Elizabeth Woodville
The White Queen
“With this
contradictory percentage of mine: solid English earth and French water goddess,
one could expect anything from me: an enchantress or an ordinary girl. There
are those who will say I am both.” - The White Queen; Chapter I, Page I.
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| Lady Elizabeth Woodville |
Her background was seen as strange. Her mother was Jacquetta, a French noblewoman from the House of Luxembourg who had married King Henry VI's uncle, John Duke of Bedford, in 1433 when she was 17 and widowed two years later. Her father, Richard, was just a squire to the Duke, a man of little fortune from Maidstone in Kent. The pair had fallen in love and married in secret. When their secret was discovered they were banished from court but were asked to return and pay a fine of £1000. Richard was made Baron Rivers in 1448 and the pair began their life at Grafton Hall in Northamptonshire (the childhood home of Richard).
Elizabeth was born in 1437/8 and had 13 siblings: Lewis, Anne, Margaret, Anthony, Mary, Jacquetta, John, Richard, Martha, Eleanor, Lionel, Edward and Catherine. It seems that she was close to her brothers and sisters. They grew up at Grafton Hall in Northamptonshire and only went to court when asked to by the King or Queen.
When the time came for Elizabeth to take her place at court, she was placed at the top as one of Queen Margaret's ladies. She was called La Belle de Lancasterian Court. She gained fame from her courtly beauty. Elizabeth was called "the most beautiful woman in the Island of Britain" with "heavy-lidded eyes like those of a dragon", suggesting a perhaps unusual criterion by which beauty in late medieval England was judged.
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| The White Queen |
When the time came for Elizabeth to take her place at court, she was placed at the top as one of Queen Margaret's ladies. She was called La Belle de Lancasterian Court. She gained fame from her courtly beauty. Elizabeth was called "the most beautiful woman in the Island of Britain" with "heavy-lidded eyes like those of a dragon", suggesting a perhaps unusual criterion by which beauty in late medieval England was judged.
Elizabeth married Sir John Grey in 1452 and the pair had two sons: Thomas (1455) & Richard (1458). The marriage was happy one. Elizabeth (known as Lady Grey at that time) was a supporter of the House of Lancaster. John fought York at the Second Battle of St Albans in 1461, but sadly Elizabeth was left a widow when the battle was over. With two young fatherless boys, no money, no home, Elizabeth returned to her family home of Grafton Hall.
According to the story, Elizabeth waited under the tree with her young sons, waiting for King Edward to ride past underneath a tree known as The Queen's Oak on the road to Northampton.
SPRING 1464
My father is Sir Richard Woodville, Baron Rivers, an English nobleman, a landholder, and a supporter of the true Kings of England, the Lancastrian line. My mother descends from the Dukes of Burgundy and so carries the watery blood of the goddess Melusina, who founded their royal house with her entranced ducal lover, and can still be met at times of extreme trouble, crying a warning over the castle rooftops when the son and heir is dying and the family doomed. Or so they say, those who believe in such things.
With this contradictory parentage of mine: solid English earth and French water goddess, one could expect anything from me: an enchantress, or an ordinary girl. There are those who will say I am both. But today, as I comb my hair with particular care and arrange it under my tallest headdress, take the hands of my two fatherless boys and lead the way to the road that goes to Northampton, I would give all that I am to be, just this once, simply irresistible.
I have to attract the attention of a young man riding out to yet another battle, against an enemy that cannot be defeated. He may not even see me. He is not likely to be in the mood for beggars or flirts. I have to excite his compassion for my position, inspire his sympathy for my needs, and stay in his memory long enough for him to do something about them both. And this is a man who has beautiful women flinging themselves at him every night of the week, and a hundred claimants for every post in his gift.
He is a usurper and a tyrant, my enemy and the son of my enemy, but I am far beyond loyalty to anyone but my sons and myself. My own father rode out to the battle of Towton against this man who now calls himself King of England, though he is little more than a braggart boy; and I have never seen a man as broken as my father when he came home from Towton, his sword arm bleeding through his jacket, his face white, saying that this boy is a commander such as we have never seen before, and our cause is lost, and we are all without hope while he lives. Twenty thousand men were cut down at Towton at this boy's command; no one had ever seen such death before in England. My father said it was a harvest of Lancastrians, not a battle. The rightful King Henry and his wife, Queen Margaret of Anjou, fled to Scotland, devastated by the deaths.
