She knew why he delayed. It was because thinking of the post reminded him of Warwick and strangely enough in spite of all that scheming Earl had done, he was still fond of him. Edward’s moods might seem strange to some but she understood them. She knew of his devotion to his family; this had been proved by his weakness – she could only call it that – in forgiving Clarence who was only waiting for a chance to betray him again. She understood the force of family ties – none better – but the Woodvilles worked for each other whereas Edward’s brother and some of his kinsmen had their eyes on what brought them the greatest reward.

‘You will have to appoint a Captain soon,’ she reminded him.

He was silent. His thoughts seemed elsewhere. Were they with the goldsmith’s wife?

‘Anthony has served you well. He loves you dearly. I was wondering if you would ...’

Edward was smiling at her benignly. He is going to agree, she thought.

His words were shattering: ‘I have already bestowed the Captaincy,’ he said.

She stared at him in amazement. If it had been given to Anthony she would have known at once. She had seen him only that day.

‘I wanted to reward Hastings,’ went on the King. ‘He has been a good friend ... and he was eager for it.’

Hastings! Her enemy! She had the greatest difficulty in curbing her anger.

She was not looking at the King at that moment, because she was afraid to; she could have slapped his handsome, smiling face. Calais ... for Hastings, her enemy! That man who accompanied Edward in his adventures with women and urged him on to greater lechery.

Hastings! The man she hated. She would be his bitter enemy from now on.

When she turned back to the King she was smiling and all the bitterness had been wiped from her face.

She was remembering Jacquetta’s warning. Perhaps she must be doubly careful now.


Elizabeth discussed the matter of Hastings’, appointment to the Captaincy of Calais with her brother Anthony. He was about a year younger than she was and perhaps the most able of her family. He had married well and through his wife had gained the title of Baron Scales. Being the eldest son he had become Lord Rivers on the death of their father and had advanced rapidly since his sister became Queen of England and was always watchful for improving his state. The King had become quite fond of him; he had his share of the Woodville good looks and had distinguished himself at the jousts where he was considered to be a champion.

Elizabeth knew how he had set his heart on Calais and she guessed what a great disappointment the selection of Hastings must be to him.

‘Of course Hastings is as debauched as the King himself,’ said Anthony, knowing it was safe to speak so to his sister. Elizabeth had never attempted to deny Edward’s flagrant infidelities within her family circle and Jacquetta had always complimented her on her treatment of them.

‘There could not be such a complacent queen in history,’ Jacquetta used to say. ‘Oh how wise you are, my daughter. Your attitude to his philandering makes you irresistible to him.’

She was right. Edward would never have endured a carping wife.

He had always seemed ready to reward her for her attitude to his way of life by granting her requests as long as they did not interfere with his intentions. This matter of Hastings and Calais had been settled before she could as much as hint where she wanted the Captaincy to go.

‘Is there no way of turning his favour from Hastings?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘They have always been friends. They have roamed the streets of London at night together; they have urged each other on to more and more outrageous adventures ... long before you came on the scene, sister.’

‘I know it well. I blame Hastings for much of the King’s night adventures. Hastings is a profligate, a rake and a philanderer.’

‘Well, Edward knows that as well as any and he continues to give him his friendship.’

‘They are two of a kind,’ said Elizabeth vehemently.

Anthony was alarmed to see his sister so intense, fearing she might betray her feelings to the King. They owed their prosperity to Elizabeth’s relationship with the King; it must not change. No, there was no need to remind Elizabeth of that. She was as much aware of it as any of them.

‘So,’ said Anthony, ‘we should not turn the King away from him by a complaint against his immoral way of life.’

‘You mean ... there could be some other way?’

Her eyes were alight with purpose and again Anthony felt that tremor of disquiet. He laid a hand on her arm. ‘There might be a way.’

‘How?’

‘He has a large household of retainers. There are many who serve ...’

‘Well?’

‘There may be some member of that retinue who is a little dissatisfied ... a little envious of another ... one who feels he has not been justly treated.’

‘And if he were found?’

