‘My dear Mother, what do you plan?’

‘We may need several plans. We could try the forest first. You might meet him there ... by accident of course. Then you could plead for your inheritance ... for your children.’

Elizabeth studied her mother. She was beginning to feel a growing excitement.


At the head of the cavalcade rode the King and beside him his greatest friend William, Lord Hastings. Hastings was some twelve years older than Edward but there was a strong bond between them. In fact, Edward often thought that he was closer to Hastings than to any other man. He had admired Warwick from his childhood. In fact he had regarded him as a sort of god, greater than any man, even Edward’s own father; it was Warwick who had taught him almost everything he knew and but for Warwick’s clever tactics Edward would not be King today. He would never forget that. But Warwick, although only two years or so older than Hastings, seemed of another generation to Edward.

William’s interests were similar to his, and Edward’s chief inclination at this time was involved with women. Hastings shared his exploits. They would go out together disguised as merchants and look for adventures in the streets of London. It was not easy for Edward to disguise himself, for towering above most people, outstandingly handsome, he was often recognised. Many women’s eyes were brightened at the sight of him and even the most virtuous merchant’s wife would find her heart beating a little faster. Edward had a quality beyond charm and beauty, for since he had become King an aura of royalty had grown up about him but, because he was none the less familiar with his subjects because of it, it added vastly to his attractions. He could mingle with the humblest and make them feel significant. Hastings often said that was the true secret of his charm, even more so than that bounding vitality and that promise of hitherto undreamed of delights amorous adventuring with him could bring.

Hastings himself was not without charm. Less obviously handsome than Edward he was still good-looking; he was fairly tall, with an air of nobility, and was not without his admirers. The trouble was, as he pointed out to Edward, we are all like pale stars compared with the sun.

‘Stars are equally bright in their spheres,’ Edward pointed out.

‘Ah,’ retorted Hastings, ‘but we are in that of the sun.’

Hastings was clever, witty, a good commander and best of all a faithful friend. Edward trusted people too easily, Hastings often told him; but Edward shrugged that aside. He was easygoing, good-natured, bent on pleasure. Or he had been before he became King. He was less so now. Hastings often thought that the change had come about when he had seen his father’s head wearing that paper crown on the walls of York. Perhaps it had been even more horrible to him because beside his father was his younger brother Edmund, Duke of Rutland, that boy who had grown up in the nursery with him and who had adored him as most of the family did. Edward had certainly not been the same since he had witnessed that grisly spectacle.

He had seemed to realise that the world was not merely for pleasure. There was cruelty in it, and cruelty must be met with cruelty. Before he had witnessed that terrible sight he had been inclined to forgive his enemies very easily and sweep away all thoughts of revenge.

Perhaps he had become a little more serious, more inclined to rule on his own account, for people were right when they said that Edward wore the crown but the real ruler was Warwick.

So Hastings, the King’s intimate friend, was the first to realise this new seriousness. It was not a bad thing, he thought. Edward was coming into his own, trying to wriggle free of the strings which Warwick held. How far he would break away from them, Hastings was not sure. But Edward was young yet ... twenty-two years of age and still believing that sexual pleasure was the foremost goal for him.

As they rode into Northamptonshire they were talking as they often did of recent conquests and Edward was wondering what new ones lay ahead.

‘You’ll have to mend your ways a little when you are married,’ Hastings reminded him.

‘A little, perhaps,’ retorted Edward.

‘You should be married soon.’

‘There speaks the married man. He is caught himself and wants the rest of us to be in like case.’

‘Katharine understands me,’ said Hastings easily. ‘She knows that I must have a little licence, being the bosom friend of our King.’

‘My reputation does not stand high in the land it seems.’

‘Your nocturnal adventurings are noticed.’

‘But I am not averse to a little dalliance by day.’

‘You are as five men in the field, they say, and as ten in the bedchamber.’

‘Who says that?’

‘The merchants’ wives of London Town, I believe.’

‘Oh come, William, you flatter me and I think you can give a good account of yourself.’

