These words, seconded and echoed by those of many a gallant knight and noble, raised Margaret’s broken spirit, and she began once more to hope.  That day they journeyed by rapid stages to Beaulieu Abbey, a very famous sanctuary in those days, the ruins of which may still be seen in the New Forest; and there the party found the widowed Countess of Warwick, who had landed at Portsmouth before the royal party had reached Weymouth, and had just heard of her terrible loss.  To have her daughter with her once again, and to mingle their tears together, was some consolation, both for the countess and the Lady Anne; but others had sterner work before them than weeping over past misfortunes, and as soon as the retreat of the royal Lancastrian became generally known, many stanch adherents flocked to tender their allegiance and promise fealty to the cause.

Foremost amongst these was the young Duke of Somerset, whose family had ever been stanch to the Red Rose, as well it might.  Some of the unpopularity Margaret of Anjou had early won for herself at the English court was due to her confidence in and affection for Somerset, and his son might well be ardent in her cause.

Margaret herself was still sunk in unwonted depression, but the representations of the fiery young duke did much to give her heart.  With him came Jasper Tudor, the king’s half brother, and they drew glowing pictures of the loyalty of the western counties; and of Wales, where a large band of troops was mustering for her support; and represented that if she could but effect a junction with them, the whole country would soon be hers, and she would be able to dictate terms to the enemy at the gates of London.

Margaret’s elastic temper rose with the encouragement thus received, and Edward’s heart beat high with hope.  The party began their westward march, and through the bright days of April and May they rode through the smiling land, receiving welcome and adulation from all, and reinforcements to their little band from every town through which they passed.  Small wonder was it that they learned to feel confident of ultimate success.  The young prince, with Paul at his side, would ride through the ranks of his followers day by day, speaking bright, brave words to all he passed, and winning the hearts of his troops as perhaps only the young and frank-hearted and unspoiled can do.  To him it seemed almost more like a triumphal progress than a recruiting march.

But Margaret’s brow was often dark with anxiety.  She knew the temper of the bold Edward of York, as she called him, whom the world still spoke of as king; and she knew that he would be upon their track.  Any day they might see his banners threatening their rear, and still the Welsh army was at some distance; and until a junction could be effected, even their lives could scarce be called safe.

Then at Gloucester a serious check met them.  The place was held for the king’s brother, and the gates were resolutely closed against her.  It was here that she had reckoned upon crossing the deep and treacherous waters of the Severn, and to be thus foiled might mean the ruin of the enterprise.  The sheltering mountains of Wales were already in sight; but how was she to reach them if the passage of the river were denied her?