of Gaunt and was also the mother of Henry Tudor. That upstart of very questionable parentage had of late begun to hint that he had a claim to the throne as grandson of Queen Katherine the widow of Henry the Fifth through a liaison—though the Tudors called it marriage—with Owen Tudor. Royalty on both sides, said Tudor, counting Katherine of France as his grandmother and John of Gaunt through his mother.

These had been Edward's men. It sometimes happened that when there was a change of rule there had to be a clean sweep. He wanted none of them—except perhaps Hastings. Buckingham was at his right hand. Buckingham was royal and the second peer in the land after himself. Then on a humbler scale there were Richard Ratcliffe, Francis Lovell, William Catesby . . . men who were his tried friends and had been over the years.

He was going to need staunch and trusted friends. The position was dangerous. If he were defeated by the Woodvilles they would have no compunction in destroying him. He was fighting not only for what he believed to be right but for his life.

It would be good to see Anne who was coming south for the coronation which was fixed for the twenty-fourth of June.

He met her on the outskirts of London and as soon as he saw her he was appalled by her frail looks. She always looked more delicate than ever after an absence. He had hoped that she would have their son with her although he had known that the little boy's health might have prevented his travelling.

Anne smiled as he took her hand; there was sadness in that smile for she noticed how he looked eagerly for their son and the disappointment on his face when he realized he was not with her.

'Welcome to London, my dear,' he said.

T could not bring Edward,' she told him. 'I dared not. His cough has worsened and I thought the journey would be too much for him.'

He nodded. 'He will grow out of the weakness,' he said with an attempt at assurance, but he added: 'Praise God.'

'Oh yes. He was better in the spring.' She smiled and tried to look excited but all she could really feel was exhaustion. Being with Richard lately had always been something of an ordeal because she must continually pretend that her health was improving—and as that was far from the case it was not easy.

As they rode side by side into the City, he told her that the King was in the Palace of the Tower and that the coronation would be

on the twenty-fourth of June. It was now the fifth so there was not much time.

There was a great deal to tell Anne but he did not want to overwhelm her with the detail of events nor did he wish to alarm her. He could see that she was uneasy when she heard that the Queen was in Sanctuary.

He took her to Crosby Place, his residence in London, and as soon as she arrived he insisted that she rest. He sat beside her bed and talked to her, explaining how the Woodvilles had tried to get control of the King, that their ambitions had to be curbed and it was for this reason that he had had to imprison Lord Rivers and Lord Richard Grey. The King was not very pleased about this.

'You see, Anne, they have brought him up to be a Woodville. My brother was too easy-going. He allowed the Queen to surround him with her relations. They have taught him that they are wonderful, wise and good.'

'Does it mean that he turns from you?'

Richard nodded ruefully. 'But I shall change that. He will learn in time.'

'I do wish there need not be this conflict,' said Anne, 'and I wish that you could come back to Middleham.'

'It will be some time before I do, I doubt not. My brother left this task to me and I must fulfil it.'

Then he talked of Middleham to soothe her and he asked about their son's progress with his lessons, for he was clever and his academic achievements made a happier subject than his health.

Anne slept at last and as Richard was leaving her chamber one of his attendants came to tell him that Robert Stillington, the Bishop of Bath and Wells was below and urgently seeking a word with him.

Richard immediately commanded that the Bishop be brought to him. He bade him be seated and to tell him the nature of this important news.

Stillington folded his hands and looked thoughtful. After arriving with a certain amount of urgency he seemed reluctant to explain the cause of his visit.

Richard knew that he was one of those ambitious men who sought advancement through the Church. There were plenty of them about. He had been a staunch Yorkist and in 1467 had become Lord Chancellor, an office of which he had been deprived on the restoration of the House of Lancaster; but it was given back

to him when Edward returned. He resigned after a few years and when Edward had been a little disturbed by Henry Tudor's bombastic claims, Stillington had been sent to Brittany to try to persuade the Duke to surrender him to Edward.

He had failed and later he had been put into the Tower at the time of Clarence's death on a matter which had been somewhat secret and of which Richard was ignorant. It had seemed too trivial at the time to enquire about and Edward had dismissed it. In any case Stillington had soon been released.

Now here was Stillington with this urgent news which he prefaced by explaining it was for the ears of the Duke of Gloucester alone, for he himself did not know what use should be made of it.

All impatience Richard urged him to explain and Stillington burst out: 'My lord, the late King was not truly married to Elizabeth Woodville.'

Richard stared at him in astonishment.

'Oh my lord,' went on Stillington, 'this is true. I know it full well. I myself was in attendance on the King when he gave his vows to another lady. She went into a convent it is true but she was still living at the time when the King went through a form of marriage with Elizabeth Woodville.'

'My lord Bishop, do you realize what you are saying?'

'Indeed I do, my lord. I have pondered long on this matter. There is only one other occasion when I mentioned it and I told the one whom I thought it most concerned: the Duke of Clarence.'

'You told my brother this!' Richard stared in horror at the Bishop. 'When . . . when?'

'It was just before his death.'

It was becoming clear now. Events were falling into place. Stillington in the Tower. Clarence drowned in a butt of malmsey. Clarence would have had to die, possessed as he was of such knowledge.

How deeply it concerned Clarence, for it meant that he, not Edward's son, was heir to the throne!

And Clarence had died. Edward had seen to that. At the same time he had imprisoned Stillington and suddenly the Bishop had found himself in the Tower.

But why had Edward let him go free? Wasn't that typical of Edward? He always believed the best of people. He wanted to be

on good terms with them. He could imagine his saying to Stillington: 'Give me your word that you will tell no one else and you shall go free on payment of a trivial ransom.' And Stillington would give his word to Edward, which he had kept until this moment. But he was of course exonerated from his promise now.

He was speaking slowly. 'You say my brother married . . . before he went through the form of marriage with the Queen.'

'I say it most emphatically, my lord. For I performed it.'

'My brother had many mistresses . . . .'

'The Queen was one of them, my lord.'

'Nodoubt this was some light of love . . . .'

'No, no, my lord. The lady was Lady Eleanor Butler, daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury. She was a widow when the King saw her.'

'He had a fancy for widows or wives it seems,' murmured Richard. 'Goon. Old Talbot's daughter.'

'Her husband had been Thomas Butler, Lord Sudeley's heir. She was some years older than the King.'

'He liked older women,' mused Richard.