"It became clear in the gardens that day that Warwick was planning the destruction of the House of Lancaster, and wanted to set up York in its place. Somerset, on sudden impulse, plucked one of the red roses and held it high. The red rose is the symbol of our House of Lancaster, just as the white is that of York. Somerset said: "I pluck this red rose, the symbol of the House of Lancaster, which I serve with my life."
"I know," I said.
"And then my father picked a white rose and said: "This is the white rose of York. Let every man take the rose of his choice. Then we shall know who is with us and who against us."
"Ah. You have heard the story. Who in this kingdom has not? And that was it. The stage was set. The War of the Roses had begun."
"Madam," I said.
"Are you well?"
I thought she looked as though she were going to faint. She was lying back in her chair, exhausted. I knelt beside her and she put out a hand and touched my hair. That was unusual, for she was not given to affectionate gestures.
"Warwick's girl," she murmured.
"Why do I talk thus to Warwick's girl?"
We sat in silence for some minutes and then I knew that, although I was Warwick's daughter, she no longer hated me.
Although I could not cast off my terrible fears of the future, my strange relationship with Queen Margaret did help to make the days more tolerable. We were all wondering what was happening. How was my father faring? Where, I asked myself, were Isabel and my mother?
I often thought about Richard. What was he doing now? What was he thinking? He would be a staunch supporter of his brother and therefore my father's bitter enemy. It was all so unexpected. My father had been one of the heroes of his youth. He had often betrayed his admiration for him and I think he had ranked only second, after his brother of course, in his estimation. And did he ever spare a thought for me?
It seemed incredible that everything should have changed so suddenly and in such a manner.
Queen Margaret was growing more and more impatient for news. "So many things have gone wrong in my life," she said.
"Sometimes I fear mat nothing will ever come right."
I did not know what to think. I must be loyal to my father, but if he were victorious Richard must be defeated: and the outcome of my father's victory must be the marriage I dreaded.
As the days passed I thought more and more of the ordeal before me. I could not like what I had seen of the prince. Moreover, I could not forget that I had heard of his asking for those executions and his sitting watching with apparent satisfaction while heads were severed. It was terrifying.
He had been only young. Eight, they said. And he would have been brought up to hate his enemies. But at the same time I was deeply disturbed.
I wanted to find out more about him and it was not difficult to lure the queen into talking of him, for he was her favourite topic of conversation. I was realising more and more what a sad and frustrating life she had led. She cared more deeply for her son than she ever had for anyone else. All her hopes were in him. She was prepared to make any sacrifice for him: and while she hated her enemies so fiercely, even more intensely did she love him.
I was developing a fondness for the queen. True, I was greatly in awe of her and at times the fierceness in her eyes repelled me, but now that she was talking to me with a certain frankness and making me see the sadness of her life, I realised how events had affected her, and I began to make excuses for her.
I looked forward more and more to our encounters, and I believed she did also.
And so I led her to talk of her son.
"My son!" She said the words with something like adoration.
"Anne Neville, there is nothing so wonderful in the world as holding one's own child in one's arms. One passes through a painful ordeal, and then one hears the cry of a child ... your own child ... a child which has grown within you and is part of you."
"Yes," I said.
"I understand that."
"I had thought it was a blessing which would be denied me. My son Edward was not born until eight years after my marriage."
"And all that time you longed for a child."
"All kings must have sons. I thank God daily for mine. Ever since he was born I have planned for his future ... for what would be good for him. Now I am proud of him. He will be Edward the Fifth of England, and when I see the crown placed on his head, that will compensate me for all my sufferings."
"Kings seem to have troublous lives." I commented.
She gave me a scornful look.
"A king has his destiny to fulfill; and those who turn him from his throne should be punished with death. How well I remember my joy. I could not believe it. Of course, in the beginning I had hoped, I had longed and prayed ... but I had thought, Henry being as he was, that I should never have a child. You would not understand my joy."
"I think I do,"I said.
"Of course, there were my enemies. York." She laughed with glee.
"Imagine York's feelings when he heard. This child would block his way to the throne. So they started rumours. The child could not be Henry's, they said. How could Henry beget a child? But you are too young to understand. What did I care? I laughed at them. I was exalted. I was the mother of a king-to-be. Oh, that was a wonderful time."
"I can imagine how you felt when he arrived."
"There was great trouble before that. It must have been two months before the birth when Henry showed signs of his first illness. It was a great sadness, a great anxiety. That should have been a time for rejoicing. We did not know what ailed him. It was only later that we learned. He could not move. He lay in his bed ... remembering nothing. It was the beginning of his strangeness. He was unaware that he had a son."
"Poor King Henry."
"That affliction came through his mother the daughter of Charles the Mad of France. They say such illness is one which can be passed on. The mother escapes but she gives it to her son."
"How very sad."
"It is at the root of all our troubles. These people would never have dared ... if Henry had not been She could not bring herself to say the word insane. I reached out and touched her hand. She took mine and held it briefly. I was always moved by these outward signs of affection between us. She was beginning to accept me as her daughter-in-law in spite of the fact that I belonged to the hated Neville clan.
It was on that occasion when she told me about the Tudors.
"I should have liked to have known Henry's mother," she said.
"She was French so we should have had something in common. She was a lady with a strong will, though outwardly she was very gentle. She had a very unhappy childhood, largely due to her father's madness and her wanton mother. For a time she and her many brothers and sisters lived in abject poverty. That was while her father suffered his periodic bouts of insanity. I believe when he was well and took up his duties of kingship that was changed. But poor children, it went on for much of their early childhood. Then she married Henry, the great conqueror of France, and it seemed that everything was going well for her, until her husband died and she was left with a little baby ... my Henry. Henry often talks to me about his mother, and always with affection. It is because of her that he has been so good to the Tudors."
"Who are the Tudors?" I asked.
"Oh, they are worthy men. They have always supported the House of Lancaster. Of course they would. Are they not Henry's half-brothers? You see, when King Henry the Fifth died, Katharine, my Henry's mother, was considered to be of little importance and her son had his own household governesses and nurses and so on and was taken right out of her hands."
"I always think that is cruel to children."
"Kings and queens have their duties and they are not in the nursery. Katharine made a life for herself with Owen Tudor. That is where the Tudors come in. It is a true story of romantic love lived in secret."