He was a man who needed many women and none could say he had not had his share. He needed Elizabeth—cool calm mother of his children; and he needed warm and loving Jane; and it was to Jane he would go at times like this.
Jane knew at once what ailed him. She was no fool and she interested herself in state affairs because they were his concern. She knew of the trial George had been to him and how he had to wrestle with himself before he could give the order to kill.
She stroked his hair; she was motherly on this occasion because it was what was needed. Instinctively she knew that was the phase of their relationship which was required. She must soothe him, repeat that he had been over generous, as he had.
'How many would have despatched him long ago?' he demanded not for the first time.
Jane could assure him that few would have been so lenient. He had forgiven Clarence again and again. Had his mischievous brother not joined Warwick and come against him? He had forgiven him then, which was magnanimous.
Jane assured him that he had only done what was necessary for his own safety and for that of the country.
Oh yes, it was indeed soothing to be with Jane. He was lucky to have found such a woman. Others sought her, he knew. That rake of a stepson of his, Dorset, had his eyes on her. Sometimes Edward wondered about them. Dorset was very good looking . . . and young. He was a cynical young man; inclined to be brutal, and he hoped Jane would never go to him.
Hastings had his eyes on her too. Well, Hastings was as profligate as Edward himself was. They had been companions in many nocturnal adventures and they still pursued them with the same gusto—or almost. Yes, Hastings undoubtedly had a tender spot for Jane. Oddly enough he believed that Hastings' feelings were similar to his own. They both realized that there was something special about Jane.
Poor Hastings! He had to keep off. Edward had made it clear that he was in no mind to share Jane.
So he felt better for a while after a sojourn with her.
But later of course the haunting returned.
The weeks were passing. People did not talk quite so often of
the death of the Duke of Clarence and ask themselves whether he had fallen into the butt of malmsey or had been pushed into it.
In time even events like that were forgotten.
Edward ceased to think of his brother every morning when he awoke. It was only occasionally now when he would suffer that sudden catch of his breath as he realized he had condemned his own brother to death. Clarence deserved it, he kept assuring himself. He had to die. It was Clarence or disaster. The country was not safe while Clarence lived.
There was one other matter which disturbed him. He had imprisoned Robert Stillington in the Tower and tried to forget him. But that was not possible of course. He had to do something about the man.
It was now three months since he had been imprisoned.
Edward made up his mind that he could not allow him to remain there indefinitely. Questions would be asked. It was not as though Stillington was an insignificant person.
It was on a bright June day when Edward rode to the Tower and slipping in without ceremony ordered that he should be conducted to the room in which Bishop Stillington was held.
When he arrived, the Bishop hastily rose and hope shone in his eyes as he bowed low.
Robert Stillington was an ambitious man; he had chosen the Church as his profession not only because it suited his nature but because he saw means of advancing himself through it. He had shown himself to be an able man and preferment had come to him. He was now the Bishop of Bath and Wells. For a time he had been Lord Chancellor being a strong Yorkist but on the return of the Lancastrians in 1470 he had been deprived of his office. Edward had reinstated him but he had resigned from the office a few years later. Yet he and Edward had worked together on occasions. Edward had felt uneasy about the Tudors for they had made themselves prominent in the Lancastrian cause and he particularly suspected Jasper of subversive planning from Brittany. Jasper was getting old but he had with him his nephew Henry Tudor and by the way in which he kept that boy, nurtured him and trained him, suggested that he might have plans for him.
Edward had considered Henry Tudor. Unfortunately his mother was Margaret Beaufort descended from John of Gaunt and of course the Tudors said they had royal blood because of that connection with Henry the Fifth's Queen. It was a myster-
ious relationship. Some were sure there had been a marriage, others said there had not. But in any case it was a very flimsy claim. Still, there was a strength about the Tudors, and Edward had decided that he would be more at peace if jasper and his nephew Henry were in his care. He had sent Stillington to bargain with the Duke of Brittany to bring them out of that country and to England but as old Jasper discovered what was afoot and escaped with his precious nephew that had come to nothing. It was however no fault of Srillington.
Now the two faced each other and Edward studied the Bishop intently.
'So, my lord Bishop,' he said, 'you have spent the spring in this place.'
'It is so, my lord.'
'It was well deserved,' said Edward.
The Bishop bowed his head and said nothing.
'You spoke ill chosen words where it was most unwise to do so.'
'That was so, my lord.'
'My brother is now dead.'
An almost imperceptible shiver crossed Stillington's face. By God, thought Edward, he believes I have come to murder him.
'I am a lenient man. Bishop,' he said quickly. 'Do you agree with that?'
'My lord, none could have been more so to the Duke.'
'So because I act kindly towards men, because I understand their foibles and sometimes forgive, there are those who think it is amusing to provoke me since it will bring no punishment.'
'I never thought that, my lord.'
'Andyet. . .andyet. . . .'
Edward's eyes had started to blaze. He was rarely angry but when he was he could be fierce. Shllington knew this and trembled.
He went down on his knees. 'My lord,' he said, 'I ask your forgiveness. I swear nothing shall pass my lips again.'
The King was thoughtful. He looked down at the Bishop's head and was thinking of that occasion ... so long ago now it seemed. He could see them all in the little room—Eleanor, seeming so desirable then. Worth all the trouble. Virtuous, beautiful . . . the sort of woman a man had to make sacrifices for. And he had not been a king then. The Bishop had warned him, this very
Bishop. Pompous old fool, he had thought. What did Bishops know of love?
And so there had been that ceremony . . . that fateful ceremony which if it were brought to light could wreak what damage? His marriage to Elizabeth no marriage at all! His son . . . little Edward a bastard and that would apply to all his children. Oh no, it must be stopped at all costs. At all costs. Clarence had paid with his life. The secret would never have been safe with Clarence. Once Clarence knew, once he had spoken of it, that had to be the end of him.
And now the Bishop. . . . But the Bishop was not Clarence. The Bishop was a man of good sense. He had babbled. He had made a fatal error. He knew it now. He had learned the bitter lesson for three long months.
He would not commit such an error again.
'Get up,' said Edward.
The Bishop rose and Edward looked at him steadily.
'You have been foolish. Bishop,' he said. 'Do you agree with me?'
'Indeed I do, my lord.'
'You and I were good friends once.'
'My lord, I trust we still are.'
'When you seek to harm me?'
'My lord, what I did was done through carelessness ... I whispered ... I talked ... I could cut my tongue out now.'