So, just as she had agreed to make a pact of friendship with Warwick she now agreed that there should be a betrothal between his daughter and her son.
What intoxication to contemplate the future! Warwick was almost ready to strike. He was succeeding as he had known he would. Louis had promised him forty-six thousand crowns and two thousand French archers. Jasper Tudor had arrived in France; Jasper had never wavered in his loyalty to the Lancastrian cause and now that Warwick was with them his hopes were high. He had men whom he could trust waiting in Wales to fight for King Henry.
There were many conferences in which Warwick laid his plans before Margaret. She would never like him, of course; but she had to admire him. She often thought during those days of how differently everything might have turned out if he had been for them and not against them.
‘The Prince of Wales shall be the Regent,’ he had said. ‘For he is of an age to govern and I doubt very much that the King will be well enough to do so after such a long incarceration.’
That suited Margaret. She would be at his side. She would guide him. Oh how happy she would be to see her darling son preparing to govern his Kingdom!
Clarence would have his reward for turning against his brother. He should have all his brother’s lands. Clarence was not sure that this was enough reward. He had had his eyes on the crown. But there was time. Who knew what the outcome of this would be and there might be a few battles to be fought.
As for Margaret she should have the care of the Prince’s betrothed. She should teach Anne her ways and what would be expected of her as wife to the Prince of Wales. Margaret was delighted. She could not help but like the gentle Anne, and every day she was less against the match than she had previously been. She had made it clear that the marriage should not take place until Henry was on the throne, and to this Warwick had agreed.
Warwick left and sailed for Devonshire with Clarence, Jasper Tudor and the Earl of Oxford while Margaret settled down to wait. That was mid-September and it was not until October that the news came.
She could scarcely believe it. It had happened. She called the Prince to her; she embraced him with fervour.
‘He has done it,’ she said. ‘God be thanked, Warwick has put Henry back on the throne.’
It had all gone according to plan. Edward had foolishly allowed himself to be lured to the North to quell the rising in answer to the call for help from John Neville.
No sooner was he there when Warwick landed. John Neville then called to his men and told them that they were now going to bring back the true King. In fact his brother was already engaged in doing this. They were tired of the growing arrogance of the Woodvilles and the new nobility which the Queen was creating. All those who agreed with him could follow him south to join the armies of the great Warwick. Warwick’s name acted like magic.
‘In the morning.’ said Neville, ‘we will take the King.’
Edward had some faithful servants and one of them immediately hurried to tell him what had happened. Edward was sitting at dinner when the servant arrived and realizing his position decided that there was only one course open to him and that was flight.
‘If we stay we shall be captured...and murdered I doubt not,’ he said. ‘Warwick will know better than to try to make a captive of me. We must get away...but only for a while.’
There were some eight hundred of them including Hastings and his young brother Richard. They rode to the coast and reached Lynn where they found ships to take them to Holland.
‘Better to live to fight another day,’ said Edward. ‘I would never have believed this of Warwick.’
‘A curse on him,’ cried Richard. ‘The traitor.’
‘Nay, brother,’ said Edward. ‘He was a good friend to me. That is why I know he will be a good enemy. Our ways parted. He wanted to go on leading me and I am out of leading strings. I always liked Warwick. Methinks I always will.’
Henry blinked at the men who stood before him. He thought he recognized them from the past. Was one Archbishop George Neville and the other Bishop Waynflete?
The two men stared at him in shocked silence. His hair was unkempt, his face and hands dirty. His clothes hung on him. ‘He looked,’ said the Archbishop afterwards to his brother the Earl, ‘like a sack of wool...a shadow...and he was as mute as a crowned calf. He had no notion of why we had come. He was bemused and after a while we heard him murmuring "Forsooth and forsooth."‘
‘My lord,’ said the Archbishop, ‘we have come to take you from this place. Your loyal subject the Earl of Warwick...’
Henry looked more bewildered. There was so much explaining to do. They must take him from the Tower, wash him, clothe him in garments suited to his rank and feed him.
They brought him quietly from the Tower and took him away by barge so that none of his subjects might see the wreck he had become.
When Warwick saw him he was horrified.
‘How dared they treat a King so!’ he cried.
He had forgotten that until recently he had been one of those responsible for Henry’s captivity.
That was over now. Henry was going to be King. Edward had flown. His wife would be joining him and so would his son. He would be amazed to see the Prince—as handsome and fine an heir as ever was seen.
It took Henry a long time to grasp what was happening. He murmured prayers most of the time. There was no sign of rejoicing. It almost seemed that he would have preferred to stay where he was.
Margaret was jubilant. Edward in flight; Henry restored. It was a miracle. And Warwick had done it. She had to admit that. He was not called King-Maker for nothing. And if he would be loyal the future could be bright. She had been right to suppress her pride. And now nothing should stand in the way of Edward’s marriage to Anne Neville. She owed that to Warwick for she had promised that when Henry was restored to the throne the marriage should take place.
Now that promise must be kept.
It was a grand wedding. August had just come in and that was the best time for a wedding. So many of the festivities took place out of doors. The King of France was present. The wedding was almost as much of his making as it was Warwick’s. He was delighted. He saw an end to his enemy, Edward of England. It was always comforting when other people fought one’s battles and Warwick had done that for him. Therefore he was delighted to grace Warwick’s daughter’s wedding with his presence.
It was a joyful occasion and Margaret was happy. There was no friction even between her and Yolande. It was a most felicitous occasion and perhaps the most happy part of it was the obvious affection which was growing up between the handsome Prince and his charming bride.
And now to Paris with a guard of honour to escort them and in the capital city they must be given royal treatment because that was the King’s express order. The streets were hung with tapestry and there was music everywhere.
Only one thing could delight Margaret more and that was to return to England and find a similar welcome awaiting her there.
So much time had to be spent at the various towns on her journey through France that it was February before she reached Barfleur and was ready to sail. Then the weather had turned rough, the wind was fierce and the waves pounded the shore, so that she was advised it would be folly to set sail. Impatiently she glowered at the sea. It was all important that she reach England. She wanted to see Henry; she wanted to show their son to him and the country. For days she waited and when the seas abated a little, in spite of warnings she insisted on setting out. Within a short time the ships were back in port. To go on, declared the captains, would mean to lose them.