Those of us left in England did not surrender readily. The battles went on and on to resist the false king, this boy of York. My own husband was killed commanding our cavalry, only three years ago at St. Albans. And now I am left a widow and what land and fortune I once called my own has been taken by my motherin-law with the goodwill of the victor, the master of this boy-king, the great puppeteer who is known as the Kingmaker: Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, who made a king out of this vain boy, now only twenty-two, and will make a hell out of England for those of us who still defend the House of Lancaster.
There are Yorkists in every great house in the land now, and every profitable business or place or tax is in their gift. Their boyking is on the throne, and his supporters form the new court. We, the defeated, are paupers in our own houses and strangers in our own country, our king an exile, our queen a vengeful alien plotting with our old enemy of France. We have to make terms with the tyrant ofYork, while praying that God turns against him and our true king sweeps south with an army for yet another battle.
In the meantime, like many a woman with a husband dead and a father defeated, I have to piece my life together like a patchwork of scraps. I have to regain my fortune somehow, though it seems that neither kinsman nor friend can make any headway for me. We are all known as traitors. We are forgiven but not beloved. We are all powerless. I shall have to be my own advocate, and make my own case to a boy who respects justice so little that he would dare to take an army against his own cousin: a king ordained. What can one say to such a savage that he could understand?
My boys, Thomas, who is nine, and Richard, who is eight, are dressed in their best, their hair wetted and smoothed down, their faces shining from soap. I have tight hold of their hands as they stand on either side of me, for these are true boys and they draw dirt to them as if by magic. If I let them go for a second, then one will scuff his shoes and the other rip his hose, and both of them will manage to get leaves in their hair and mud on their faces, and Thomas will certainly fall in the stream. As it is, anchored by my grip, they hop from one leg to another in an agony of boredom, and straighten up only when I say, "Hush, I can hear horses."
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| Elizabeth with her sons Thomas & Richard waiting for King Edward IV |
It sounds like the patter of rain at first, and then in a moment a rumble like thunder. The jingle of the harness and the flutter of the standards, the chink of the chain mail and the blowing of the horses, the sound and the smell and the roar of a hundred horses ridden hard is overwhelming and, even though I am determined to stand out and make them stop, I can't help but shrink back. What must it be to face these men riding down in battle with their lances outstretched before them, like a galloping wall of staves? How could any man face it?
Thomas sees the bare blond head in the midst of all the fury and noise and shouts "Hurrah!" like the boy he is, and at the shout of his treble voice I see the man's head turn, and he sees me and the boys, and his hand snatches the reins and he bellows "Halt!" His horse stands up on its rear legs, wrenched to a standstill, and the whole cavalcade wheels and halts and swears at the sudden stop, and then abruptly everything is silent and the dust billows around us.
His horse blows out, shakes its head, but the rider is like a statue on its high back. He is looking at me and I at him, and it is so quiet that I can hear a thrush in the branches of the oak above me. How it sings. My God, it sings like a ripple of glory, like joy made into sound. I have never heard a bird sing like that before, as if it were caroling happiness.
I step forward, still holding my sons' hands, and I open my mouth to plead my case, but at this moment, this crucial moment, I have lost my words. I have practiced well enough. I had a little speech all prepared, but now I have nothing. And it is almost as if I need no words. I just look at him and somehow I expect him to understand everything - my fear of the future and my hopes for these my boys, my lack of money and the irritable pity of my father, which makes living under his roof so unbearable to me, the coldness of my bed at night, and my longing for another child, my sense that my life is over. Dear God, I am only twenty-seven, my cause is defeated, my husband is dead. Am I to be one of many poor widows who will spend the rest of their days at someone else's fireside trying to be a good guest? Shall I never be kissed again? Shall I never feel joy? Not ever again?
| King Edward IV played by Max Irons |
He makes a gesture with his hand to the older man at his side, and the man barks out a command and the soldiers turn their horses off the road and go into the shade of the trees. But the king jumps down from his great horse, drops the reins, and walks towards me and my boys. I am a tall woman but he overtops me by a head; he must be far more than six feet tall. My boys crane their necks up to see him; he is a giant to them. He is blond haired, gray eyed, with a tanned, open, smiling face, rich with charm, easy with grace. This is a king as we have never seen before in England: this is a man whom the people will love on sight. And his eyes are fixed on my face as if I know a secret that he has to have, as if we have known each other forever, and I can feel my cheeks are burning but I cannot look away from him.
