Richard, especially with my daughter at his side, can face down any criticism and should certainly win any battle against any force that Henry could bring. But the cold prickling of the nape of my neck tells me otherwise. I pick up the letter again and I feel the iron conviction of this Lancaster heiress. This is a woman whose belly is filled with pride. She has been eating nothing but her own ambition for nearly thirty years. I would do well to be wary of her now that she has decided that I am so powerless she need not pretend friendship anymore.

I wonder who she intends for Henry’s wife now? I guess she will be casting about for an heiress, maybe the Herbert girl, but nobody but my daughter can bring the love of England and the loyalty of the York House to the Tudor claimant. Lady Margaret may vent her spite, but it does not matter. If Henry wants to rule England, he will have to ally with York; they will have to deal with us one way or another. I take up my pen.

Dear Lady Stanley, I am sorry indeed to read that you have been listening to such slander and gossip and that this should cause you to doubt the good faith and honor of my daughter Elizabeth, which is, as it has always been, above question. I have no doubt that somber reflection on your part, and on his, will remind you and your son that England has no other York heiress of her importance. She is beloved of her uncle as she was beloved of her aunt, as she should be; but only the whispers of the gutter would suggest any impropriety. I thank you for your prayers, of course. I will assume that the betrothal stands for its many manifest advantages; unless you seriously wish to withdraw, which I think so unlikely that I send you my best wishes and my thanks for your prayers, which I know are especially welcome to God coming from such a humble and worthy heart. Elizabeth R

I sign “Elizabeth R,” which I never do these days; but as I fold the paper and drip wax and stamp it with my seal, I find I am smiling at my arrogance. “Elizabeth Regina,” I say to the parchment. “And I shall be My Lady, the Queen’s Mother, while you are still Lady Stanley with a son dead on the battlefield. Elizabeth R. So take that,” I say to the letter. “You old gargoyle.”

APRIL 1485

Mother, you must come to court, Elizabeth writes to me in a letter smudged in haste, folded twice, and double sealed.

It is all going terribly wrong. His Grace the king thinks he must go to London and tell the lords that he will not marry me, that he has never had any intention of marrying me, in order to scotch the rumors that he poisoned the poor queen. Wicked people are saying that he was determined to marry me and would not wait for her death or agreement, and now he thinks he has to announce that he is nothing to me but my uncle. I have told him that there is no need for such a declaration, that we could wait in silence for the gossip to die down, but he listens only to Richard Ratcliffe and William Catesby, and they swear that the north will turn against him if he insults the memory of his wife, a Neville of Northumberland. Worse, he says that for my reputation I have to go away from court, but he won’t allow me to come to you. He is sending me to visit Lady Margaret and Lord Thomas Stanley of all terrible people. He says that Lord Thomas is one of the few men whom he can trust to keep me safe, whatever happens; and no one can doubt that my reputation is perfect if Lady Margaret takes me into her house. Mother, you have to stop this. I cannot stay with them: I shall be tormented by Lady Margaret, who must think I have betrayed my betrothal to her son, and who is bound to hate me for her son’s sake. You must write to Richard, or even come to court yourself, and tell him that we will be happy, that all will be well, that all we have to do is to wait out this time of gossip and rumor and we can marry in the end. He has no advisors whom he can trust, he has no Privy Council who would tell him the truth. He is dependent on these men whom they call the Rat and the Cat, and they fear that I will influence him against them, for revenge for what they did to our kin. Mother, I love him. He is my only joy in this world. I am his in heart and in thoughts and in body and all. You said to me that it would take more than love for me to become Queen of England: you have to tell me what to do. I cannot go to live with the Stanleys. What am I to do now?

In truth, I don’t know what she is to do, poor little girl of mine. She is in love with a man whose survival depends on his being able to command the loyalty of England and, if he were to tell England that he hopes to marry his niece before his wife is cold in the ground, he will have donated the whole of the north to Henry Tudor, in a moment. They won’t take kindly to an insult to Anne Neville, quick or dead, and the north is where Richard has always drawn his strength. He will not dare to offend the men of Yorkshire or Cumbria, Durham or Northumberland. He cannot even risk it, not while Henry Tudor recruits men and raises his army and waits only for the spring tides.

I tell the messenger to get some food, to sleep the night and be ready to take my reply in the morning, and then I walk by the river and listen to the quiet sound of the water over the white stones. I hope that Melusina will speak to me, or that I will find a twist of thread with a ring shaped like a crown trailing in the water; but I have to come home without any message, and I have to write to Elizabeth with nothing to guide me but my years at court, and my own sense of what Richard can dare.

Daughter, I know how distressed you are-I hear it in every line. Be brave. This season will tell us everything, and everything will be changed by this summer. Go to the Stanleys and do your best to please them both. Lady Margaret is a pious and determined woman; you could not ask for a guardian more likely to scotch scandal. Her reputation will render you as spotless as a virgin, and that is how you must appear-whatever happens next. If you can like her, if you can endear yourself to her, all the better. It is a trick I never managed; but at the very least live pleasantly with her, for you will not be with her for long. Richard is putting you in a safe place, far from scandal, far from danger, until Henry Tudor makes his challenge for the throne and the battle is over. When this happens, and Richard wins, as I think he must, he will be able to fetch you from the Stanleys’ house with honor, and marry you as part of the celebrations of victory. Dearest daughter, I don’t expect you to enjoy a visit to the Stanleys, but they are the best family in England for you to show that you acknowledge your betrothal to Henry Tudor and that you are living chastely. When the battle is over and Henry Tudor is dead, then nobody can say a word against you, and the disapproval of the north can be faced down. In the meantime, let Lady Margaret think that you are happy in your promise to Henry Tudor, and that you are hopeful of his victory. This will not be an easy time for you, but Richard has to be free to summon his men and fight his battle. As men have to fight, women have to wait and plan. This is your time for waiting and planning, and you must be constant and discreet. Honesty matters so much less. My love and blessing to you,

Your mother

Something wakes me early, at dawn. I sniff at the air as if I were a hare sitting up on my hind legs in a meadow. Something is happening, I know it. Even here, inland in Wiltshire, I can smell that the wind has changed, almost I can smell the salt from the sea. The wind is coming from the south, due south; it is a wind for an invasion, an onshore wind, and somehow I know, as clearly as if I could see them, the crates of weapons being loaded to the deck, the men striding down the gangplanks and jumping to the boats, the standards furled and propped in the prow, the men-at-arms mustering on the dock. I know that Henry has his force, his ships at the dockside, his captains plotting a course: he is ready to sail.