‘That is a journey through mountainous country, my lady.’

‘Nevertheless I have loyal friends there, and that is where I must go.’

John Combe then turned the horse westward and they rode on.

It was easier when he was able to acquire two more horses and they could dispense with the need to ride all three on one.

Even so the journey was long and had it not been for the ingenuity of the boy they would have been lost.

What joy it was when they came in sight of Harlech Castle.

Margaret was very happy with her reception. Warmly she told of John Combe’s courage and skill in bringing her and the Prince out of an acutely dangerous situation. It was not long before she was joined by Owen Tudor.

She had been right to come here. There was strength in these Tudors. It was a great tragedy that Edmund had died but Jasper soon joined them and he gave a good account of how young Henry was living in Pembroke Castle with his mother.

‘A bright child, my lady,’ he told her. ‘A Tudor every inch of him and a touch of his royal grandmother without a doubt.’

Margaret had only a little patience to spare for young Henry Tudor. She wanted to know what help she could get here in Wales.

They understood at once.

Owen said: ‘Jasper has a great fondness for his nephew, my lady. You would think the boy was his own son.’ And then he went on to discuss what troops they could muster and what would be the best plan for taking an army into England.

‘The victory was Warwick’s, I’ll trow,’ said Owen. ‘Warwick is the one whom we have to battle with. York is a good administrator but I believe he lacks that which a leader needs.’

They were a little outspoken, these Tudors. No one could lack that quality more than the present King. Ah, but the King had a Queen.

It was to the Queen that the Lancastrians would have to look in the future.


* * *

She was desperate. She needed help. Henry had deserted her, his wife, and what was worse their son, so she believed. He had promised the throne to York when he died. There could not be a worse betrayal.

Everything depended on her. The King of France had always been fond of her. Some might have thought he was attached to her because of the good she could bring to France, but Margaret was guileless in such matters. Most of her difficulties throughout her life had come from her habit of judging everyone by herself and believing they would act in such a way because she would.

Now her fierce energies were concentrated on her son, and she would use any method to regain the promise of a crown which Henry had so wantonly thrown away to their enemies.

Why should not the King of France help her? That he would for a consideration she was sure. With help from France she could defeat Warwick, York, Salisbury, the whole lot of them. But Charles of France would want a very big prize to supply the sort of help she needed. What was the biggest plum she could offer?

Even as the idea had struck her she turned away from it. It would be a little too daring. But suppose she said to Charles: ‘Help me to defeat Warwick and make the crown of England safe for Edward and I will give you Calais.’

Calais! That port so dear to the heart of Warwick and the English people! That centre of trade right on the edge of the continent of Europe! Calais was of the utmost importance to the prosperity of England. Wool, leather, tin and lead were all sent to Calais to be sold into Burgundy. In Calais these goods were taxed and sorted. For trade and for defence Calais was essential to England. The French could not attack it without first coming through Burgundy to do so and as the King of France was on uneasy terms with the Duke of Burgundy, Calais was comparatively safe. Warwick as Captain of Calais had shown its worth. Calais had made it possible for him to increase his power. It seemed likely that Charles of France would do a great deal for Calais.

And yet without help how could she defeat her enemies? How could she make the crown safe for her son?

Calais. She dreamed of it.

She sent a messenger with a tentative suggestion to her old friend and supporter Pierre de Brézé.

While she was in Wales the Duke of Exeter arrived. He had fled from the battlefield, lucky to be alive. But he was determined to fight on and he believed that he could rally men to his banner in the North of England.

‘It is help we need,’ said Margaret. ‘We want to overwhelm them with our strength. If my good uncle the King of France would only come to my aid...’

She thought of the message she had sent to Brézé. She eagerly awaited the response and every morning when she awoke it was with the word Calais on her lips. Sometimes she was appalled by what she had done; and yet she knew that if she had the chance to go back she would do it again.

