Free To the Tower Born - Robin Maxwell Page A

added. “First he was my father’s ‘kingmaker,’ then turned round and tried to dethrone him.”
    “Do you never wonder how Richard, who is so loyal to his brother, can be married to the daughter of the man who thrice sought to destroy him?” Nell asked.
    Bessie sighed heavily at that, and Nell realized the subject of Anne and Richard of Gloucester was still a sore one with her friend. “Perhaps they’re not as happy together as they seem,” Nell said, hoping to soften the heartache.
    “They’re deliriously happy and you know it.” Bessie looked miserable. “Everyone knows it.”
    Nell pushed the hair back from her friend’s brow. “Best not to dwell too long on what can never be, Bessie. You’ve an exciting future ahead. Think of that.”
    “Exciting? I may have escaped having to marry the pimply French dauphin, but Jesus knows who my parents will choose for me next.”
    “Jesus be praised! Whomever you marry, you will become a queen. The highest lady in the land.”
    “But a foreign land,” Bessie replied, turning her face away.
    “Ah, Nell, I don’t mean to whine and complain. Surely I’m the luckiest girl in all England. But that’s my point. I love England. I don’t want to leave her.” She turned back and gazed at her friend. “I don’t want to leave you.”
    “Perhaps the pope will grant a dispensation so you can marry your brother,” Nell quipped with a straight face.
    “Nell!” Bessie laughed. “You’re a dreadful girl!” Under the covers a sharp poke was delivered to Nell, who squealed. The maids, still hanging their mistresses gowns, gig-gled.
    “Seriously, though,” said Nell, pulling the covers up around her neck, “to be a queen is a marvelous thing.”
    “I suppose it is.”
    “Think of a chessboard,” said Nell.
    “A chessboard?”
    “Which piece on the board is most powerful? Not the castle.
    Not the knight. Not the bishop. Not even the king. ’Tis the queen that moves the farthest and in every direction. You may have no say in whom you marry, but once that crown is on your head, no woman—or most men, for that matter—wields greater control. Look at Queen Margaret of Anjou. Look at your father’s sister, Margaret of Burgundy. Your own mother!
    These are women who have forged their own destinies, directed armies. Ruled in the absence or dereliction of their husbands.
    Bessie, without a queen there is no kingdom!” Bessie was smiling shyly. Clearly, she’d taken Nell’s words to heart. “Will you come and visit me where I live?”
    “I might,” Nell teased.
    “I could hire you as my spymaster.”
    “Oh, I like the sound of that,” said Nell. “The court of a queen of your stature will certainly be steeped in conspiracy and espionage.”
    Bessie laughed delightedly. “How do you always manage to make me feel so much better?”
    Nell was suddenly serious. “Because I see you more clearly than you do yourself. And I remind you of all that you are capable of accomplishing in this life.”
    “Which is no more than yourself,” Bessie insisted.
    “True,” Nell agreed, and with a sly grin added, “though I cannot pop little kings and queens out my cunny.”
    “Nell Caxton!” Bessie cried, pummeling her friend in mock outrage. Their shrieks of laughter grew so loud and uproarious that they echoed through the Ludlow courtyard and made smile everyone who heard them.
    . . .
    or two days now it had been cold and rainy, and whilst the Ffamily was quite used to indoor amusements, there was a worry that Sunday’s tournament would be ruined by inclement weather. Despite Prince Edward’s attempt at lightheartedness, and Nell and Bessie’s repeated assurances that the skies would clear, the boy could think of nothing else.
    Today they had all gathered in Ludlow’s high-ceilinged great hall, and a fire blazed in the massive hearth. The women sat am-icably round a large, gorgeous-hued tapestry, and were gossip-ing as industriously as they were stitching.
    The