A War trapped in absurdity

The War of the Roses is arguably the most interesting and the most ridiculous events in the history of English royalty. Several authors have touched upon this era, mesmerised in part by the speed of the events and partly by the sheer stupidity of the actors in this great game. It has seen numerous historical books, plays, adaptations and fictions written around it. And one of the most interesting of them all has been the fictionalised account of events written by British writer-historian Philippa Gregory.

The Lady of the Rivers is Philippa Gregory’s third installment in her widely read and acclaimed ‘Cousins’ War’ series. Narrated through the perspective of Jacquetta of Luxembourg, readers experience the events leading up to the fall of the House of Lancaster, characterised chiefly by King Henry VI, Margaret of Anjou and Duke of Somerset and the eventual ascent of the House of York characterised chiefly by Edward IV.

The plot hovers around the turmoil of England as they scramble to maintain their hold on the lands in France that the late Henry V won after years of sweat and blood, but his son and heir, the juvenile and inherently weak Henry VI, is not only surrounded by courtiers and relatives who clog his mind with stupid advice, but also the politics of the factional tussle.

The story unfolds in Northern France as Joan of Arc, who Jacquetta has befriended while Joan awaits sentencing, is captured, tried in a kangaroo-court and burnt on the stake. How much historical basis this chance encounter has is anybody’s guess but the event has been used to make Jacquetta, and the readers, aware of the gifts of Sight and Premonition she inherited from her water-goddess ancestor Melusina.

Jacquetta’s eventual marriage to the Duke of Bedford, uncle to Henry VI, sees her shifting to England, a place she takes a liking for and vice-versa. Upon the Duke’s death, after a glorious but often frustrating career, she marries for love (instigated by a bout of lust), to his squire Richard Woodville. Jacquetta grasps her new home and serves Henry VI and the Queen as she spends most of her time dreading about the fate of her husband who is every now and then sent to protect an almost hopeless fort-town of Calais that not only has to defend itself from the French but the House of York too.

The love that grew between Jacquetta and Richard is fondly depicted and one can well envisage, through Gregory’s eyes, how the improbable pair found abiding love in an environment full of lies, deceit, gossip and revenge. They spend much of the book apart, with Richard engaged in defence of Lancaster in Calais. He comes home from war, she gets pregnant, he leaves…comes home when the baby is born, gets her pregnant again. However, the author seems to have deliberately used the cyclic pattern to signify how lasting love can be found amid the turmoil of realpolitik. On his part, Richard Woodville rather comes out as quite the star here, with his chivalrous characteristics.

The narrative remains gripping though much to the chagrin of those who appreciate elements of fantasy and godly interventions or for that matter magical-realism, it is generally these parts that make the narration sluggish. However, it is the magic of Philippa that brings the narration back on track. On her part, she gives ample time and space for every character to develop and take hold. However, in spite of placing Jacquetta and Richard in the centre, certain other characters also grow into rounded figures.

Jacquetta comes across as rather promising in the initial chapters and holds out till the second plot-point. Just read the portion where the embattled, derided and always on tenterhooks Jacquetta decides to take her fate in her own hands following a narrow escape in a witch-hunt orgy. However, her evolution as a character stops somewhere halfway through the tale.

In contrast, Margaret of Anjou comes out with flying colours even though it is pretty obvious that the writer left no stone unturned to do otherwise. She is depicted as so stupid and clueless as to the proper running of England, that the reader has just about no sympathy at all for the Lancastrian cause.

Margaret’s character arc is distinctly noticeable. Her transformation from a cheeky and rather childish bride to a headstrong, tenacious ruler who just doesn’t want to share power with the Yorkist faction and prefers to forgo it completely by bringing two of the houses into a permanent battle, holds the readers well.

Her likes and dislikes are quite pronounced and she does not give two hoots about what the court, the clergy, the capital or the country thinks of her. She is the kind of woman who decides to take command of her and her nation’s fate that are essentially entwined with each other. That it ends as a catastrophe is merely an incident.