‘He might discover something against Hastings ... some little plot involving the King.’

‘Edward would never believe a thing against Hastings.’

‘It might be possible to remind him that once he was loth to believe Warwick was a traitor to him.’

‘First you must find something against Hastings.’

‘I will,’ Anthony promised.

Elizabeth nodded. And once Hastings was proved to be a traitor it would be a simple matter to suggest that the Captaincy should be given to one whom he could trust and whom could the King trust more than his own brother-in-law?


Hastings could not believe it. There was whispering about him. What had he done? He could find no answer to that. Who should be his enemy? Perhaps a husband of one of the women he had seduced? But which one? There were too many of them for him to guess.

It was a strange feeling.

Clarence looked at him slyly, almost invitingly. What did he mean? Hastings had always suspected that Clarence was looking about him, seeking some way of destroying his brother. Hastings wanted none of such matters. He was Edward’s friend; he had always been Edward’s friend and he wanted to remain so.

Sometimes he laughed at this shadow which was beginning to grow bigger. It was ridiculous. Who had started such rumours?

He suspected the Queen. She did not like him because he often shared the King’s nocturnal adventures. He supposed it was natural for a wife not to care for her husband’s companion in debauchery. They often went out together in some sort of disguise, usually dressed as merchants. Edward had a childish pleasure in keeping his identity secret and then suddenly revealing it. It was hard for him to remain incognito. He was so tall for one thing; he was outstandingly handsome and if he were growing somewhat too fat and there were pouches beginning to form under his magnificent eyes, he was still very good-looking. He would be known in merchant’s clothes as surely as if he wore one of his favourite devices – the rose-en-soleil emblazoned on his cloak. Hastings had once remarked how appropriate that one particularly was. ‘You are like the sun in splendour, Edward,’ he had said. ‘You arose on the dark world of poor mad Henry’s country and you took the crown and dazzled us all. And here you are high in the sky ... in all your splendour.’

Edward had laughed and called Hastings a romantic poet. But he had liked what he had said; and Hastings noticed he used the badge – a combination of the blazing sun and the rose of York – more than any other.

And how could Edward ever believe that he, William Lord Hastings, was not the truest friend he had ever had?

Sometimes he wondered what the Queen whispered to him in the connubial bed at night. What poison did she drop into Edward’s ear about his faithful friend? It was said that the Queen never meddled, never advised the King, never mentioned state matters or questioned his decisions. But there were ways, of course.

Once he caught Edward regarding him very coolly indeed as though he were assessing him, suspecting him, and he felt himself go cold with apprehension. Edward had changed from the golden youth who used to slip out into the streets of London with his good friend, looking for adventure. Edward still sought adventures; his appetites were as voracious as ever; but he was different. Warwick had deceived him. Warwick had pretended to be his friend so that he had no notion that he was planning to rise against him. And then Edward was forced to flee into exile.

He never recovered from that. Who would? It had changed the light-hearted trusting young man into a hard one ... a suspicious one. Clarence had deceived him too. But perhaps he had never thought very much of Clarence. But that Warwick should have turned against him had done something to Edward which would leave its mark forever.

He was ready to suspect his best friend.

Warwick, he would say to himself. And now ... Hastings!

So when Edward looked at him with that cold assessment in his eyes Hastings trembled. He had noticed for some time that Edward had chosen other companions and Hastings was now never alone in the King’s company. There always seemed to be some member of the Woodville family with him – either his Queen’s brother or young Thomas Grey, her eldest son by her first marriage. What had Edward been told? Who were Hastings’s enemies?

He did not have to look far. He knew it was the Woodvilles. The Queen herself. They disliked anyone to be in favour with the King; and it suddenly dawned on him that they might have been angered by his appointment to Calais. The post was one of the most important that could be bestowed on a man; that trading post, the centre through which passed so many goods: leather, wool, tin and lead to be exported to Burgundy, graded and taxed, meant prosperity to the country and who should reap the reward of all this more than any, but the Captain. Yes, it must be the Captaincy of Calais. When he came to think of it this suspicion had grown up since his appointment.