A modest woman looks down in this world, keeps her eyes on her slippers; a supplicant bows low and stretches out a pleading hand. But I stand tall, I am aghast at myself, staring like an ignorant peasant, and find I cannot take my eyes from his, from his smiling mouth, from his gaze, which is burning on my face.
"Who is this?" he asks, still looking at me.
"Your Grace, this is my mother, Lady Elizabeth Grey," my son Thomas says politely, and he pulls off his cap and drops to his knee.
Richard on my other side kneels too and mutters, as if he cannot be heard, "Is this the king? Really? He is the tallest man I have ever seen in my life!"
I sink down into a curtsey but I cannot look away. Instead, I gaze up at him, as a woman might stare with hot eyes at a man she adores.
"Rise up," he says. His voice is low, for only me to hear. "Have you come to see me?"
"I need your help," I say. I can hardly form the words. I feel as if the love potion, which my mother soaked into the scarf billowing from my headdress, is drugging me, not him. "I cannot obtain my dowry lands, my jointure, now I am widowed." I stumble in the face of his smiling interest. "I am a widow now. I have nothing to live on."
"A widow?"
"My husband was Sir John Grey. He died at St. Albans," I say. It is to confess his treason and the damnation of my sons. The king will recognize the name of the commander of his enemy's cavalry. I nip my lip. "Their father did his duty as he conceived it to be, Your Grace; he was loyal to the man he thought was king. My boys are innocent of anything."
"He left you these two sons?" He smiles down at my boys.
"The best part of my fortune," I say. "This is Richard and this is Thomas Grey."
He nods at my boys, who gaze up at him as if he were some kind of high-bred horse, too big for them to pet but a figure for awestruck admiration, and then he looks back to me. "I am thirsty," he says. "Is your home near here?"
"We would be honored..." I glance at the guard who rides with him. There must be more than a hundred of them. He chuckles. "They can ride on," he decides. "Hastings!" The older man turns and waits. "You go on to Grafton. I will catch you up. Smollett can stay with me, and Forbes. I will come in an hour or so."
Sir William Hastings looks me up and down as if I am a pretty piece of ribbon for sale. I show him a hard stare in reply, and he takes off his hat and bows to me, throws a salute to the king, shouts to the guard to mount up.
"Where are you going?" he asks the king.
The boy-king looks at me.
"We are going to the house of my father, Baron Rivers, Sir Richard Woodville," I say proudly, though I know the king will recognize the name of a man who was high in the favor of the Lancaster court, fought for them, and once took hard words from him in person when York and Lancaster were daggers drawn. We all know of one another well enough, but it is a courtesy generally observed to forget that we were all loyal to Henry VI once, until these turned traitor.
Sir William raises his eyebrow at his king's choice for a stopping place. "Then I doubt that you'll want to stay very long," he says unpleasantly, and rides on. The ground shakes as they go by, and they leave us in warm quietness as the dust settles.
"My father has been forgiven and his title restored," I say defensively. "You forgave him yourself after Towton."
"I remember your father and your mother," the king says equably. "I have known them since I was a boy in good times and bad. I am only surprised that they never introduced me to you."
I have to stifle a giggle. This is a king notorious for seduction. Nobody with any sense would let their daughter meet him. "Would you like to come this way?" I ask. "It is a little walk to my father's house."
"D'you want a ride, boys?" he asks them. Their heads bob up like imploring ducklings. "You can both go up," he says, and lifts Richard and then Thomas into the saddle. "Now hold tight. You on to your brother and you - Thomas, is it? - you hold on to the pommel."
He loops the rein over his arm and then offers me his other arm, and so we walk to my home, through the wood, under the shade of the trees. I can feel the warmth of his arm through the slashed fabric of his sleeve. I have to stop myself leaning towards him. I look ahead to the house and to my mother's window and see, from the little movement behind the mullioned panes of glass, that she has been looking out, and willing this very thing to happen.
She is at the front door as we approach, the groom of the household at her side. She curtseys low. "Your Grace," she says pleasantly, as if the king comes to visit every day. "You are very welcome to Grafton Manor."