‘There is none in the land who can begin to rival its King.’

‘Has Warwick expressed an opinion?’

‘Warwick? Why should he to me?’

‘Perhaps to his sister.’

‘I hardly think he would hold such discourse with Katharine.’

‘They are a close family and your being his brother-in-law I thought mayhap he may have said a word to you concerning the King’s indiscretions.’

‘He does not frown on them. I think he applauds them in a way. It is strange how some indiscretions arouse the admiration of the people ... but only when performed by one of irresistible good looks and charm.’

‘He has never suggested to me that I should mend my ways.’

Indeed not, thought Hastings. It suits Warwick well. Let the King amuse himself while Warwick rules. Has Warwick noticed the change in the King he has set up since that fearful day when Edward had ridden into York and seen his dead father’s head in its jaunty paper crown?

If Edward were ever to want to take another road than that chosen for him by Warwick, what would happen? Which one of them would prevail? But no, Edward was too easy-going, too fond of luxurious living; and he did not forget that Warwick had made him King. Edward would want to go on playing the king while Warwick ruled. Or would he?


The King loved to hunt and journeys throughout the kingdom were always enlivened by days spent in the chase. Whenever they came to forest they paused for the sport and if it were good rested for a few days to enjoy it.

So it was at the forest of Whittlebury close to Grafton Manor that the King was enjoying a few days hunting. Everyone at the Manor had been aware of the proximity of the King’s party. If the Rivers had been Yorkists it was very likely that the King would have honoured them with his presence. As Lord Rivers had always been a staunch Lancastrian it was certain that he would not, for which, in a way, Jacquetta had said, they should be truly grateful. ‘To entertain the King would impoverish us for the next five years. Our way of living cannot match his, I do assure you.’

But there were secrets in Jacquetta’s eyes and she had managed to convey these to her daughter. Jacquetta knew something was going to happen. Elizabeth could guess that by the far-off look in her eyes. Elizabeth could never be sure whether her mother really did see into the future or whether she dreamed up a possibility and then used all her ingenuity to make it happen.

‘Take the boys,’ she had said, ‘and go into the forest. There is an oak-tree – the largest in the area. It is just where Pury Park ends and Grafton begins. Sit there with the boys and wait.’

‘Why should I do that?’

‘I have heard the royal party are hunting in that vicinity today.’

Jacquetta had means of finding out these things. She surrounded herself with intrigue and her servants were drawn into it. There was no doubt that she would glean knowledge of the royal party’s whereabouts through that communication between her servants and those of other noble houses.

‘It may well be,’ said Jacquetta, ‘that you will see someone to whom you can plead your cause. You have done no harm. It was your husband who fought for the Lancastrians. He is dead. You are ready to accept the new King. It might be that you could make someone understand this.’

Elizabeth stared at her mother. Jacquetta had always been bold and sometimes her schemes had worked out. It was only necessary to consider how she had married the man of her choice in view of the opposition of powerful men.

Jacquetta had gone to the cupboard and was pulling out dresses.

‘This blue is most becoming. It is very simple too. I think it suits you as well as anything you have. Looks such as yours show to perfection against simplicity. Your hair should be quite loose ... no ribands to bind it ... nothing ... no ornaments of any sort except this silver girdle to stress how small your waist is. At ten o’clock the party sets out. They will have to pass the oak if they are hunting in this forest. If you are waiting there ...’

Jacquetta had not mentioned the King but Elizabeth knew that he was in her mind.

So she must play the suppliant, something her proud nature rebelled against. But she was tired of being poor, of seeing no way out of her predicament but marriage to someone who could give her a little comfort and help her sons to make good marriages. It was a dreary prospect.

If she could regain her husband’s confiscated estates she would at least be free. Then she could choose a husband if she wanted to marry again and at least her children would have what was due to them.

But why should the Yorkists reward those who had fought against them? Was it not a hopeless cause? Jacquetta did not think so and Jacquetta had that strange prophetic look in her eyes.