The sun in splendour, p.1
The Sun in Splendour, page 1
About the Book
Reckoned by those about him to be the most handsome man in the country, Edward the fourth has risen to the throne with the help of Warwick, the kingmaker. But even Warwick’s trusted advice cannot convince the King to ignore his passion for the beautiful widow, Elizabeth Woodville – and when she refuses to become his mistress the two are married.
Beloved of the people, Edward proves himself to be a strong king, but his love of luxurious living soon begins to impact on his royal duties. Despite his mistresses, Elizabeth is loyal to the illustrious king, providing him with many children, among them Edward the fifth and Richard Duke of York. But Edward lived recklessly and on his death an incident from his past comes to light that will change the course of history . . .
Praise for Jean Plaidy
‘If you like Philippa Gregory or Barbara Erskine, take a step back in time with Jean Plaidy’ Woman and Home
‘One of the country’s most widely read novelists’ Sunday Times
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Published by Arrow Books 2009
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Copyright © Jean Plaidy, 1982
Initial lettering copyright © Stephen Raw, 2008
The Estate of Eleanor Hibbert has asserted its right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to have Jean Plaidy identified as the author of this work.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
First published in Great Britain in 1982 by Robert Hale Limited
The Random House Group Limited
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Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm
The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9780099532989
Contents
Cover Page
About the Book
Title Page
Copyright Page
Praise for Jean Plaidy
About the Author
Further titles available in Arrow by Jean Plaidy
SUNRISE
I: The Meeting in Whittlebury Forest
II: The Secret Marriage
III: The Queen’s Revenge
IV: In Sanctuary
HIGH NOON
V: Richard’s Wooing
VI: Hastings in Danger
VII: The French Adventure
VIII: A Butt of Malmsey
IX: Death at Westminster
SUNSET
X: The King and Protector
XI: Jane Shore
XII: Death on Tower Green
XIII: ‘My Life was Lent’
XIV: King Richard the Third
XV: Buckingham
XVI: Rumours
XVII: Bosworth Field
Bibliography
Praise for Jean Plaidy
‘Plaidy excels at blending history with romance and drama’
New York Times
‘Outstanding’
Vanity Fair
‘Full-blooded, dramatic, exciting’
Observer
‘Plaidy has brought the past to life’
Times Literary Supplement
‘One of our best historical novelists’
News Chronicle
‘An excellent story’
Irish Press
‘Spirited . . . Plaidy paints the truth as she sees it’
Birmingham Post
‘Sketched vividly and sympathetically . . . rewarding’
Scotsman
‘Among the foremost of current historical novelists’
Birmingham Mail
‘An accomplished novelist’
Glasgow Evening News
‘There can be no doubt of the author’s gift for storytelling’
Illustrated London News
‘Jean Plaidy has once again brought characters and background vividly to life’
Everywoman
‘Well up to standard . . . fascinating’
Manchester Evening News
‘Exciting and intelligent’
Truth Magazine
‘No frills and plenty of excitement’
Yorkshire Post
Jean Plaidy, one of the pre-eminent authors of historical fiction for most of the twentieth century, is the pen name of the prolific English author Eleanor Hibbert, also known as Victoria Holt. Jean Plaidy’s novels had sold more than 14 million copies worldwide by the time of her death in 1993.
For further information about our Jean Plaidy reissues and mailing list, please visit www.randomhouse.co.uk/minisites/jeanplaidy
Further titles available in Arrow by Jean Plaidy
The Tudors
Uneasy Lies the Head
Katharine, the Virgin
Widow
The Shadow of the
Pomegranate
The King’s Secret Matter
Murder Most Royal
St Thomas’s Eve
The Sixth Wife
The Thistle and the Rose
Mary Queen of France
Lord Robert
Royal Road to Fotheringay
The Captive Queen of Scots
The Medici Trilogy
Madame Serpent
The Italian Woman
Queen Jezebel
The Plantagenets
The Plantagenet Prelude
The Revolt of the Eaglets
The Heart of the Lion
The Prince of Darkness
The Battle of the Queens
The Queen from Provence
The Hammer of the Scots
The Follies of the King
The Vow on the Heron
Passage to Pontefract
The Star of Lancaster
The French Revolution
Louis the Well-Beloved
The Road to Compiègne
Flaunting, Extravagant
Queen
The Isabella and Ferdinand Trilogy
Castile for Isabella
Spain for the Sovereigns
Daughters of Spain
The Victorians
The Captive of Kensington
The Queen and Lord M
The Queen’s Husband
The Widow of Windsor
Chapter I
THE MEETING IN WHITTLEBURY FOREST
Jacquetta was watching from the topmost turret of Grafton Manor for the arrival of her daughter. She herself had made sure that Elizabeth’s bedchamber was ready and that it should be as comfortable as she could make it. Poor Elizabeth would be in need of comfort, sorrowing widow that she was with two young children to provide for and an uncertain future before her.