A groom comes running and takes the reins of the horse to lead it to the stable yard. My boys cling on for the last few yards, as my mother steps back and bows the king into the hall. "Will you take a glass of small ale?" she asks. "Or we have a very good wine from my cousins in Burgundy?"
"I'll take the ale, if you please," he says agreeably. "It is thirsty work riding. It is hot for spring. Good day to you, Lady Rivers."
The high table in the great hall is laid with the best glasses and a jug of ale as well as the wine. "You are expecting company?" he asks.
She smiles at him. "There is no man in the world could ride past my daughter," she says. "When she told me she wanted to put her own case to you, I had them draw the best of our ale. I guessed you would stop."
He laughs at her pride, and turns to smile at me. "Indeed, it would be a blind man who could ride past you," he says.
I am about to make some little comment, but again it happens. Our eyes meet, and I can think of nothing to say to him. We just stand, staring at each other for a long moment, until my mother passes him a glass and says quietly, "Good health, Your Grace."
He shakes his head, as if awakened. "And is your father here?" he asks.
"Sir Richard has ridden over to see our neighbours," I say. "We expect him back for his dinner."
My mother takes a clean glass and holds it up to the light and tuts as if there is some flaw. "Excuse me," she says, and leaves. The king and I are alone in the great hall, the sun pouring through the big window behind the long table, the house in silence, as if everyone is holding their breath and listening.
He goes behind the table and sits down in the master's chair. "Please sit," he says, and gestures to the chair beside him. I sit as if I am his queen, on his right hand, and I let him pour me a glass of small ale. "I will look into your claim for your lands," he says. "Do you want your own house? Are you not happy living here with your mother and father?"
"They are kind to me," I say. "But I am used to my own household; I am accustomed to running my own lands. And my sons will have nothing if I cannot reclaim their father's lands. It is their inheritance. I must defend my sons."
"These have been hard times," he says. "But if I can keep my throne, I will see the law of the land running from one coast of England to another once more, and your boys will grow up without fear of warfare."
I nod my head.
"Are you loyal to King Henry?" he asks me. "D'you follow your family as loyal Lancastrians?"
Our history cannot be denied. I know that there was a furious quarrel in Calais between this king, then nothing more than a young York son, and my father, then one of the great Lancastrian lords. My mother was the first lady at the court of Margaret of Anjou; she must have met and patronized the handsome young son of York a dozen times. But who would have known then that the world might turn upside down and that the daughter of Baron Rivers would have to plead to that very boy for her own lands to be restored to her? "My mother and father were very great at the court of King Henry, but my family and I accept your rule now," I say quickly.
He smiles. "Sensible of you all, since I won," he says. "I accept your homage."
I give a little giggle, and at once his face warms. "It must be over soon, please God," he says. "Henry has nothing more than a handful of castles in lawless northern country. He can muster brigands like any outlaw, but he cannot raise a decent army. And his queen cannot go on and on bringing in the country's enemies to fight her own people. Those who fight for me will be rewarded, but even those who have fought against me will see that I shall be just in victory. And I will make my rule run, even to the north of England, even through their strongholds, up to the very border of Scotland."
"Do you go to the north now?" I ask. I take a sip of small ale. It is my mother's best but there is a tang behind it; she will have added some drops of a tincture, a love philter, something to make desire grow. I need nothing. I am breathless already.
"We need peace," he says. "Peace with France, peace with the Scots, and peace from brother to brother, cousin to cousin. Henry must surrender; his wife has to stop bringing in French troops to fight against Englishmen. We should not be divided anymore, York against Lancaster: we should all be Englishmen. There is nothing that sickens a country more than its own people fighting against one another. It destroys families; it is killing us daily. This has to end, and I will end it. I will end it this year."
I feel the sick fear that the people of this country have known for nearly a decade. "There must be another battle?"
He smiles. "I shall try to keep it from your door, my lady. But it must be done and it must be done soon. I pardoned the Duke of Somerset and took him into my friendship, and now he has run away to Henry once more, a Lancastrian turncoat, faithless like all the Beauforts. The Percys are raising the north against me. They hate the Nevilles, and the Neville family are my greatest allies. It is like a dance now: the dancers are in their place; they have to do their steps. They will have a battle; it cannot be avoided."
