‘At the Parliament.’ she said, ‘the supporters of York will wear white roses in their hats or on their sleeves.’

‘The white rose is of course the symbol of York and has been for some time.’

‘They wear them in defiance. Have you forgotten that scene in the Temple Gardens?’

‘I did hear of it,’ said Henry.

‘Don’t you see it was significant? It was like a declaration of war.’

‘My dear Margaret, there is no war. There will be no war. Those who wear the white rose are proud of it because it has been their symbol for so many years.’

It was useless to talk to him, to try to make him understand.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Let them wear their white roses. We shall wear the red rose of Lancaster and show them that our red rose will never give way to the white rose of York.’

She would wear a red rose in her hair. Henry should wear one on his cloak. There should be a finer array of red roses than of white.

So at the fateful meeting of the Parliament were sown the seeds which were to develop into a bloody war—red rose against white rose—and change the course of history.

Both colours were well represented. Already men were straining to get at each other. They jostled one another, sought a pretext to fight.

It was an uneasy occasion.

Margaret was unaware of it as, looking very beautiful with the red rose in her hair, she listened to the ceremony of Parliament, during which it was agreed that the Duke of York should be recognized as heir to the throne should the King die without heirs.

The white rose faction seemed delighted with this and the Parliament broke up peacefully.

In the York apartments Cicely declared herself satisfied with the proceedings. ‘The people will not endure foolish Henry and proud Margaret for long,’ she cried. ‘Speed the day when they put a real King on the throne.’

Her fond eyes were on her husband. Of course Richard should be king!

As for Margaret, she was incensed. The impudence of York! Heir to the throne indeed. Oh, if only she could get a child!

In the meantime Henry must keep his hold on the affection of his people.

‘We will do some pilgrimages,’ she said. Yes, that was it. They would make progress through the country. The people loved to see the King; and she would appear among them sumptuously gowned, looking beautiful, and she would try to hide her impatience with the stupid people and be so gracious that they all thought her the loveliest creature they had ever seen.

Yes, that was it. They should show themselves to the people. There was nothing the people liked better.

THE KING’S MADNESS

Richard was frustrated almost beyond endurance. The hardest task a man of ambition could be called upon to do was to wait. Yet wait he must. That the opportunity would come he was sure; and to strike prematurely would be to ruin his hopes. So there was nothing he could do but retire from court and bide his time.

It was nearly two years since that Parliament when the hostile wearers of red and white roses had faced each other. That could so easily have developed into conflict which would have been unwise and have achieved nothing.

He had suffered a certain temptation then. There were so many who recognized the incompetence of Somerset’s rule, the domination of the Queen over the King, and who looked upon Somerset and Margaret as two wicked conspirators. But it was not the moment. It would have been a reckless gamble which might have resulted in the end of hope.

Looking back he now began to wonder whether he had been too cautious. When the people had rioted in Westminster after that memorable Parliament they had shouted for Somerset’s blood. They would have murdered him if they had caught him. Yes, and made a martyr of him. That was not the way. Somerset should be tried and his crimes and failures in France and a gang of soldiers returned from the wars surrounded his house in Blackfriars and would have murdered him then and there had he not been rescued.

Some thought it ironical that his rescuers should be the Duke of York with his ally Devonshire. But it was all part of a strategy. Richard was anxious that all should realize that the last thing he wanted was to create conflict in the country. He was all for law and order. He wanted Somerset to be impeached, he wanted him to stand his trial, yes. What he did not want was for him to be murdered by the mob.

Together he and Devonshire had rescued Somerset and taken him to the Tower. Not as a prisoner, Richard was eager to stress, but for his own safety. He was eager to make a good impression on the people; and if ever he found government in his hands the last thing he wanted was to have come to it through the mob.

He was a cautious man and he soon realized that the King with Margaret behind him was too strong on his throne to be lightly overturned. The Commons might support York but the Lords certainly did not. He knew that the best thing he could do was retire quietly for a while and bide his time.

He retired to the Welsh border where he was by no means inactive. He was persuading his friends to stand with him; making them see that there could be no prosperity for England while she was ruled by the Queen and Somerset, a man who had failed dismally in France and was now doing the same in England. Were they going to stand by and see the decline of their country or were they going to be rid of this feeble House of Lancaster and set up that which had more right to be there and had the will and the power to govern—the Royal House of York?

The King was growing more feeble; the Queen more arrogant and Somerset more ineffectual. Moreover it was clear that the King could not beget a child.

‘The time must come when change is inevitable,’ said the Duke of York, and yet he knew that the moment had not yet come.

There had been a series of progresses through the country. Margaret enjoyed them; Henry tolerated them for her sake and because the Earl of Somerset thought it pleased the people. It was certainly a mixed blessing to the hosts of the royal party and those who were given the honour of entertaining them certainly had to count the costs. If the party stayed for more than a few days bankruptcy could stare the host in the face, for to provide the quantities of food that had to be supplied to the King’s travelling retinue could be ruinous.

But how Margaret enjoyed those journeys. Seated on her horse or carried in her litter, brilliantly attired, she felt a Queen indeed. She had come a long way from the days of poverty when she had been forced to seek a refuge with her grandmother. That grandmother would have offered all kinds of advice now she knew. But Margaret was determined to enjoy her triumphs. The King admired her. Her exquisite clothes were commented on wherever she went. She knew she was very beautiful with her royal crown set on her golden hair which she wore flowing about her shoulders to show it in all its beauty. Beneath her purple cloak fastened with bands of gold and precious gems, her cotehardie would fit her beautiful figure to perfection and it would be made of the richest materials and adorned with glittering jewels. She always liked her emblem to be prominent everywhere—not only in her dress but wherever they went. People no longer carried daisies as they had out of compliment to her when she had first arrived in the country; but at the great houses she would be gratified to see the flower prominently displayed.

It was a pity Henry did not pay more attention to his dress. It was difficult to make him wear the correct garments even for State occasions.

At least he admired his wife and in his eyes she could do no wrong; and if the people showed little enthusiasm for her—and indeed sometimes betrayed a definite dislike—she cared nothing for them. She had complete faith in her ability to command Henry and as Henry was the King that meant she ruled England to a large extent.