The trouble began with border raids which went on from time to time. However, Edward had information that this was just a preliminary exercise, and he wanted Richard to get an army together and march.
This was a bitter blow. War had come to our beloved north. It continued sporadically over some months, which kept Richard away from home; and at length came the summer and he was ordered to come to Edward because their sister Margaret was paying a visit to England. Richard must be there to greet her and plans for a Scottish invasion could be discussed at the same time.
So even at Middleham it was impossible to find absolute peace.
I accompanied Richard to London where lavish celebrations were in progress to welcome the important lady, Margaret of Burgundy. However, Richard reported to me that there was a certain coolness between her and Edward. She asked a great many questions about her favourite, George. Edward had allowed him to become a prisoner. She found that hard to understand. She knew well her brother. George was just a charming, mischievous boy. It was difficult to make her see that mischief which can be charming in the young can take on an alarming quality in the mature. But so blinded was Margaret by her love for George that she was determined to defend him without reason.
Richard said it was not a happy meeting. Margaret, of course, had had a purpose in coming, and she was disappointed in the outcome.
"She fears that Burgundy is weak," said Richard.
"Maximilian desperately needs help and she has come to ask Edward for it.
"Help against the King of France!" Edward cried.
"He is my benefactor." It's true, of course, and Margaret must have known that the enmity between France and Burgundy was England's strength as it had ever been. And yet she was asking him to take up arms against the King of France!
"What of my pension?" demanded Edward.
"Are you prepared to replace it?" Well, he did not expect an answer to that question, I am sure. So, Margaret, who has come to England to ask for aid for Burgundy, will be disappointed."
She returned to Burgundy, hurt and disillusioned; and we went back to Scotland and the war.
Two years passed. Richard and I had been married for ten years and there was no sign of another child. That was a source of great sorrow to me. Moreover, my fears regarding my son's health were growing. He was a dear boy quiet, gentle and loving but it was very clear that he lacked the strength and vitality of his half-brother and sister.
As for myself, I was often overtaken by lassitude which tired me, and I would have to retire to my chamber to rest, though I tried to keep this a secret from Richard. How thankful I was when he brought the war with the Scots to a satisfactory conclusion. It was a great joy to see more of him, but there was a constant nagging fear for my son's health ... and now my own.
Richard would not have our boy forced to take part in military exercises. He remembered the days of his own youth when he had striven to keep up with the boys of his age. Our son was more inclined to study and Richard said he must follow his inclinations. Little Anne Mowbray, the.child bride of the Duke of York, died. I heard it said that the queen genuinely mourned her, for she had taken her little daughter-in-law into her household after the marriage: but she was heard to comment that, in spite of the child's early death, her fortune had passed to the Duke of York and that clearly gratified her.
There was another death, and that was to have a startling effect on us all.
It happened at the end of March of that year '82, but we did not hear the news until some weeks afterwards, and even then I did not realise the importance to us.
Mary of Burgundy, out riding, was thrown from her horse and died from her injuries. She had left two children, a girl and a boy. Now Maximilian must bear the burdens of state alone. Margaret wrote to Edward begging for help, and Maximilian added his pleas to hers; but there was nothing Edward could do while he had his treaty with the King of France to consider.
We were expected to travel to the court at Westminster to celebrate Christmas. Edward sent for us with an affectionate message. He wanted to thank his beloved brother in person for the splendid victories over the Scots.
Richard and I with our son set out for the south.
That was to be a memorable Christmas. It was the beginning of change a sad and unhappy change for me, in spite of the worldly glory it brought. I had no wish for it; all through it I yearned to be back at Middleham: but alas we cannot order our lives and must accept what comes to us.
The king greeted us effusively. He was as magnificent as ever. True, he had grown fat, which was not surprising if what one heard of his self-indulgence was accurate. His complexion was florid and his magnificent eyes faintly bloodshot. Yet he still looked like the model of a king, in spite of the pouches under his eyes. He was distinguished among all those surrounding him: he was smiling, benign, friendly, jocular and approachable. I have often thought that no monarch could have been more loved by his people. They would always smile on him no matter what they heard of his countless mistresses, and his unpopular marriage. Yet there was the queen, as beautiful as ever, the years seemingly unable to touch that ice-cold perfection; and all her children two sons and five daughters were as beautiful as their parents.
The king embraced Richard.
"My brother," he said.
"My dear, dear brother. God strike me if I ever forget what I owe to you! Welcome. We see too little of each other. And Anne, Anne, my dear sister. We are going to put some colour into those cheeks; we are going to make you dance the night away; we are going to put some flesh on those beautiful bones of yours. You don't look after this dear girl enough, Richard. I must have a word with you on that score."
"I am well, my lord," I insisted.
He kissed me.
"We are going to make you even more so. And my nephew ... welcome, fair sir. We are delighted to have you with us. Your cousins are waiting to greet you."
He exuded bonhomie and goodwill and I believe it was genuine. He loved people and he wanted them to love him. It was impossible not to fall under his charm.
Little did we know then that the blow was about to fall.
Richard was with him when the news came. He was glad of that. He told me about it afterwards.
"Messengers arrived from Burgundy," he said.
"I could see that my brother was not very eager to receive them. He was ever so. He hated bad news and always wanted to hold it off, even for a little while. He had been thinking of Christmas and the festivities. You know how he always enjoys revelry and such. Perhaps he had an inkling of what was to come.
"What think you this news from Burgundy may be?" he said to me.
"It is doubtless Maximilian begging again." I replied, "What will happen to him now? He is not strong enough to stand against Louis."
"He's energetic enough," said Edward.
"What he needs is arms and men. A war cannot be fought without them."
"He was thoughtful and, I could see, a little worried. I said to him, "Why not send for the messengers? Why not see what they have to report?"
"He looked at me steadily.
"You speak sense as always, Dickon," he said, calling me by my childhood name.
"We'll send for the men."
"And when they came?" I asked.
"I had never seen him so affected. The men had letters from Margaret. My brother read them and I saw the blood rush into his face; his eyes seemed as though they would burst from his head. I said to him, "What is it, Edward? You can trust me." He put out a hand and I took it. I had to steady him. I thought he was going to fall. His face was suffused with rage. I led him to a chair and forced him to sit down. He did so. He continued to shake. He thrust the letter into my hand.