"The queen's army will come this way?" Though my mother loved her and was the first of her ladies, I have to say that her army is a force of absolute terror. Mercenaries, who care nothing for the country; Frenchmen who hate us; and the savage men of the north of England who see our fertile fields and prosperous towns as good for nothing but plunder. Last time she brought in the Scots on the agreement that anything they stole they could keep as their fee. She might as well have hired wolves.
"I shall stop them," he says simply. "I shall meet them in the north of England and I shall defeat them."
"How can you be so sure?" I exclaim.
He flashes a smile at me, and I catch my breath. "Because I have never lost a battle," he says simply. "I never will. I am quick on the field, and I am skilled; I am brave and I am lucky. My army moves faster than any other; I make them march fast and I move them fully armed. I outguess and I outpace my enemy. I don't lose battles. I am lucky in war as I am lucky in love. I have never lost in either game. I won't lose against Margaret of Anjou; I will win."
I laugh at his confidence, as if I am not impressed; but in truth he dazzles me.
He finishes his cup of ale and gets to his feet. "Thank you for your kindness," he says.
"You're going? You're going now?" I stammer.
"You will write down for me the details of your claim?"
"Yes. But - "
"Names and dates and so on? The land that you say is yours and the details of your ownership?"
I almost clutch his sleeve to keep him with me, like a beggar. "I will, but - "
"Then I will bid you adieu."
There is nothing I can do to stop him, unless my mother has thought to lame his horse.
"Yes, Your Grace, and thank you. But you are most welcome to stay. We will dine soon... or -"
"No, I must go. My friend William Hastings will be waiting for me."
"Of course, of course. I don't wish to delay you..."
I walk with him to the door. I am anguished at his leaving so abruptly, and yet I cannot think of anything to make him stay. At the threshold he turns and takes my hand. He bows his fair head low and, deliciously, turns my hand. He presses a kiss into my palm and folds my fingers over the kiss as if to keep it safe. When he comes up smiling, I see that he knows perfectly well that this gesture has made me melt and that I will keep my hand clasped until bedtime when I can put it to my mouth.
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| Elizabeth with Jacquetta |
He must hear my gasp. The colour rushes back into my face so that my cheeks are burning hot. "Yes," I stammer. "T... tomorrow."
"At noon. And I will stay to dinner, if I may."
"We will be honoured."
He bows to me and turns and walks down the hall, through the wide-flung double doors and out into the bright sunlight. I put my hands behind me and I hold the great wooden door for support. Truly, my knees are too weak to hold me up.
"He's gone?" my mother asks, coming quietly through the little side door.
"He's coming back tomorrow," I say. "He's coming back tomorrow. He's coming back to see me tomorrow."
The rest is well... history. Elizabeth had captured the young king's heart. He wanted her to become his mistress, but she stood strong saying she would rather die then dishonour herself or her family. On May 1st 1464 (exactly 530 years before I was born), Elizabeth and Edward married in secret in the chapel at Grafton. Only 4 people stood as witness to the ceremony: Jacquetta, a lady-in-waiting, a page boy and the priest.
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| Elizabeth & Edward |
It wasn't until nearly 5 months later on St Michaelmas day (29th September) when Edward announced his marriage to Elizabeth to his privy council. This was a shock to most of the lords on the council especially to the Earl of Warwick, who had helped to put Edward on the throne. Warwick was planning a marriage for the King with a French Princess. He was both shocked and offended. The King & the Earl's relationship never recovered after this piece of news was revealed. Edward's mother the Duchess Cicely of York, was also shocked at the act that her son had married from another house & a commoner. Members of the Privy Council told Edward "he must know she was no wife for a prince such as himself."
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| Queen Elizabeth of England |
Back to Elizabeth. Elizabeth was crowned at Westminister Abbey on Ascension Day (26th May 1465), one year after her scandolous marriage to the King. Elizabeth would of been nearly 1 month pregnant at the time with her first royal child.
