About the Author
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Jean Plaidy is the pen name of the prolific English author
Eleanor Hibbert, also known as Victoria Holt. More than 14
million copies of her books have been sold worldwide.
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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
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THE ECLIPSE
It grows darker with the passing of every minute. The people in
the streets crowd together and gaze up at the sky. It is a
portent of evil, they say. God is showing His displeasure by
covering the face of the sun.
Very soon I shall lay down my pen. I am too tired to write more.
My strength is slowly ebbing away and I feel Death close.
It is an unhappy time to leave this world. Suspicion and
treachery are all around us. There are rumors to which I try to
shut my ears. They frighten me. I tell myself I do not believe
them. I do not want to hear the things people are saying--yet I
must know.
"Tell me . . . tell me everything," I beg my ladies.
They shake their heads. They say, "There is nothing, your Grace."
That is not true. They know but they will not tell me.
We were happy at Middleham before Richard took the throne.
Middleham will always be home to me . . . and, I believe, to him.
It meant something very special to us both. It was there that we
first knew each other. I always said it was there that love
between us first began. The people there understood him. They
knew his worth. They do not like him here. In their hearts they
do not accept him as their king. He is not tall and handsome as
his brother was. He lacks the gift of charm that Edward had in
such abundance. How perverse human nature is! Richard would be a
good king; he would serve his country faithfully; but it was
Edward whom they loved because he was good to look upon; he was a
giant among men; he smiled his way through his reign, beguiling
rich and poor alike. His profligacy, his self-indulgence mattered
not. He looked like a king and they had adored him. It was
perhaps natural that they should resent his successor. Richard is
not tall; he lacks the golden beauty of his brother; he is dark
and serious and does not smile easily; he serves his country with
zeal; but the people remember Edward's charm and mourn for him.
And in the streets they are whispering that I am dying on my
husband's orders. The rumor is that he is having me slowly
poisoned. How cruel they are! They cannot think of anything vile
enough to say of him. It is his enemies of course--and they are
all about us. They would make a monster of him. But who should
know him better than I? And I know he is a good man. He would be
a great king and good to them, greater than his self-indulgent
brother--if they would let him.
It is true that I am dying--but not at his hands. He knows that I
cannot live long and he is heartbroken. I can see the misery in
his eyes. I am the only one whom he can trust. How could anyone
think that he would want to be rid of me? I know I am ,
unable to bear the sons all kings want, but there has been a
special bond between us since he came to my her's castle when
we were children. If only he could cast away his crown! If only
we could go back to Middleham and the North where the people love
and understand us. Richard is paying too highly for his crown.
I try to comfort him. More than any I know his feelings.
"Whom can I trust?" he asks. "Who in this sad court can trust
whom?"
I know he is thinking of Buckingham--his one-time friend, or so
he thought--now turned traitor.
Sometimes when he looks hurt and bewildered he reminds me so much
of the boy I knew all those years ago. I alone am able to see the
real Richard; to others he is cold, aloof, a stern king,
determined to hold what he believes to be his by right,
dedicated, determined to do his duty.
Throughout the court there is a rumor that he wants to marry his
niece, Elizabeth, when he has rid himself of me. I think this has
grieved him more than anything.
"They hate me so much," he said. "They bring the most harmful
accusations against me. They compare me with my brother. They say
I have usurped the throne from young Edward. They do not believe
he is a bastard. Oh, if only my brother had not died! How they
loved him! He could do no wrong in their eyes and I can do no
right."
I said, "Your brother was an unfaithful husband; he was
profligate. He loved luxurious living. He cared more for his own
pleasure than for the good of the country. You are a good man,
Richard. You will be a good king; and in time the people will
come to realize that."
He smiled at me sadly, fondly. I remember that, from the time he
was a boy, he would not listen to criticism of his brother.
Edward had been a god in his eyes. It had always been so. Like
the rest of the country, he had succumbed to that charm.
"They are silent when I pass," he said. "Do you remember how they
used to cheer Edward?"
"They will cheer you one day."
He shook his head. "And now they say I would remove you that I
might marry Edward's daughter--my own niece! Anne, you could
never think for one moment . . ."
I took his face in my hands and kissed it. I wanted to assure him
of the contempt in which I held such gossip.
But secretly there were moments when I thought with some
apprehension of Elizabeth of York. The eldest daughter of
handsome Edward and his beautiful Queen. It was natural that she
also should be beautiful--sparkling, radiant, y. If she
were like her mother she would bear many children.
Before I was so ill I would see her at court. Did I fancy she
watched Richard with speculation in her eyes? Did she flaunt her
beauty, her radiant charm? Was she implying: "Look at me. How
different I am from the poor, ly queen." I did not believe
for one moment that she was in love with Richard; but she was her
mother's daughter and she would dearly love a crown.
And even I, knowing him as I did and understanding full well the
venom of his enemies, was sometimes overtaken by cruel doubts. I
am ill. I am barren, I would say. And is it not the duty of kings
to get sons?
Common sense returns and I remind myself that it is I whom he has
always loved; and then how I long for the days of peace at
Middleham and I say, "If only Edward were back on the throne and
we could return to the North--our true home, where we are known
and loved and the people do not murmur evil slander against us."
Here there are enemies everywhere. There are sly rumors . . .
ridiculous rumors, but the people accept them as truth because
that is what they want to do.
Richard's enemies are all about us. They are whispering of a
certain Henry Tudor, now sheltered by our enemies of France,
waiting until that day when he is ready to make his spurious
cl to the throne.
