Duchess of York, and his eldest daughter Elizabeth.
As the ceremony was performed the torches were lighted and the little Duke of York with his wife Anne Mowbray together with Lord Hastings were all witnesses of the ceremony. After the baby had been carried to the high Altar the most costly gifts were presented and when the processions to the Queen's apartments took place the gifts were carried by the knights and esquires before the young Princess.
There the Queen, a little languid but as brilliantly beautiful as ever, waited with the King to receive those who had taken part in the ceremony.
The baby was taken to her nursery and the company circulated about the Queen and the King. The beauty and good health of the baby were discussed at length and the King sat back watching them all. He was in a somewhat pensive mood on that day. Perhaps it was the birth of another child and the recent death of little George which had made him so. He had a premonition that this might be the last child he and Elizabeth would have. They had eight now—all beautiful, all children of whom he could be proud. His eldest son would be King on his death; his eldest daughter Elizabeth would be Queen of Ffance. He had much on which to congratulate himself.
As in every assembly of this sort there was a goodly sprinkling of Woodvilles. Elizabeth saw to that, and in any case they now held all the key positions in the country. He had been weak about that . . . letting Elizabeth rule him. But he had liked the Woodvilles for themselves; they were handsome and charming; they flattered him blatantly of course but he liked flattery. Dorset, his stepson, was a rake who had even dared make advances to Jane Shore, but he enjoyed Dorset's company. Hastings was there— dear old William, good and faithful friend since the days of their extreme youth. What adventures they had had then, vying with each other, notching up the conquests.
Then a faint feeling of unease came over him. Hastings could never disguise the fact that he deplored the rise of the Woodvilles. Elizabeth hated Hastings. Richard who was not here today disliked the Woodvilles and had never really accepted Elizabeth. He was pobte and did all that was expected of him, but beneath the courtesy there was suspicion and distrust. And Elizabeth and her family had not endeared themselves to those of the most noble houses in the country. They were still referred to as upstarts.
For the first time he was thinking of death ... his own death. He wondered what had put such a thought into his head. Was it the birth of a new child; seeing little Richard there with his wife Anne Mowbray—such babies—and thinking of Edward in Ludlow with a household almost entirely made up of Wood-villes? Would Edward be able to step into his shoes? Not yet. There had to be many years before that happened. Young Edward was not as strong as his parents would have wished. There was a deficiency somewhere which affected his bones and he would never be the size of his father. Edward knew how that great height of his had stood him in good stead.
But why think of these things on such a day.
There was Elizabeth looking not so very much older than she had on the day he had first seen her in the forest, though a great deal more regal, of course, more sleek, accustomed to the homage paid to royalty. They could have more children yet. More healthy sons perhaps to follow young Edward and Richard.
Then his eyes fell on the Countess of Richmond. A comely woman, Margaret Beaufort, perhaps a year or so younger than himself. Married now to Sir Henry Stafford but still calling herself the Countess of Richmond— a title she had acquired through her marriage to Edmund Tudor.
The Tudors had always irritated him. They had been good fighters and always the adversaries of the House of York. Naturally, they considered themselves to be the legitimate offspring of Queen Katherine and half-brothers to Henry the Sixth. They might be. It was possible that there had been a marriage between Queen Katherine and Owen Tudor. Then of course Margaret Beaufort herself was the daughter and heiress of John Beaufort, eldest son of John of Gaunt and Catherine Swynford.
He wondered if they had been wise to let Margaret come to Court. She had been quiet and showed no desire to do anything but serve her sovereign. But there was that son of hers, bom of her first marriage with Edmund Tudor. He was skulking abroad at the moment and he had his uncle Jasper with him.
Somehow it was not very comforting to think of the Tudors free. Surely they would not have the temerity to consider for a moment that they had any right to the throne! No, that would be absurd. But there was something about them ... a singleness of purpose ... an aura of some sort. It had been there in Owen and had stayed with him until the time of his execution in the market-
square of Hereford. He had even made a flamboyant exit. Edward remembered how a woman had washed his face and combed the hair on his poor severed head.
An insidious thought had darted into his mind. Beware of the Tudors.
Then it was gone and a warm feeling of well-being followed.
Life was good. All was going well in England. The King of France dared do nothing but send his annual pension and very soon he would be sending for the King's eldest daughter to be the bride of the Dauphin and the future Queen of France.
These were appropriate thoughts on such an occasion. On the birth of one daughter he should be thinking of the glorious prospects which were about to be opened to another.
Two peaceful years had passed. The King had grown a little fatter, the pouches were a little more defined under his eyes and his complexion had taken on a slightly deeper hue; his energy was as unflagging as ever. He could still occupy himself with state matters and commerce with an amazing skill and at the same time spend his nights in luxurious debauchery.
There might perhaps have been a slackening off of his sexual adventures. He had three mistresses now. They were the merriest, the wittiest and the most pious, he declared laughingly; and he was clearly satisfied with them all. It was not that he had given up the stray encounter but he did not go off in disguise as he had in his youth. Hastings and Dorset were still his companions; and each of them had a reputation almost as bad as his own.
But the people continued to love him. They did not want a monk. They had had that with Henry the Sixth. Edward had the reins of the realm firmly in his hands. He was driving along at a steady pace and everyone had come to understand that his method was so much better than those of other kings. They had had great conquerors, but what had happened to the conquests when the conqueror passed away? Some other king lost them. There had been King John, Edward the Second, Henry the Sixth. What had become of their predecessors' victories when they were in power? They were lost, frittered away, and it was as though they had never been. But the wool trade could prosper; a king
who had arranged that the King of France should support his country and so relieve his people of exorbitant taxes was a good king indeed.
There had been two sad incidents. The first was the death of little Anne Mowbray. Richard Duke of York had become an eight-year-old widower. The little girl herself had not been quite ten years old and she was with the Queen's household at Greenwich when she had passed away. Elizabeth had been saddened by her death for she had loved the little girl and she had always said it was so charming to see her and Richard together. The child was buried in Westminster Abbey and it was fortunate, said Elizabeth, that the possessions she had brought to her young husband were to remain his even though his wife had died before him and they had no children.
So apart from the unfortunate death of the child, the little Duke of York had come well out of his marriage. That was what Elizabeth liked to see—the most cherished possessions of the kingdom falling into her family's hands.