Elizabeth entered her confinement in January 1466; everyone eager for the birth of a Prince of York who would named Edward. The king persuaded himself that this child would wear the crown of England (& he was right, sort of). One of these physicians, Dr. Dominic, obtained permission to sit outside the queen's chamber so he may have the honour of carrying the tidings of the heir to Edward IV. Hearing the child cry, he called to one of the queen's ladies, asking, "What her grace had?" The ladies were not in the best humour, being unwilling to answer "only a girl." So one of them replied, "Whatsoever the queen's grace hath here within, sure 'tis a fool that standeth there without." Poor Dr. Dominic, being much confounded by this sharp answer, dared not enter the king's presence. Who would blame him. Who would tell a King that the Prince that his Royal Physicians had predicated was a girl. We all know how his grand-son, Henry VIII, reacted the news of girls. CHOP! CHOP!
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| Elizabeth of York |
Edward wasn't like that. He was glad at the prospect of a child of his own. He loved his young daughter who they christened Elizabeth Plantagenant of York. The two families put the differences aside for the time being. Warwick stood as the princess' godfather, and both grandmothers stood as her sponsors; it seemed like they all adored this child of York, a English Rose that would one day bloom to unite a nation. Elizabeth & Edward were blessed with two more daughters: Mary (1467 - 1482) and Cecily (1469 - 1507).
Everything seemed peaceful. But like they say; it is always calm before the storm. And a storm was coming.
The first sign of a storm was a rebellion in 1468, in Yorkshire, under a outlaw called Robin of Redesdale, who supported for the cause of the Red rose.
The murder of the Elizabeth's father and brother followed in 1469. When the king advanced to suppress this outrages injustice, he was seized by Warwick and his brother Montague, and kept at Warwick castle, where an experiment was tried to shake his affection to Elizabeth by the insinuation that he had married her under a spell caused by her mother. The Yorkist king escaped speedily to Windsor, and was soon once more in his metropolis, which was perfectly devoted to him, and where, it appears, his queen had remained in security during these alarming events.
In July 1469, George (Edward's brother) had married Isabel Neville (Edward's cousin). Isabel was Warwick's daughter & he planned to make George King in Edward's place. Warwick fled the country taking his wife, daughters & George with him.
Isabel was heavily pregnant at the time with her first child. Her story is sad. Isabel went into labour in the middle of a storm off the coast of Calais. They were refused the come into port so Isabel had no midwives or doctors to help her; only her mother, sister and a serving lady. Sadly the child was stillborn.
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| Isabel & Anne Neville |
Once Warwick reached the Court of Margaret of Anjou, he planned to restore her husband to the English throne if her son, Edward of Lancaster, married his daughter, Anne Neville. They were married at Angers Cathedral in December 1470.
The queen was placed in the Tower, before Edward marched to battle. Edward IV narrowly escaped being once more thrown into the power of Warwick, who had returned to England.
| Princesses of York - Elizabeth, Mary, Cicely, Margaret & Anne |
Back in London, Elizabeth was left with her mother, to bide the storm. While the danger was far away, the queen's resolutions were remarkably valiant; yet the very day that Warwick and Clarence entered London, she betook herself to her barge, and fled up the Thames to Westminster,—not to her own palace, but to a strong, gloomy building called the Sanctuary, which occupied a space at the end of St. Margaret's churchyard.
Here she registered herself, her mother, her three little daughters,—Elizabeth, Mary, and Cicely, with the faithful lady Scrope, her attendant, as sanctuary-women; and in this dismal place, November 1, 1470, the long-hoped-for heir of York was born: Prince Edward.
The queen was most destitute; but Thomas Milling, abbot of Westminster, sent various conveniences from the abbey close by. Mother Cobb, resident in the Sanctuary, charitably assisted the distressed queen, and acted as nurse to the little prince. Nor did Elizabeth, in this fearful crisis, want friends; for master Serigo, her physician, attended herself and her son; while a faithful butcher, John Gould, prevented the whole Sanctuary party from being starved into surrender. The little prince was baptised soon after his birth, in the abbey, with no more ceremony than if he had been a poor man's son.
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| Edward & Elizabeth reunited |
The news of his success had scarcely reached her, before the Tower was threatened with storm by Falconbridge; but her valiant brother, Anthony Woodville being there, she, relying on his aid, stood the danger this time without running away.
After Edward IV had crushed rebellion by almost exterminating his opponents, he turned his attention to rewarding the friends to whom he owed his restoration, and bestowed princely gratuities on those humble friends who had aided "his Elizabeth," as he calls her, in that fearful crisis.
