Sometimes she was a little worried about Richard. His frame was delicate and now that he was growing – he was twelve years old – it seemed to her that one shoulder was a little higher than the other – almost imperceptible but detected by a maternal eye. She had spoken to Warwick about it for she feared that at Middleham Richard might be set strenuous martial exercises which were too much for him.
Like all boys of noble houses Richard had been sent into another noble house to be brought up and Edward had thought Warwick’s castle of Middleham was the right place for Richard. Edward doted on Warwick. No wonder. It was Warwick who had made him King. So to Middleham to be brought up in Warwick’s household Richard had been sent. Warwick himself would almost always be away somewhere, but he would have laid down the rules of conduct for the noble boys who came into his castle. Cecily was glad that the Countess of Warwick was there for she was a gentle lady. It was strange to think that through her Warwick had received his wealth and titles. Richard was very fond of the Countess as he was of Warwick’s two daughters Isabel and Anne. So perhaps she should not worry too much about Richard’s health. When she had mentioned it to Edward he had laughed at her.
‘Richard has to grow up as a man, dear lady,’ he said. ‘And I can tell you there is none more qualified to bring out the best in him than my cousin Warwick.’
Even when Edward spoke his name she could hear the reverence in it. She was glad he felt like that. She, too, had the utmost faith in Warwick, for Edward, she was fully aware, much as she loved him, was too fond of pleasure. This continual pursuit of women was all very well while he was so young but when he married he would have to give it up, or conduct his adventures more discreetly.
Perhaps she should have a word with him about that. He would be a little impatient, but he would never silence his mother of course. He was too well mannered to do that.
Margaret, George and Richard were awaiting the King’s arrival with great excitement. Richard was thinking: As soon as I hear the horses I shall be down there to greet him. I will stand and wait and perhaps he will notice me.
Richard adored Edward. From the time he was a child this great and glorious brother had been like a god to him. He had followed his adventures avidly. When Edward was defeated Richard was sunk in melancholy; when Edward was victorious none rejoiced more than he.
‘You are besotted about our brother,’ George had said contemptuously.
‘Our brother is the King,’ Richard had replied with dignity.
George had shrugged his shoulders. It was only an accident of birth. If he had been the eldest he would have been King. He would have been the one everyone came out to cheer and all the women beckoned into their beds. Life was rather unfair, he thought. It could so easily have been George.
Margaret also admired Edward. He was always good-natured and made everyone feel slightly more important than they were. Perhaps that was the secret of his charm. It might be, but even if he did not mean it it was pleasant to pretend for a while that he did.
Soon he would find a husband for her. It was inevitable really now that he was King. Her two elder sisters Anne and Elizabeth were already married; Anne to Henry Holland Duke of Exeter and Elizabeth to John de la Pole the Duke of Suffolk. Yes, it would certainly be her turn next and now that Edward was King – her sisters had been married before that happy event – hers might well be a very grand marriage indeed.
But what they were all discussing now was the King’s marriage. Her mother had told her that the bride would very likely be Bona of Savoy, sister to the King of France. It would be a very grand wedding of course and after that there would be the new Queen’s coronation.
It was hardly likely that there would be time to give any consideration to the marriage of the King’s sister just yet. So there would be some respite.
And soon Edward would be here. Margaret smiled, wondering how her mother would act with the King. She would hardly expect him to kneel to her, as they all had to do.
Dear mother, so ambitious for them all ... and for herself!
The time had come. The King was arriving. Richard hurried out to meet the party. If he were quick enough he would avoid his mother who would want to insist on some sort of ceremony.
To see him again, this wonderful brother who had dominated his life! It had been hard to be sent to Middleham and to be so far from him and to hear of what he was doing from other people. He would have been really unhappy at Middleham if it had not been for the kindly Countess and her daughters, particularly Anne. There had been a very special friendship between them. They were of a kind – both a little shy of the world, unable to mingle freely with people and express themselves easily. But when they were together that was different. Oh yes, he had been very grateful to Anne and she to him, he believed.
His had been a childhood of uncertainty. He had been born just at that time when civil war between the houses of York and Lancaster was brewing. He had heard talk of the red and white roses and he knew that the white roses were worn by the good people and the red by the bad.
He remembered very well the terror of Ludlow when his father had had to fly because the Lancastrians were at the gates of the castle. He remembered his proud mother holding him close to her on one side with George on the other while the soldiers burst into the castle. There was death in the air then and young as he was he sensed it. But his mother was proud and noble and he had believed after that invincible; for when they burst into the room and she stood there with her sons held close to her and spoke to the soldiers in those commanding tones of hers, they hesitated. He noticed that there was blood on their swords ... and he saw it too on the men’s jerkins. But they did not harm them. Instead they were taken away and put in the charge of his aunt the Duchess of Buckingham, who strangely enough was not on the same side as they were.
Then of course there was the battle of Northampton and they were free again; they were brought to London and lodged in John Paston’s house. It must have been less than six months that they were there but Richard remembered vividly the terrible dark day when news came that a battle had been fought in Wakefield and during it his father had been killed.
His mother’s grief had been terrible. She vowed vengeance on their enemies. Richard was not told that his father’s head had been stuck on the walls of York with a paper crown on it, but he heard it whispered by the attendants and servants and he was very good at picking up whispers.
But their mother recovered a little after the second battle of St Albans which oddly enough was won by the bad Lancastrians, but Warwick – the great Earl who had decided how he should be brought up at Middleham – marched to London, took it and proclaimed Edward King.
Then their fortunes had indeed changed. Richard would never forget the coronation – a grand occasion when a nine-year-old boy – which was what he was then – was so honoured by his mighty brother that he was made the Duke of Gloucester. George had become Duke of Clarence at the same time.