But in the meantime victory. Warwick was dead and although he could not rejoice wholeheartedly none could doubt this was in his favour.

He savoured those few days in Baynard’s Castle with Elizabeth. He was glad of her coolness and the irresistible urge to break it down was possibly what had kept his passion so alive. He might go with others but he would always return to her. She was unique. Moreover she was the mother of the royal children. Sometimes he had uneasy thoughts of Eleanor Butler and that ceremony through which he had gone. But Eleanor was dead now and that was all in the past. But he had discovered that she had been alive at the time of that secret ceremony at Grafton. And if that ceremony were binding then what of Elizabeth and the children?

Oh it was long since forgotten and if anyone started to probe into that woe betide them.

So he put it out of his mind and savoured these few days of respite for it was pleasant to be shut in with this happy family atmosphere even if it were only temporary. Elizabeth had quickly filled the nursery with people whom she considered necessary to the Prince’s rank. There was a widow named Avice Wells who was nurse to the Prince; and there was Elizabeth Darcy who was mistress of the little Prince’s nursery. That was not enough and Elizabeth persuaded Edward that their little son should have a chamberlain.

That had amused Edward.

‘At his age, my dear. Why should a baby not a year old need a chamberlain?’

‘To carry him in ceremonies ... for the people must get to know their Prince. And they must be aware at once, Edward, of the importance of the Prince.’

So to please her he had appointed one of his own best servants, Thomas Vaughan, to attend the Prince at all times.

Young Edward lay contentedly in his cradle unaware of all the fuss that was going on around him.

Into this happy domestic scene the news burst. Edward had been waiting for it and now that it had come immediate action was imperative.

Margaret of Anjou and her son Edward, calling himself Prince of Wales, had landed at Weymouth.


Anne was waiting in the small religious house outside Tewkesbury, well aware that the battle was raging between the troops of Edward of York and those who had rallied to the banner of King Henry. She knew that her father had been slain at Barnet and in her heart she felt there was little hope of victory without him.

She wanted nothing more than an end to this war. They had betrothed her to the Prince and she believed that they might live in some sort of harmony together. She was not forceful like Margaret and would not attempt to impose her will on anyone. She often thought of Richard of Gloucester and this odd turn of fate which had set them on different sides. Richard would be beside his brother whatever happened; and she of course had to be on her father’s.

Yet I care nothing for their wars, she thought.

How different was Margaret. A pleasant relationship had grown up between them which was strange because they were so different – she so docile, Margaret so fierce. Poor Margaret! It had been a fearful blow to her when she had heard that Warwick was dead. She was rather frightening in her rages, when she cursed everything and everyone in sight.

And now she had gone off with the troops to fight against Edward, and that other Edward, Anne’s betrothed, was with her. Anne herself was bewildered. To wish them success would be to wish Richard defeat and in her heart she could not do that. She did not know what to pray for, what to hope for; she felt lost and bewildered.

At this moment the battle was raging and at any time she might know the result.

She went to the top of the house and looked out on the road. She sat there for a long time ... waiting.

Then at last she saw them coming ... a bedraggled party ... and riding with them was Margaret and she knew that tragedy had struck.


Margaret was overwhelmed by her grief. This was the end. It was painful to see a proud woman so bereft of everything but her sorrow.

Her son was dead ... killed in battle, and she would never be the same again. Much of the fire had gone from her and she had become an old woman.

Anne tried to comfort her, but there was no comfort for Margaret.

‘All that youth ... all that beauty ... gone ... gone,’ she mourned. ‘They murdered him. They could have left me my son. We are lost. There can be nothing more. They have my husband in the Tower ... they have killed my son. All my hope was in him ... I have lost my beautiful boy and you my child have lost your husband.’

Anne did not know what to do. She tried to soothe Margaret; she took her to a quiet room and somehow induced her to lie upon a bed. Poor Margaret lay still for a while staring up blankly into misery.

But she could not remain passive for long. She rose. She began to call curses on everyone, but most of all on the man she called the Usurper. ‘Edward who calls himself King ... he has murdered my beautiful son and may his soul rot in hell.’

It was foolish to give way to her anger for there were those to carry an account of her curses to Edward. He was usually lenient to his enemies but she made him uneasy with her curses; and the death of the Prince had brought about new complications which were occupying his thoughts. Henry had been safe while Edward lived for to have removed Henry would have been of no avail while his son was there to step into his shoes. But now there was no Lancastrian heir. There was only a half-imbecile recluse between Edward and safety.

All the same Margaret must be silenced. Fortunately the people had always hated her and without her son and her husband she would be no danger at all.

While he was considering these matters news came to him of an insurrection which had broken out in the North. He started to march north but had only got as far as Coventry when he heard that the Bastard Falconbridge had landed in England and was marching on London. This man was an illegitimate son of William Neville Baron of Falconbridge whom Warwick had made Captain of his navy, the duty of which was to cruise about the Channel and intercept any ships which Edward might be sending to France. This was far more serious than any rising in the North and Edward immediately turned and began to march south.

Hearing that Falconbridge had come through Kent recruiting men to follow him and fight for King Henry, and that he had reached Aldgate and when refused admission by the Londoners had set fire to the eastern outskirts of the city, Elizabeth was terrified. Her brother Earl Rivers advised her not to go into Sanctuary this time but to stay in the Tower which was well fortified for he was sure that Edward would soon arrive to quell this petty revolt.

He was right and when the Bastard realised that Edward’s mighty and victorious army was marching against him and that the battle of Tewkesbury had decided that the cause of the Red Rose was lost, he knew that his only chance lay in flight.

He scattered his followers and they escaped as well as they could, the Bastard himself reaching Southampton where he was captured, taken to Middleham and there beheaded.

It was the end of resistance, and Edward could now count himself victorious. There was only Margaret, whom he intended to hold captive, and poor mad Henry in the Tower.

Margaret and Anne were brought to London where the King was planning to make his triumphant entry into the city. He could not forget the curses Margaret had uttered against him and he wanted her – and everyone – to realise that she was finally defeated. He gave orders that she and Anne Neville should ride in the procession; they should share the same chariot and it should be made clear that they were prisoners. Instead of riding in triumph as no doubt Margaret had imagined herself doing, she should come in humiliation. She should listen to the jeers of the people for her, the humiliated captive.

Edward was cheered wildly by the people of London. This procession, this triumphant entry meant that the war was over. This big handsome man was their King and he was the King they wanted because he could bring prosperity and peace back to the country.

And there were the captives – arrogant Margaret who brought trouble from the moment she stepped ashore as Henry’s bride and with her poor pale little Anne Neville, heiress daughter of the great Earl who had hoped she would be Queen of England.

There were jeers for Margaret and no great sympathy for Anne. They had a handsome Queen. It was true she had sought favours for her family; but she had lived through the difficult days in Sanctuary and while there had produced the all-important male heir. Moreover she was beautiful and never could a more handsome King and Queen have graced a throne.

So all was well. Peace had come. Edward had vanquished his enemy. Was this the end then of the Wars of the Roses?

They believed so and as they were heartily sick of wars they cheered the man who had brought them peace.

Back to the Palace of the Tower. There to rest after the procession. Margaret and Anne were taken into separate apartments while the King and his company went to the dining-hall to the feast which had been prepared for them.

Richard was on one side of the King, Elizabeth on the other. Edward felt a deep affection for this brother who had never shown anything but loyalty to him; it was wonderful to have someone whom he could trust.

But Richard was sad. The sight of Anne seated beside Margaret in the chariot had touched him deeply. Poor little Anne, who had done nothing but what she had been made to. He could not forget her and memories of childhood days were flooding back to him.