These were indeed uncertain times. The wretched war went on and on – swaying this way and that, victory one day for York and the next for Lancaster.
A plague on their wars, thought Jacquetta, which continually took a warm-blooded woman’s husband away from her and robbed her daughter of hers altogether.
At least her beloved Richard was safe and had managed to send news to her after having fled with the King somewhere up to the north, for the message had come to her from Newcastle. They were the losers again, and this time it seemed that some conclusion might be reached for Edward of York had proclaimed himself King and the people favoured him. He was a young man of great charm, Jacquetta had to admit, although the Rivers were staunch Lancastrians. ‘Every inch a King,’ was what they said of Edward; and as he was almost six feet four there were a good many inches. He was a magnificent soldier, an ardent lover of women and the greatest possible contrast to poor Henry who was so saintly that he longed to be a monk and had on more than one occasion lapsed into madness.
Perhaps, thought Jacquetta, we are on the wrong side.
Her heart began to beat faster for in the distance she could make out a party of riders. Her daughter must be among them. She would go down at once to meet her, to assure her that she was welcome, that Grafton was her home and should remain so for as long as she wished it to be.
The sight of her daughter filled her with pride. Elizabeth was as beautiful as ever – the most handsome of a very attractive family. Jacquetta had reason to be proud of the children she had borne Richard – seven sons and seven daughters, and Elizabeth, the eldest, had made a very quiet entrance into the world for their marriage had been frowned on in high places and everything connected with it had had to be conducted with the utmost secrecy.
Elizabeth had dismounted. She was as calm as her mother expected her to be. Little ruffled Elizabeth and it had always been so from nursery days. El izabeth had taken command which was perhaps natural as she was the eldest, and her brothers, lively young boys as they had been, could never get the better of their sister Elizabeth.
‘My dearest,’ cried Jacquetta, embracing her daughter. ‘This is a sorry occasion.’
Elizabeth returned her mother’s embrace with restrained affection.
‘We knew you would offer us a haven,’ she said. She led the boys forward. Thomas and Richard Grey were pleasant looking and about ten and eight years of age, old enough to realise that the death of their father was a very tragic event and of great consequence to them.
Jacquetta kissed her grandsons with fervour, calling them her little lambs whom she was glad to have in her keeping.
‘Come in, dear child,’ she went on, putting her arm through that of her daughter. ‘You will be weary. Your own room is ready for you, and the boys will be next to you. Welcome to Grafton, my darlings. Your home, dear Elizabeth, as it ever was and always will be while I am here.’
‘My heartfelt thanks, dear lady,’ said Elizabeth. ‘For we are indeed in dire circumstances.’
They went into the Manor together.
‘It has been a long ride to Northamptonshire,’ went on Elizabeth.
‘Never mind, my child. Now you are here.’
The boys were taken to rooms made ready for them and Jacquetta accompanied Elizabeth to hers.
‘There, my child, just as it used to be. You’ll be happy again. I promise you.’
‘Have you read the signs?’
Jacquetta hesitated. Many people thought she was a witch. She was in a way, she supposed. She had on occasions foretold the future but in her heart she was not sure whether she had wanted something to happen and had made it so by her own actions. The water nymph of the Rhine, Melusina, was said to have been an ancestress of hers. It was one of those lovely legends which became attached to some families. Supernatural beings found their way into the family history by beguiling one of its members and thus infused some strain either for good or evil which appeared in the family for generations. The House of Luxembourg had Melusina, and the serpent who was said to be a familiar of that fair enchantress had become one of the devices on the shields of the Luxembourg Princes. Because she came from the ruling Luxembourg family and had the right to the device, the suspicion that she was a sorceress had been born; and Jacquetta found it intriguing and often useful so, while she did not exactly encourage it, she did nothing to deny it.
‘There is a great fortune for you,’ she said now. ‘My daughter, your fortunes are at a low ebb but that will change. There is such a dazzling prospect before you that soon you will be looking back to this day and realising that it was only a stepping-stone to great things. It is the little dark wood which you must traverse before you reach the pastures of prosperity.’
‘Oh, dear lady, is that what you wish for me or what you prophesy?’
‘Elizabeth, I would say this to none but you, but sometimes I do not know the difference.’
