Soon it was being sung in the streets. I was sighing more than ever for the old days of Middleham. There had been little happiness for either of us since Richard had taken the crown. How I wished the Bishop of Bath and Wells had never made his revelation. How I wished that the young Edward the Fifth were king of the realm.

There was a continual watch for ships about the coasts, for now an invasion seemed inevitable. On the continent, Henry Tudor was preparing to take from Richard that which had brought him not a vestige of happiness.

There was a burning need for an heir. I would have given Richard everything I had. How ironical that I could not give him what he wanted most.

I was living too long. If I were not here, I reminded myself, he could marry again. He could beget a son and then there would be new hope in the country.

I was taking too long to die. There was a new rumour now. There was nothing too evil they would not say against Richard.

I knew it, by the glances at my food, much of which I took in my chamber, feeling too weak to eat in public. I could see that was in the minds of my women. Snatches of a sentence spoken in a sibilant whisper would reach my ears.

The king was tired of his sick, infertile wife. She was a burden to him, and he could not afford to carry burdens. His own safety was too precariously balanced. He was having her food laced with poison, the quicker to remove her.

It was three months since that Christmas when Elizabeth of York had appeared in a dress exactly like the one I was wearing, showing how different we were dressed alike, to make the contrast more remarkable. She so sparkling, nubile, gleaming with health beside this poor sad creature, thin, pale and ailing.

Someone had prophesied my death and the people in the streets were saying I was already dead.

I discovered this when one of the serving women came upon me suddenly and almost swooned. She cried out: "I have seen the ghost of the queen! Poor lady, she has come back to haunt us. Small wonder ..."

It was disconcerting. I felt I had been buried before I was dead. Killed ... by the poison administered at my husband's command!

I sat in my chair, my hair unbound, a loose robe about me, shocked and bewildered. Richard found me thus.

I said to him: "Why am I so weak? Do you know why, Richard? What have I done to deserve death?"

He took my face in his hands and kissed me.

"Why do you talk thus?" he asked.

"Anne ... my Anne ... you deserve to live and you shall." I shook my head.

"No," is said.

"My time is near. I feel it close. I am sorry I have been so weak."

"Do not talk so, dear Anne," he said.

"You have been so dear to me. You have brought me such comfort in all my adversities. Remember how you pitied me when we were at Middleham? I was so tired ... and you kept my secret." That is long ago, Richard."

"Be of good cheer, Anne. You have no cause to be other." For a moment I believed him and I was ashamed that, even for a short while, I had allowed myself to harbour thoughts against him.

But in the night those doubts came back. He was so kind, so gentle with me. Then why did I have those dark thoughts? Why did I let myself doubt him? He could never marry his niece. He wanted me to stay with him, to comfort him, as I always had.

It was March and with March comes the promise of spring.-But I shall not see that spring.

They say it is an eclipse of the sun. It is significant. Darkness descends on the earth but the earth will be bright again. But there will be no brightness for me. There is darkness all about me. There is so much I shall never see, so much I shall never know.

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