I go to the kitchen where the great fire stays lit night and day and I crush the letter into a ball and push it under the glowing logs and wait till it has burned away. There is nothing to do but wait for news.

In the stable yard outside the children are watching the farrier shoe their ponies. Everything is safe and ordinary: the flare of the forge, the smoke billowing from the hoof in an acrid cloud. My son Edward is holding the halter rope of his new horse, a handsome cob, as the farrier grips the horse’s leg between his knees and taps in the nails. I cross my fingers in the old sign against witchcraft and I shudder as a cool draught blows in from the door to the dairy. If the queen is showing her true colours and my husband is ready for the worst, then her enmity to me and mine will be apparent for all to see. Perhaps even now she is whistling up a plague wind to blow against me. Perhaps even now she is laying a curse on my husband’s sword arm, weakening his strength, suborning his allies, poisoning the minds of men against him.

I turn and go to the chapel, drop to my knees and pray that Richard is strong against Elizabeth Woodville and against all her kinsmen and women and the mighty affinity she has put together. I pray that he acts decisively and powerfully, I pray that he uses whatever weapons come to his hand, for certainly she will stop at nothing to get her son on the throne and see us thrown down. I think of Margaret of Anjou teaching me that there are times when you have to be ready to do anything to defend yourself or the position you deserve, and I hope that my husband is ready for anything. I cannot know what is happening in London, but I fear the start of a new war, and this time it will be the king’s true brother against the false-hearted queen. And we must, we have to triumph.

I wait. I send one of our guard with a letter to Richard begging for news. I warn him against the ill-will of the queen.

You know she has powers, so guard yourself against them. Do whatever you have to do to protect your brother’s legacy and our safety.

On my own at Middleham Castle, I spend every afternoon with the children as if only by constantly watching can I prevent a hot plague wind blowing towards them from London, stop the flight of a mistimed arrow, ensure that the new horse is well-trained and that Edward can manage it. If I could hold my son in my arms like the baby he once was, I would never let him go. There is no doubt in my mind that the queen’s grey eyes are turned towards us, that her mind is set against my husband, that she will be plotting and conjuring our deaths, that it is finally, clearly, us against her.


MIDDLEHAM CASTLE, YORKSHIRE, JUNE 1483

Her look of alarm and her sudden scurry down the steps tells me that I am not the only person to know that my husband, far from securing a safe succession for his nephew, is in danger, and that danger could come even to us, in this, our safest home.

I hear the portcullis rattle down and the drawbridge creak up, and the running footsteps of men dashing to man the walls of the castle. When I go to the great hall the children are waiting for me. Margaret has tight hold of her brother’s hand; Edward is wearing his short sword and his pale face is determined. They all three kneel for my blessing and when I put my hand on their warm heads I could weep for fear for the three of them.

‘There are horsemen coming to the castle,’ I say as calmly as I can. ‘Perhaps they are messengers from your father, but with the country so unsettled I dare take no risks. That is why I sent for you.’

Edward rises to his feet. ‘I did not know the country was unsettled?’

I shake my head. ‘I spoke wrongly. The country is at peace, waiting for your father’s righteous rule as regent,’ I say. ‘It is the court which is unsettled for I think the queen will try to rule in the place of her son. She may try to make herself regent. I am anxious for your father, who is bound by his promise to the king to take Prince Edward into his keeping and teach him how to rule, and bring him to his throne. If the prince’s mother is an enemy then your father will have to judge and to act swiftly and powerfully.’

‘But what would the queen do?’ little Margaret asks me. ‘What could she do against us, against my lord uncle?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘That is why we are prepared for an attack in case one were to come. But we are safe here, the soldiers are strong and well-trained and the castle is loyal to us. The whole of the North of England would support your father as if he were king himself.’ I try to smile at them. ‘I am probably being anxious. But my own father was always ready in his own defence. My father always raised the drawbridge if he did not know the visitor.’

We wait, listening. Then I hear the shouted challenge from the captain of the guard and the indistinct reply. I hear the drawbridge rattle on its chains as they let it down and the thud as it hits the far side of the moat. The portcullis screeches as they haul it up.

‘We are safe,’ I say to the children. ‘They will be friends bringing a message.’

I hear feet on the stone stairs that lead up to the hall, and then my guard opens the door and Sir Robert Brackenbury, Richard’s childhood friend, comes in with a smile. ‘I am sorry if I alarmed you, my lady,’ he says, kneeling and proffering a letter. ‘We came quickly. I should perhaps have sent someone ahead to tell you that it was my troop.’