"So he must go back to Middleham?"

"Yes, Richard, and I must go with him."

"But ... you should be with me. You have just been crowned queen."

"I want to go with you, Richard."

"I think you, too, find the ceremonies exhausting."

"No ... no. I get a little tired. I think everyone does. But I am thinking of that special care which only his mother can give him."

Richard stared blankly ahead of him.

I cannot do this, I was thinking. And then: but I must. I should be with Richard, but my son needs me more.

"You think you must go with Edward then?" said Richard slowly.

"I do."

"And you could not leave him to the care of others?"

"I know I should be with you. The people will expect it. There will be rumours."

"Rumours? I shall know how to deal with rumours."

"It is hard for me. I want to be with you. I want to be all that you would wish me to be. I love you, Richard. I have since those days at Middleham, but this is our son."

"I understand," he said.

"He needs you more than I do. If you come with me you will be unhappy thinking of him."

"And if I am with him, I shall be thinking of you ... wanting to be with you."

"It is a situation in which there is no true satisfaction. Life is often like that, Anne."

"I want you to understand, Richard. My heart will be with you."

"And if you were with me it would be with Edward. I see how you feel and I think you are right. Edward has the greater need."

I went to him and put my arms about him. He kissed my hair.

"Very soon," he said, "the day after tomorrow mayhap, I must leave for London and you will go back to Middleham with our son."

Edward and I left York and I insisted that he ride in a chariot. I rode with him, for, as I said to him, I was glad to be carried. I had found the ceremonies very tiring. He looked pleased and I thought what a common trait in the human character it was to find pleasure in the fact that other people suffer from the same weaknesses as we do ourselves.

From then I would get my son to rest by complaining of my own tiredness.

With us rode Edward's cousin, young Warwick. As I watched him I wished that my Edward had his strength. Not that Warwick was all I should have looked for in a son. I was sure that my Edward had the better mind.

I think Isabel's son would have liked to come with us to Middleham, for he and I became good friends and he liked to listen to accounts of my childhood which I had spent with his mother.

How sad it was, I thought, for a child not to remember his mother and very little of his father.

So I told him how beautiful Isabel had been, how merry, how excited when she had known he was coming into the world, and his sister Margaret also. I was not sure where Margaret was at this .time. I supposed she was being brought up in some noble household and I thought what a pity it was that brother and sister had to be parted, and could not enjoy their childhood together as Isabel and I had.

I was sad when I had to leave young Warwick behind at Sheriff Button. His cousin John, Earl of Lincoln, who was the son of Richard's sister Elizabeth, Duchess of Suffolk, was in residencethere and Warwick was put in his care. We had an enjoyable stay and I was relieved to feel that Warwick would be happy there. We should be able to visit each other, I told him; and that seemed to please him. Then my son and I travelled the short distance to Middleham.

In spite of leaving Richard, I could not help a feeling of pleasure at being in the home I loved. As soon as we arrived, I took my son to his bedchamber and insisted on his retiring at once. He was very glad to do so.

I lay on his bed with him; we were contented with our arms about each other. I had made it clear that there was to be no ceremony between us. We were going to forget that I was the queen and he Prince of Wales. I was just his mother and he was my little boy.

For the next weeks I gave myself up to him entirely. I was with him all the day. I watched over his meals, and if I thought he was a little weary, I insisted on his taking them in his bedchamber. There we would eat together.

I have the greatest satisfaction in remembering that my son was happier during that time than at any other.

And what was so heartening was that his health began to improve.

If Richard could have been with us, I think I should have been completely happy. I was the best remedy Edward could have. My loving care was better than any physician.

On some days we rode together, but I would not allow him to be too long in the saddle, although sometimes he wanted to be.

All through the long golden days of September this way of life continued and at the end of each day I would thank God for the improvement in my son. I was able to assure myself that he was going to grow into a strong man.

Perhaps it was folly to believe good can last. The blow came from an unexpected quarter.