In the next few years the King & Queen had more children: Margaret of York (Apr. 1472-Dec. 1472), Richard, Duke of York (1473–1483/5), Anne of York, Lady Howard (1475–1511),
George Plantagenet (1477–1479), Catherine of York (1479–1527), & Bridget of York (1480–1517).
In January 1477, Elizabeth presided over the marriage of Richard duke of York, with Anne Mowbray, the infant heiress of the duchy of Norfolk at St. Stephen's chapel, Westminster. The queen led the little bridegroom, who was not five, while Earl Rivers, led the baby bride, scarcely three years old. They afterwards all partook of a rich banquet, laid out in the Painted-chamber.
Soon after this infant marriage, all England was startled by the strange circumstances attending the death of the duke of Clarence: he had been drowned in a barrel of ale.
Elizabeth had been cruelly injured by Clarence: her father and her brother had been put to death in his name; her brother Anthony had narrowly escaped a similar fate & her mother had been accused of sorcery by his party. She did not soothe her husband's mind when Clarence gave him a reason to have him executed.
On St. George's day succeeding this grotesque but horrible tragedy, the festival of the Garter was celebrated with more than usual pomp; the queen took a decided part in it, and wore the robes as chief lady of the order. Her vanity was inflated excessively by the engagement which the king of France had made for his son with her eldest daughter.
Jane Shore: a merchant's daughter. She was one of Edward's many mistresses. She was called "the merriest, the wiliest, and the holiest harlots" in England. Her affair with the King began in December 1476 after his return from France. Edward did not discard her as he did many of his mistresses, and was completely devoted to her. Shore, according to the official records, was not showered with gifts, unlike many of Edward's previous mistresses.[9] Their relationship lasted until Edward's death in 1483.
Edward's health started to decrease after Christmas 1482: the whole family together, then the French ambassador gives the news that the French English alliance is off. Then in April 1483, Edward goes fishing with Hastings and falls into the Thames. That night he conducts a fever.
When expiring, he made his favourites, lords Stanley and Hastings, vow reconciliation with the queen and her family. He died with great professions of penitence, at the early age of forty-two, April 9, 1483. Excepting the control of the marriages of his daughters, his will gave no authority to the queen. She was left, in reality, more unprotected in her second than in her first widowhood.
Edward's brother Richard duke of Gloucester was created Protector of the Realm until the young King Edward came of age. Elizabeth did not want her son to be his "puppet" so sent her brother & son (Richard Grey) to bring the new King to London from Wales.
On May 3, news arrived for the Queen that the duke of Gloucester had intercepted the young king with an armed force on his way to London and arrested her brother and her son. In that moment of agony she, however, remembered, that while she could keep her second son in safety the life of the young king was secure. With the duke of York and her daughters she left Westminster palace for the Sanctuary she had known nearly 13 years previously: Westminster Abbey. Her eldest son, Thomas Grey, foolishly left his responsibility as constable of the Tower, and came into sanctuary to his mother.
The archbishop of York brought Elizabeth a cheering message, sent by lord Hastings in the night. "Ah!" replied Elizabeth, "it is he that goeth about to destroy us." — "Madam," said the archbishop, "be of good comfort; if they crown any other king than your eldest son, whom they have with them, we will on the morrow crown his brother, whom you have with you here. And here is the great seal, which in like wise as your noble husband gave it to me, so I deliver it to you for the use of your son." And with this message he handed to the queen the great seal, and departed from her in the dawning of the day.
A plan was conducted by Elizabeth to free her son who had been placed in the tower, but it failed.
Richard wanted the young Richard to join his brother in the tower, saying he would be good
Poor Elizabeth. Her heart must of been breaking. And it wasn't going to get worse for her. Her brother, Anthony, and son, Richard, had been beheaded by sir Richard Radcliffe on June 24th 1483 on the order of Duke Richard at Pontefract Castle.
Richard was clearly reaching for the throne for himself. In an act of Parliament, the Titulus Regius, he declared Edward's and Elizabeth's children illegitimate on the grounds that Edward had made a previous promise to marry Lady Eleanor Butler. The act also contained charges of witchcraft against Elizabeth, but gave no details and had no further repercussions. As a consequence, the Duke of Gloucester became King Richard III while Edward and Richard remained in the Tower of London. They were never seen alive again after mid-1483. It was said they were murdered.
