
‘Get the King away,’ he had said. ‘Take him to some quiet seat where there can be an atmosphere of peace about him. He may be susceptible to conflict around him. We cannot know that.’
‘You mean take him to some place where the people are loyal to him. Where there would be no room for his enemies. My dear doctor, it is not always easy to know who are one’s friends, who one’s enemies.’
‘There are parts of the country which are firmly loyal to the King and who tolerate the Duke of York only because he stands in the King’s place while the King is indisposed.’
‘He was always rather fond of Coventry. He has had a more loyal welcome there than anywhere. He was interested in the building of St. Mary’s Hall and took great pleasure from the tapestry there.’
‘Let us try it, my lady. It may not help but we must try everything.’
‘We will go to our castle of Coventry,’ said the Queen.
She would be glad to get away, to devote herself entirely to the needs of the King. She knew it was useless to try to fight York at this time. Somerset was in the Tower and York’s strong yet restrained government was having its effect. The fact that men like Somerset and Exeter were under restraint and had not been executed showed a tolerance in the Duke of York which pleased the people. They were already beginning to trust him.
As soon as the King is well that shall be an end of York, Margaret promised herself.
And that brought her back to the great need of the moment: the recovery of the King.
They travelled to Coventry, the King in his litter. On the Queen’s orders they took the byways and avoided the towns but they could not make a secret entry into Coventry and the people of that city came out to cheer them as they passed through. The King lay still and silent in his litter with Margaret riding beside him, gorgeously apparelled as became a Queen. She it was who acknowledged the cheers of the crowd, though she knew those cheers were for the King and not for her. Never mind. They were for the Lancastrian cause and that was what was important.
Coventry, in the county of Warwickshire, was almost in the centre of England and took its name from a convent which had once stood on the site and had been founded as long ago as the days of King Canute. It was destroyed by the traitor Edric in the year 1016 before the coming of the Normans. However Earl Leofric and his wife Lady Godiva founded a Benedictine monastery on the spot and richly endowed it. It was at that time that the town began to prosper. The castle was built and was in the possession of the Lords of Chester. The city had been walled in at the time of Edward the Second and had six gates and several strong towers. The castle had eventually passed into the hands of the Black Prince and it became one of his favourite residences.
It seemed a very suitable place to bring the King and, if it were possible, nurse him back to health there.
The days passed quietly. Margaret spent a great deal of time with the King. She talked to him although he did not hear her, but William Hately believed that there was a possibility that one day he might. The worst thing, said the doctor, was to treat him as though he were an imbecile.
‘His senses are clearly there,’ he insisted. ‘They are slumbering. It is for us to awaken them and we shall only do that by gentle methods.’
He was astonished and so were others to see how Margaret adapted herself to life at Coventry. She who had been so forceful, so ready to state her views, so determined that they should be acted on, was now playing the role of nurse and mother, dividing her time between her husband and her son, trying to arouse the shrunken mind of one and to assist the expanding one of the other.