Trouble must have been fermenting for a long time before I had a hint of it. Perhaps I should have known there would be some discord. Richard had come to the throne in an unusual manner. Edward's son was still in the Tower with his brother, and the young always touch the hearts of the people. Richard was surrounded by enemies. He, more than any, knew he lacked the charismatic charm of his brother. The people forgave Edward his sins because he was so handsome and charming. Not so Richard. Richard was sober, hard-working, trying to do his duty, to lead the country into what would be best for it. But he was not handsome and he rarely smiled.

The people could not love him as they had Edward only those in the north would be faithful to him because they felt he belonged to them.

It was to be expected that the Marquis of Dorset would make trouble if he could. He was, after all, Elizabeth Woodville's son. He had tried to scheme with Hastings and Jane Shore. Hastings had lost his head and Jane Shore her possessions; but the wily marquis had lived to fight another day.

Naturally he would seize his chance. But what so shocking, so outrageous, was that his accomplice should be the Duke of Buckingham.

I could understand Richard's dismay and when I heard what had happened which was not until some time after this had taken place I reproached myself because I had not been with him.

Yet in my heart I knew I had been right to come back to Middleham to nurse my son.

What had happened seemed unbelievable when I remembered Buckingham's enthusiasm for Richard's claim to the throne. He had been the one to make the announcement and to have his men shout for Richard in the Guildhall. I remembered how he had outdone everyone else at the coronation in his magnificence his badge of the burning cartwheel displayed on the trappings of his horse, his enormous retinue which had reminded people how my father used to travel in his case displaying the Ragged Staff instead of Buckingham's Stafford Knot.

It was inexplicable. What could have happened to make him change his allegiance so suddenly?

I could only think it was some private ambition which had brought about the change. He had a flimsy claim to the throne. His mother was Margaret Beaufort, daughter of Edmund, second Duke of Somerset. Henry the Fourth had tried to exclude the descendants of John of Gaunt and Catherine Swynford from the succession, but there was a theory that this would be illegal as they had been legitimised. But, of course, if Buckingham was indeed in line to the throne, there was one who came before him and that was Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond, whose mother was that Margaret Beaufort, daughter of John Beaufort, first Duke of Somerset. She had married Edmund Tudor and Henry was her only son. She was now married to Lord Stanley, for Edmund Tudor had died at an early age and Henry Tudor had been brought up by his uncle Jasper Tudor, and he was the son of Henry the Fifth's widow, Katharine, and Owen Tudor.

Lady Stanley was a forceful and formidable lady, harbouring high ambitions for her son Henry who was at present in exile in Brittany, no doubt very closely watching events in England.

Buckingham's defection may be traced to an accidental meeting with Lady Stanley when he was travelling between Worcester and Bridgnorth. Buckingham was most impulsive and reckless; the only man I ever knew to rival him in that way was Clarence. They were both feckless and ready to act without giving very much thought as to what the consequence of that action might be. I felt sure this was what had happened to Buckingham.

He was faintly disgruntled because he had not yet received the Bohun estates which Richard had promised should be his, and consequently he was ready to listen to Lady Stanley.

Moreover, he had been on very good terms with Morton who was his so-called prisoner in his castle. The bishop was a shrewd and clever man who would know how to handle Buckingham. Morton was a Lancastrian who would be delighted to see the red rose flourishing again. Richard had completely misunderstood the characters of both Buckingham and Morton, and it had been a great mistake to put them together. They were schemers, both of them, but whereas Morton was firm in his support of the Lancastrians, Buckingham would sway this way and that according to his feelings at the moment. And at this time he was veering away from Richard; and between them, Buckingham and Morton hatched a plot.

It would be desirable, they decided, to see the Houses of York and Lancaster united. This could be done by the marriage of Henry Tudor to Elizabeth of York, King Edward's eldest daughter. Dorset would be willing to work for such an end because it would bring the Woodvilles back into prominence; and it would rid them of the man who stood in their way: Richard the Third.