Elizabeth was visited in sanctuary by a priest-physician, Dr. Lewis, who attended Margaret Beaufort, mother to Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond, who was at the time was in exile in Brittany. Lewis proposed a idea though up by Margaret to Elizabeth, of uniting the two houses with a marriage between Princess Elizabeth & Henry Tudor. She eagerly embraced the proposition. Henry promised to marry Elizabeth of York on Christmas Day 1483 in Rennes Cathedral in France. Elizabeth was now the Yorkist Heiress.
On 1 March 1484, she and her daughters came out of sanctuary after Richard publicly swore an oath that her daughters would not be harmed and that they would not be imprisoned in the Tower of London or in any other prison. He also promised to provide them with marriage portions and to marry them to "gentlemen born". The family returned to Court, apparently reconciled to King Richard.
After the death of Queen Anne Neville in 1485, rumours arose that the now-widowed King was going to marry his beautiful niece Elizabeth of York (who was 19 at the time). Richard issued a denial; though according to the Crowland Chronicle he was pressured to do this by the Woodvilles' enemies who feared, among other things, that they would have to return the lands they had confiscated from the Woodvilles.
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| Elizabeth of York & Henry Tudor |
In August 1485, Henry defeated Richard at Bosworth & became Henry VII King of England.
Elizabeth was given the rights of the Dowager Queen and the Queen's Mother. The all copies of the act of Titulus Regius were burnt (except one), making all of her children legitimate. The queen, restored to royal rank, joyfully welcomed her eldest daughter, who was brought to her at Westminster from Sheriff-Hutton in Yorkshire, where she remained until the following January, when she saw her united in marriage to Henry of Richmond, the acknowledged king of England. So in fact Edward IV was right in believing his eldest child would wear the crown.
Elizabeth's daughter got pregnant within a month of the marriage. Elizabeth gave birth to Arthur at Winchester on the 19th/20th September 1486.
The last time the queen-dowager appeared in public was in a situation of the highest dignity. At the close of the year 1489 she received the French ambassador in great state; the next year Henry VII presented her with an annuity of £400l. Soon after she retired to the royal apartments at Bermondsey abbey.
No one knows why Elizabeth spent her last five years living at Bermondsey Abbey. Did Henry VII force her to retreat from the Court, or was planning a religious, contemplative life? At the Abbey, Elizabeth was treated with all the respect due to a queen dowager, & lived a regal life, and received a pension of £400 and small gifts from the King. She was present at the birth of her second grandchild, Margaret, at Westminster Palace in November 1489. The Queen rarely visited her, although Elizabeth's daughter Cicely is known to have done so more often.
Henry VII briefly contemplated marrying his mother-in-law off to King James III of Scotland, when James' wife, Margaret of Denmark, died in 1486. However, James was killed in battle in 1488, rendering the plans of Henry VII moot.
Elizabeth died at Bermondsey Abbey on 8 June 1492. With the exception of the Queen, who was awaiting the birth of her fourth child, and Cecily (Viscountess Welles), her daughters attended the funeral at Windsor Castle: Anne (the future Lady Anne Howard), Catherine (the future Countess of Devon) and Bridget (a sister at Dartford Priory). Her will specified a simple ceremony.
Her will shows that she died destitute of personal property. Edward IV had endowed his proud mother as if she were a queen-dowager; while his wife was dowered on property to which he possessed no real title. On Whit Sunday the queen dowager's corpse was conveyed by water to Windsor, and thence privately, as she requested, through the little part, conducted unto the castle. Her three daughters, the lady Anne, the lady Katharine, and the lady Bridget from Dartford, came by way of the Thames, with many ladies. And her son lord Dorset, who was at the head of the hearse, paid the cost of the funeral. many Yorkist supporters "clearly felt that a queen's funeral should have been more splendid" and may have objected that "Henry VII had not seen fit to arrange a more queenly funeral for his mother-in-law", despite the fact that the simplicity was the queen's own wish. Elizabeth was laid to rest in the same chantry as her husband King Edward IV in St George's Chapel in Windsor Castle.
In St. George's chapel, north aisle, is the tomb of Edward IV. On a flat stone at the foot of this monument are engraved, in old English characters, the words—
King Edward and his Queen, Elizabeth Widville.
Sources:
The White Queen by Phillipa Gregory
