By Loyalty Bound: The Story of the Mistress of King Richard III by Elizabeth Ashworth Page A

down from the lantern tower above the nave she thought it was like divine radiance, and she crossed herself and made a silent prayer for the safety of those she loved.
    She had expected some reverence once inside the church, but she was disappointed. It was barely more peaceful than it had been on the streets. People were talking and laughing and standing on tiptoes to look around to see who had come and who had chosen to stay away. How quickly people’s allegiances altered, thought Anne. They considered only their own fortunes. Only a few months ago most of these people would have sworn their loyalty to King Edward, but now they supported Warwick and Margaret of Anjou without question; or at least without any public question.
    A hush moved across the church, beginning at the door and making its way eastwards like a wave. Izzie gripped her hand and Anne peered towards the doorway to try to see what was happening.
    “It’s the king,” whispered Izzie as the turning of heads gave way to bows and curtseys.
    Anne watched as the procession came closer. A man, whom she thought must be the Earl of Warwick, led a shambling figure in a long, faded gown of blue velvet. The man stared about him in incomprehension; his eyes wild, confused and a little fearful as they darted from face to face. Lord Stanley followed him and when they reached the chancel steps he urged the man towards the throne that had been placed ready for him and nodded to the priest to bring forward the incense and the oil.
    So this was the king, thought Anne. How right her uncle had been when he described him as mad and not fit to rule. The man seemed to have no understanding of what was going on and Anne felt sorry for him. The crowd, now silent, watched as the head, hands and breast of the king were bared and anointed. The crown of Edward the Confessor was replaced on his head and he was handed the sceptre and the orb. Then he repeated the vows, prompted by the priest, as a child might speak the words of a lesson not comprehended – and the atmosphere of jubilation and anticipation that had held London in its grasp seemed to fade as the congregation watched. Anne, it seemed, was not alone in her fear for the future.
    With a fanfare of trumpets, the king was led away and Anne felt Sir William touch her arm. She glanced up and saw that he too looked troubled at the events he had just witnessed.
    “It is time to go,” he said. “There is a banquet to attend. Stay close to me and I will see you safely to the hall.”
    They walked in procession through the gathered throngs to the palace at Westminster, where, under the high hammerbeam roof, the bewildered king sat on another throne, his thin hands gripping the arms of the chair as he stared around, and it was the Earl of Warwick, with Lord Stanley close by his side, who was greeting the assembled guests.
    “These are my wards, the lady Anne Harrington and her sister Elizabeth,” said Lord Stanley. “From Hornby Castle,” he added as Anne looked up at Warwick, the traitor she had heard so much about. He studied her for a moment.
    “What of Hornby?” he asked, turning his attention back to Lord Stanley. “Is it in your possession yet?”
    “James Harrington still holds it,” said Lord Stanley with a shrug of irritation. “He fled back there and claims it is his. But,” he added with a slight smile, “I will ensure he does not hold it much longer.”
    “Good man!” laughed Warwick, patting Lord Stanley’s shoulder with resounding slaps. “Now all you need to do is marry your wards wisely and it will be Stanley property for ever.”
    “Indeed, that is my intention.”
    Anger rose in Anne as she listened to the men. Their casual talk of marriages made the blood fire her cheeks, but they turned away to greet some other nobles and she was left standing alone with Izzie, of no more consequence than a horse for sale at the market.
    The celebration continued until it was very late. The king fell asleep on