Elizabeth threw back her hood. Then the full blaze of her beauty struck even her mother speechless even though she had been aware of it. It was always like that after she had not seen her for a while. Elizabeth knew it and there was just a hint of the dramatic in the manner in which the hood was thrown back.
The beautiful golden hair fell loose about her shoulders to her knees. It rippled and shone where the light caught it; it softened her face which in its perfect classical features might have been a little repellingly cold without it. Her teeth were white and perfect; her eyes a greyish blue fringed with long thick golden lashes; the nose straight, neither long nor short, but perfect. Jacquetta always thought that Elizabeth had inherited the best features from each parent; and they were two exceedingly handsome people.
Elizabeth, however, had inherited little of her mother’s warmth. She was clever, and had been from a child, and Jacquetta had always thought: Elizabeth can take care of herself. That was why it was such a triumph to have her come home now in this time of need.
‘The estates have been confiscated,’ Elizabeth said. ‘We have nothing at all. Dear Mother, I need to get through that dark wood quickly.’
‘You will. I promise you that. These are strange times.’
‘Warwick has made Edward of York King and he will remain so, they say. Henry has no heart for battle.’
‘There is the Queen,’ Jacquetta reminded her daughter. ‘And the little Prince.’
‘Margaret will fight to the death,’ said Elizabeth. ‘But Margaret is a fool.’
‘It is well that lady is not able to hear you say that.’
‘She would rage against me, threaten me with all sorts of horrible punishments, and then, when I reminded her of our friendship and service to her cause, embrace me, forgive me, and tell me she would always feel affection for me. That is Margaret.’
‘You should know her. You served in her bedchamber and such service is the best way to know queens intimately.’
‘Mother, we are on the losing side. The sooner we face that the better.’
‘Dear child, noble families cannot change sides because they are on the losing one.’
‘They all say that Edward has come to stay. Warwick will see to that and it is Warwick who makes and unmakes kings.’
‘Edward has the looks of a king which is just what poor Henry lacks, but kings are not chosen for their looks.’
‘They have some effect surely,’ said Elizabeth. ‘And while the Yorkists reign I shall never regain my estates, my children will have nothing and I shall remain a widow.’
‘My dearest child, you have the greatest asset of all.’
‘And what is that?’
‘Yourself. Your beauty . . . I never saw a more lovely creature. There! How can you despair when you have such gifts!’ She came nearer to her daughter, and spoke softly, mysteriously. ‘Change is coming, I promise you. Your fortunes will be reversed. Wait, Elizabeth. Be patient. Trust your mother. Trust the old serpent of the Rhine.’
Elizabeth looked at her mother eagerly, hopefully.
At least I have managed to raise her spirits, thought Jacquetta.
She left her daughter to wash and rest while she went to her own room.
It was good to have Elizabeth and the boys with her. The trouble with children was that they went away – boys to be brought up in other noble houses and girls to the homes of their future husbands. Life was sad – and made so by absurd conventions. Families should be together. Jacquetta had always rebelled against doing what was expected of her. She believed that a woman of spirit should judge for herself.
She had been forced into marriage when she was sixteen years old. A very grand marriage in which her family had rejoiced. She remembered her uncle Louis of Luxembourg, Bishop Therouanne, coming to her rubbing his hands together murmuring: ‘Great good fortune, niece. Such a marriage I have arranged for you.’
There had had to be a certain amount of secrecy because the great Duke of Burgundy would have objected. Everybody then had been terrified of offending the great Duke of Burgundy, even the important man they had succeeded in capturing for her husband. And the reason was not only that Burgundy did not want the English to have fresh influence with Luxembourg but because the bridegroom had just become a widower, his late wife having been the sister of the Great Duke himself.
An intriguing situation which had appealed to that arch intriguante Jacquetta. Her prospective husband was the mighty Duke of Bedford, the most important man in France at that time, some said, because he was the Regent and had been so since the death of his brother Henry the Fifth who had conquered France and married the French King’s daughter. No wonder her family had been eager for the match. She was not averse to it herself apart from the fact that she was being forced into it and Jacquetta always liked to make up her own mind – then she saw him. He was in his forties and he seemed to her a very old man.
However the marriage took place. He was not unkind. He thought her very pretty and charming – and she did not see very much of him because he was always engaged in weighty matters and with the ceremonies over there was another important concern for him – the pacification of the mighty Burgundy.
The marriage did not last long. Poor old man, he died worn out by his troubles and deeply depressed because he saw that the English were losing their grip on France.
And Jacquetta had been free. She had been seventeen when she saw the most handsome man in England. He was not so only in her eyes because she had heard him called that by others. Richard Woodville of the Mote Maidstone until his elder brother died and he inherited Grafton in Northamptonshire.