With the Tudors raising an army in Wales and Exeter going to the North, the scene was hopeful. But what she must do was outnumber Warwick and York; she must meet strength with greater strength; she must let the men know that if certain people in England were determined to destroy her, she had friends in other places.

They would hate to lose Calais; but better that than that young Edward, Prince of Wales, should lose his throne.

She decided that she would go to Scotland and seek help there. A ship was found for her and on a cold December day she set sail from Wales with her son.

The weather was even more bleak when she arrived in Edinburgh, but the warm welcome of the Queen Dowager, Mary of Gueldres, gave Margaret new hope. The late King’s sister had been the Dauphiness of France and Margaret had known her in the past. She felt therefore that she was going among friends.

If she could prevail upon Mary of Gueldres to give her help that, with whatever the King of France would send her, would enable her to swell her armies to such an extent that the Yorkists would soon be fleeing before them.

Mary of Gueldres it was true had her own problems at this time. Her husband, James the Second, had been killed in battle, for he had taken advantage of the defeat of Northampton to attack the old enemy; and now Mary was acting as regent for her nine-year-old son. However, she showed sympathy for

Margaret’s troubles and, needing Margaret’s help almost as much as Margaret needed hers, it seemed likely that they might strike a bargain.

A reply had come from Pierre de Brézé. He could not believe he had read her hints correctly. Did she really mean that in exchange for help from France she would give up Calais? Did she realize what this would mean to her cause? The English would never forgive her. If she did this she would see what their actions would be when they heard it. Oh yes, the King of France would be delighted; there was nothing she could offer him more to his taste, but Pierre was her good friend and he wanted her to think very earnestly of this matter before she committed herself to an act which would set the English crying for her blood.

She was half relieved, half angry.

I will do it, she thought. Brézé is too weak.

But that was unfair. He had shown himself a good friend to her. Their relationship had been an almost tender one. He admired her strength and her beauty and in a way was in love with her. His thoughts were for what would benefit her most.

For the time being she would shelve the matter and turn her attention to Mary of Gueldres.

Mary was sorry for her. She wanted to be of help; but naturally she must not be foolish, when her own position was so precarious. It was always dangerous when a King died leaving a young heir—a minor who must be surrounded by those who wished to govern for him.

In Lincluden Abbey where Mary had given Margaret apartments, the two women talked and bargained together— Margaret with a kind of feverish intensity, Mary more coldly, calculating each step before she made it, in contrast to Margaret’s impetuosity.

There was a fellow feeling between them. Both had young sons to protect. Mary was without a husband it was true but Margaret felt that hers could sometimes be an encumbrance rather than an asset.

‘It is only temporary help I need,’ Margaret explained fervently. ‘Once I have regained what is mine everything shall be repaid.’

‘I know it,’ replied Mary, ‘but conflicts go on for years before they are resolved and I have difficulties here. We have very unruly nobles in Scotland.’

‘They could not be more so than those of England. I often wish I could get rid of them all.’

‘Ah, we have to take care that they do not get rid of us.’

‘You and I should make a bargain. We should help each other. My dear cousin, give me men, give me arms and let our children marry. Let that be the bond between us. Your little Mary could be my Edward’s bride.’

It was tempting. The daughter of a Scottish king was not as desirable a parti as some might be. Her father was dead, her mother was struggling to keep the throne safe for her son—and if Margaret succeeded in defeating the rebels Edward would one day be King and little Mary of Scotland Queen of England.

It was a golden prospect if only the war could be won, if Edward was not to be ousted from the throne; but it seemed very likely that he would be, since after Northampton, Richard of York had been declared heir to the throne on the death of Henry.

Mary of Gueldres hesitated.

She knew how desperate Margaret was. She knew that she would do almost anything for help. She would consider nothing too high a price to be paid for what she wanted.

Mary of Gueldres said: ‘For myself I would agree willingly to this marriage, but it is those about me...I fear before they would be willing to help they would want something more...’