The Dragon and the Rose Read Online Free PDF

sounded as sincere and hearty as he could make it, but he did not fail to notice Francis's use of the present tense in his assurance.

    Margaret sat with folded hands and downcast eyes. Though her complexion was marred with weeping, she was remarkably beautiful. Henry Stafford wondered briefly how he had come to take so little advantage of his position as her husband in the past. He put the thought aside to concentrate on the more immediate problem.
    "You must have some idea where he has gone. You must. You have long known Jasper Tudor. I know you received letters from him when he went into exile before. Think! Where are his common hidey-holes?"
    Two slow tears made shining tracks down Margaret's cheeks, but her voice, although scarcely above a whisper, did not waver. "I have told you," she said wearily. "He was in Ireland when he wrote to me. More than that I do not know. He never wrote where he was or who his friends were lest his message fall into those hands he feared." Margaret raised her eyes. "Jasper desired news of me. He did not write to give me news."
    It was logical enough, but Stafford was uneasy. He took a few hasty steps away from Margaret, then returned. Low-voiced, meek, denying him nothing, never refusing to answer, Margaret nonetheless made him uncomfortable.
    "You gave him your son, Can you tell me you did not ask where he would take him? I tell you, Henry is in far greater danger from the mad notions Jasper will instill in him than from our just and gracious king."
    Margaret's lips moved silently for a moment, and Stafford hissed with impatience. She was praying again.
    "I did not give him my son," she said. "I have sworn it on my soul. Do you think I court damnation?"
    Stafford shook his head impatiently. On any other subject that remark would have closed the discussion. Margaret believed in God and in damnation as few priests or prelates did, but her husband was not in the least sure she would try to avoid damnation if she thought her eternal sojourn in hell would benefit her son. He regretted bitterly that he had not demanded his marital rights more frequently not only because the woman was desirable but also because, if she had conceived again and borne another child, her devotion would be divided. As it was, he had no weapon to use against her.
    He dared not try physical mistreatment. She was so frail she would die if she were not gently used. And if she died, her estates would go to the crown, since her son was alive but disinherited. Stafford did not pretend to himself that the king would make over those rich territories to him. He might receive some small part, but those ravening beasts, the queen's Woodville kin, would batten on the lion's share—whatever they could snatch from the claws of that other beast, the king's brother, George of Clarence. The most annoying part of the whole thing was that he was tormenting Margaret though he believed she was telling the truth. She probably did not know where Jasper had taken the boy and, equally probably, she had not agreed to let him go. She was neither a clever nor a strong woman, and she doted on the child excessively.
    That thought brought Stafford's eyes back to his wife. His brother kept insisting that he question her. Buckingham did not agree with him about Margaret's brains or will; he believed that she was both strong and infernally clever. Nonsense! Margaret never resisted him. The smallest pressure made her yield at once. And she never thought about anything beyond her boy, her God, and her clothes. When he spoke to her about the court, she seemed to listen, but when he asked for her opinion, she said such things as, "That is ungodly." Or, "Did the queen's headdress bear a veil?"
    It was unfortunate she did not know where Jasper had taken Henry. Had she known, the king's agents might have been there waiting for them. Of course, the boy's whereabouts would not long be secret. Whoever had him would soon open negotiations. In any case, it would be