Yes, there is treachery all around us.
The light is fading. The face of the sun is almost obscured now
and for me the end is near. What will become of Richard? What
will become of the country? I shall never know.
My life is fading as the light is. Someone approaches. It is one
of my women.
"My lady, the King is on his way to you."
I shall write no more. Richard is coming and something tells me
this is the last time I shall look upon his face.
MESALLIANCE
Looking back over my life I often think how strange it is that a
woman such as myself should have so little control over her own
destiny.
I was the daughter of a man who at the time of my birth was one
of the most important men in the country. In truth I might even
say the most important for he was even greater than the king. He
was indeed known as the Kingmaker. Then I was the affianced wife
of a Prince of Wales and later a queen. What a glittering e
that would appear to be, yet now that my life is coming to an
end, I realize that it was lived in the shadows. I moved--or
perhaps it would be more correct to say I was moved--into
important positions, but always for the benefit of
others--except, I like to think, in marriage to the man who
became King of England. It was certainly my wish and I hope his
that I should become his queen. And now I have come to the time
when I must ask myself for how long?
But I must go back to the very beginning. Who would have believed
that a man such as my her could fail to beget the son he so
ardently desired and had only been able to produce two girls--my
sister, Isabel, and myself? His grandher, Richard, Earl of
Westmorland, had had twenty-three children from his two
marriages. But perhaps my her found consolation in the fact
that even girls have their uses. They can form alliances that can
be of inestimable value. My her was a man to make the most of
his advantages.
It was different with my mother. I believe she was very satisfied
with her two daughters, as is often the way with mothers who come
to believe that the offspring they have are just what they
wanted. At least my her could not have been disappointed in
his marriage, for through my mother had come the greater part of
his wealth; she had been Anne Beauchamp, heiress to vast lands
and fortune, and she had brought him the earldom of Warwick.
She lavished great care on Isabel and me, which was necessary, I
suppose, because neither of us was robust. The three of us were
very happy together, whether we were at Middleham Castle, Warwick
Castle, Cawood, or Warwick Court in London.
We saw our her infrequently, but when he did come the
atmosphere changed completely. Bustle, excitement, apprehension
prevailed. Men wearing the emblem of the Ragged Staff were
everywhere, and, of course, there was my her's dominating
presence. He took some interest in us girls, which was
surprising. I sometimes thought he might have been a family man
if he had not been so ambitious to rule the country, through the
king of his making. My childhood memories are of comings and
goings, some of which affected us and then we could be off to
other family residences at a moment's notice.
Isabel was my senior by nearly five years and she often tried to
explain to me what was going on, but when she herself did not
understand she refused to admit it and relied on her invention.
When my her departed with his followers, we would be at peace
again.
Of all our homes I loved Middleham best. It was situated in the
heart of wild and open country in the North Riding of
Yorkshire--and it will always be home to me.
It was at Middleham Castle that I first met Richard of
Gloucester, when he was sent to my her to learn the arts of
war and chivalry; and it was there that the bonds of something
deeper than friendship were forged between us.
I was five years old when a momentous event occurred. Isabel,
then ten, told me about it.
"There is a new king on the throne," she said. "It is all because
of the War of the Roses. The White Rose is for York . . . that is
the good one. That's us. Then there is the Red Rose of Lancaster.
That is the wicked one for silly old Henry and his horrible Queen
Margaret. They are not King and Queen anymore because our her
does not like them. So he has made our cousin Edward king and he
is now called Edward the Fourth."
"Does our her say who is to be king then?" I asked.
"Of course. He is the Kingmaker. Wicked Queen Margaret killed
King Edward's her at Wakefield. She cut off his head and put a
paper crown on it to mock him because he had wanted to be king
instead of silly Henry, and she stuck his head on the walls of
York. Our her was very cross about it and he would not let her
be queen anymore--so Edward is king instead."
This was in a way a version of what had happened at Wakefield,
for the battle had been a decisive one in the War of the Roses.
Edward, however, had not such a strong cl to the throne as
Henry, who was the son of King Henry the Fifth and therefore in
the direct line; but Edward's her was descended from King
Edward the Third through both his her and mother--through
Lionel, Duke of Clarence, who was the old king's second son, and
Edmund, Duke of York, who was his fifth. Richard told me all this
during one of our talks when I was a little older.
Most people, except those absolutely dedicated to the cause of
Lancaster, must have thought it preferable to have a king like
Edward than one such as Henry. Edward was young, strong, and
outstandingly handsome--he was a giant among men and a king the
people could admire and be proud of.
He was also Richard's brother and because of the deep bonds of
friendship between King Edward and the man who had put him on the
throne--my her--it was decided that Richard should be sent to
Middleham to be brought up under the guidance of the Earl of
Warwick. Thus it was we met.
I remember the first time I saw him. He was sitting alone and
despondent. He was very pale; he looked tired and was staring
rather gloomily straight ahead.
I said, "Hello. I know who you are. You are the king's brother."
He turned to look at me. I could see that he was not very pleased
by the intrusion and was wishing that I would go away.
"Yes," he answered. "I am, and you are the earl's daughter--the
younger one."
"How long are you going to live with us?"
"Until I have learned all that I have to learn."
"There are always people here learning what my her can teach
them."
He nodded.
"I know Francis Lovell and Robert Percy," I said. "Do you?"
"Yes. I know them."
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