Free Daughter of York by Anne Easter Smith Page A

recent scars, his smooth, broad chest and shoulders and ringing responses to his vows gave those able to see him confidence that he had the strength of body and mind to rule them. Following the anointing with the holy chrism, Edward was garbed in cloth of gold and knelt at the high altar. Margaret held her breath as the Archbishop of Canterbury dramatically raised the crown from its proffered cushion and held it high. When he finally placed it on Edward’s head, the organ and choir thundered an anthem, praising the Trinity and all the saints. George and Richard were kneeling across the aisle from her, and she tried to catch George’s eye. He was too busy wiggling his hand to make the gemstone sparkle on the ring Edward had given him, and Margaret despaired of him. She glanced at Richard by his side and she was astonished to see tears of joy coursing down his face as he watched his brother rise as king. Margaret unexpectedly found herself also moved to tears by this expression of devotion.
    After the king and his court had processed along the red carpet runningbetween the abbey and the palace, Cecily tried to keep a close eye on her youngest during the ensuing feast. However, she was pulled in so many directions that she finally gave up.
    “Watch those boys for me, Margaret, there’s a good girl,” she said, on her way to avert yet another crisis with the steward.
    Margaret seethed. I’m nothing but a nursemaid, she pouted, knowing that trying to keep an eye on two boys amidst the hundreds of gorgeously arrayed guests who milled about in the great hall and rooms beyond would be a nightmare. She finally spotted them entering one of the antechambers and began to thread her way through the throng. She heard music coming from the room. A young, sweet voice rose over the onlookers around the door, and standing on tiptoe, she saw a small girl, no more than a dozen years, she guessed, entertaining the guests with her harp. She listened for a minute and then squeezed past a large woman with foul breath and tugged at Richard’s sleeve.
    “Richard!” she hissed. But Richard ignored her, gazing in awe at the girl with the harp on the stool, who seemingly had no fear of playing on her own. She was surprised to see he was with a strange boy, not George.
    “You baggage!” she said in Richard’s ear as the music ended. “Come with me at once! And where is George?” She glowered at the other boy, who shrank from the scowl and hid behind Richard.
    “Rob, this is my sister Margaret,” Richard said sulkily and added under his breath, “She likes to lord it over George and me. Take no notice.”
    “You come with me this instant, Dickon, or—” Margaret was cut off by a loud fanfare calling the guests to the feast, and Richard was spared telling tales on George. Fortunately George appeared at his seat and no one questioned his truancy.
    While the ewerers solemnly tendered their silver basins of water in which the diners rinsed their fingers and trenchermen ran up and down the tables serving food, the royal party sat in silence on their platform, ministered to by the highest peers of the realm. Margaret had never seen such food. Peacocks in full feathers, whole suckling pigs, lambs, haunches of beef, herons, quails, cranes and capons were presented to Edward during the feast, along with eels, haddock, salmon and sardines. Pies, pasties, tarts and fritters followed by dessert, wafers and fruit were all washed down with wines from France and Spain.Each course was ended with a subtlety of spun sugar or marchpane fashioned to represent characters from the Bible or mythology.
    She was beginning to feel a little sick when George Neville, Edward’s chancellor and brother of the earl of Warwick, stood to greet the company. The powerful earl was not at the coronation, an odd happenstance as it was he who had virtually helped Edward up the steps to the throne.
    “He is keeping the north strong for Edward,” her mother had told her