Jean Plaidy Read Online Free PDF

everyone that he was the King and was warning all not to forget it.
    He was looking at her expectantly.
    “All is well,” she said. “We have our child… .” She could not resist holding back the vital information, perhaps because she felt that a few moments of anxiety would make the news more joyful.
    “Healthy,” she said, “strong, perfect in every way,” still prolonging the suspense. Then she let it out. “A boy. My son, we have our boy.”
    He was overcome with joy and relief.
    “And all is well with him?”
    “He is small … being a child of eight months. But we shall soon remedy that.”
    “A boy,” he said. “We shall call him Arthur.”
    “A fitting name. The Queen’s mother has already suggested Edward.”
    The King shook his head. Edward? Never Edward. To remind everyone of that great handsome king whom they loved even more now that he was dead than they had when he was alive, although they had been fond of him even then! Edward, to remind them of that little Prince who had disappeared in the Tower!!
    Never.
    “I must see the boy,” he said.
    “Come.”
    She led him up to the lying-in chamber. To her annoyance the Queen had the baby in her arms. The Woodville woman must have countermanded her orders as soon as she went down to greet the King. She would have to do something about that, but this was not the moment.
    The King went to the bed and looked with wonder at the child.
    The Queen was smiling at him. He smiled at her.
    “I am happy,” he said.
    “It is wonderful,” answered the Queen quietly. “I dared not hope for so much joy.”
    “We have our boy … our first boy. Now you must recover quickly.”
    It was almost as though he were saying, we should have another soon, so don’t waste time recovering.
    His eyes were cold. She, who had grown up in a warmly loving family where displays of affection were commonplace, was repelled by her husband’s coldness. Even at such a time he was in complete control of his emotions. He was delighted that she had come safely through and they had a son, but was that because it would have been extremely awkward if she had died; and of course a son and a living Yorkist wife were what he needed to make his position very secure.
    She said: “Is he not beautiful? He has a look of my father.”
    The King shook his head. How could that red-faced wrinkled creature look in the least like the magnificent Edward.
    “We should call him Edward,” said Elizabeth Woodville. “It is a good name for the son of a king.”
    “No, he is to be Arthur,” replied Henry. “He is born in Arthur’s Castle. I am descended from Arthur. That is what my son shall be called. Arthur.”
    “That,” said the Countess, “is just what I thought. Come, little Arthur. Your mother must rest.”
    With a triumphant look at the Dowager Queen, the Countess took the child from his mother’s arms and handed him to the nurse.
    It was all very satisfactory. They had their son. The country would rejoice and Elizabeth Woodville and her daughter had learned yet again that they must obey the wishes and commands of the King and his mother.

 
    The Baker’s Boy
     
    aking his way through the streets of Oxford Richard Simon had often paused by the baker’s shop to watch the graceful young boy helping his father there. Richard Simon, humble priest, disgruntled, inwardly complaining with much bitterness of the ill luck which had been his, often wondered what he could do to better his position. In the beginning he had had grand dreams. So many priests rose to greatness. One needed influence of course; that, or some great stroke of good fortune, and if only he could find it there was no end to what could happen to him. Bishoprics might come within his grasp and once he had got onto the first rung of the ladder to fame he would rise, he knew it.
    He had ingenuity and imagination; he had courage … everything a man needed to rise; but as the years passed and he could not take that first step