‘No! I will go back to my wife! She is alone. I must not leave her alone in the dark.’
Crispin’s breath caught. Richard! Gaunt heard it too, and yanked Crispin behind him, just as King Richard entered the chapel.
ELEVEN
Grateful for the darkness and his sheltering hood, Crispin still hadn’t got his breath back. He stood behind Lancaster, head down, trying to slow his breathing that seemed much too loud.
Richard jerked to a halt. Crispin saw only his long-toed shoes. For some reason, his eye fixed on the intricate embroidery there.
‘Uncle,’ he gasped. ‘You … your presence startled us.’
John bowed low and Crispin followed suit, keeping his head down, keeping his body in the shadows. ‘Forgive me, Your Majesty. I … I only wanted to offer my prayers for our Lady Queen.’
Richard tried to hold it back, but a gut-wrenching sob escaped him. He threw his arm over his eyes. ‘She’s gone! She’s gone.’
John hesitated. For anyone else, he might have opened his arms for an embrace. But Richard – who thought himself sacred as one who was anointed by God to his throne – did not give himself to such human interaction.
Richard dragged himself unaided to the bier and knelt. He put his forehead to the edge of it and wept.
John watched him for a moment – helpless – before he bowed again and backed away toward the chapel’s door.
‘Your man,’ said the king, raising his head. His face was wet and puffy from crying. ‘Leave him here to keep watch of us. We fear … we fear to be alone.’
John stopped. ‘I will stay with you, nephew,’ he said softly.
‘No. You must get your rest. Leave your man only.’
John’s stark expression must have matched Crispin’s own. ‘But, er … I would be glad of it. To stay with you, sire. We are blood, Richard.’
‘Leave your man. Do as I say … Lancaster.’
Richard’s words brooked no dispute. There was nothing they could do. John cautioned with his eyes and Crispin acknowledged it with a nod.
‘You must get your rest, Your Majesty,’ said Lancaster.
‘In time, Uncle. In time.’
There was nothing more John could do. He seemed as if he was trying to stall, until Richard turned to him again with a hooded expression that left no doubt. He bowed again, and left Crispin alone. With the king.
Slowly, he turned to Richard.
‘Stay and watch with us, man. Keep watch of your queen.’
Crispin nodded and stepped back into the shadows, his left hand resting on his sword hilt.
For a long time, he watched Richard weep, cursing himself for getting into this situation.
It might have been an hour that Richard kept his vigil. Crispin’s back ached from standing in one place unmoving for so long. There had been a time when such things were easy. He’d stood guard many a time outside Lancaster’s pavilion when ready for a battle. But that had been long ago.
At last, after another half an hour had passed, Richard took a shuddering sigh and crossed himself. He lifted an arm. ‘Help us up.’
Crispin eased a breath over his lips and stepped forward, taking the king’s arm and bracing him as he rose. Richard was older since the last time he’d seen him. He was twenty-six now. He’d been king for nearly seventeen years. His face seemed sallow, but that could have been from his day of weeping. A soft trimmed beard and mustache of a light brown color were the only prominent features on his face. His whole manner was always effete, but Crispin knew he often marched ahead of his troops to distant places, though he did not fight himself. He thought of a younger Richard, the vindictive man, the spoiled prince. Had he changed? Of course, it hadn’t been that many years ago that Henry Derby had accompanied other great lords of the realm with an army to demand that Richard put aside his favorites and rule as he should. Was Richard behaving himself now? Was he ruling as a king?
Richard leaned over and massaged his knees and thighs. ‘We are weak in her presence. We have always been weak with her.’
Crispin said nothing as Richard contemplated her body before raising his eyes to his chapel. ‘It is a fine place. But she must rest in Westminster. She deserves more than this humble chapel. She was a queen and must rest with the other kings and queens of England.’
Saying nothing, Crispin stood as still as possible.
Richard turned sharply toward him. His eyes were red and puffy. Crispin lowered his head. ‘You are a good and faithful knight, sir. Tell us your name.’
God’s blood, he raged in his head. Should he lie? He had to lie, but could he disguise his voice? ‘Jack,’ he said, in as gruff a voice as he could muster.
‘Jack?’ Richard scoffed. ‘What sort of name is that for a knight? Our uncle certainly chooses the most unusual courtiers to surround himself with.’ Crispin hoped that would be the end to the conversation and Richard’s talkativeness would soon pass, but it was not to be. ‘How long have you been our uncle’s man?’
Clearing his throat, Crispin attempted a deeper timbre. ‘Thirty-four years, Your Majesty.’
‘Thirty-four years. That’s longer than we’ve been alive. Thirty-four years of faithful service. And yet, we don’t recall a knight such as you at court.’
Crispin didn’t reply, but Richard would not let it go.
‘Eh? If not at court, where have you been?’
What could he say? The more he spoke, the more likely the king might recognize his voice. There was nothing for it. Better to be on the offense. He dropped down to a knee and bowed his head.
‘Well, what’s this?’ said the king.
‘Forgive me, sire.’ He used his own voice this time.
‘Forgive you? Forgive you for …’
Crispin waited. It was only a matter of time. He’d either live through this or he would not. Time seemed to pause as Richard worked it out.
‘Guest!’ he spat.
‘Forgive me, Your Majesty.’
Richard trembled. His breath came hard and swift. Lunging forward, he grabbed the hilt of Crispin’s sword and yanked it from its sheath. When Crispin looked up, Richard had taken it in both hands and swung his arms back, winding up for the blow.
It was as if life itself had begun to slow. A moth hovered near one of the candles, bobbing close to utter destruction before weaving away, and Crispin seemed to see each flap of its delicate wings, one after the other; seemed to hear them as a soft, slow patter. The many carved saints around them appeared to pause, to glance in their direction, pondering what the mourning King of England was about to do. Crispin could hear his own breath ease in and out of his nose in great gusts, and his heartbeat – perhaps the last strokes of it – thumped in a quickening staccato.
But the longer Richard kept the sword over his shoulder, the more his face – so red and enraged at first – slackened. All at once he let the sword drop from his fingers with a loud clang to the Purbeck marble floor.
The guards at the door jerked their heads to peer inside. But all they saw was their king standing before a kneeling man. They exchanged glances with one another and, not knowing what else to do, slowly turned away.
Richard’s anger seemed to have gone. But he glared at Crispin uncomprehendingly. ‘What are you doing here, Guest? Why in Christ’s name are you here?’
‘Forgive me, Majesty. But I …’ He glanced at the queen, and though it wasn’t the whole truth, it was certainly part of it. ‘But I … wanted to come. I had to pay my respects to our queen.’ Remarkably, tears welled in his eyes. It was the truth. He had been grateful for her intervention, for she had spared Crispin once, too. ‘I never meant for Your Majesty to see me. I grieve that my presence has harmed you now.’
Richard sagged. He watched Crispin’s tears for a moment. ‘You loved her too,’ he said softly.
Crispin wiped his face and nodded.
Richard sighed and rubbed his forehead. ‘What am I to do with you, Guest? You show up at the most inopportune times.’
/> ‘I am sorry, Your Majesty.’
‘Of course you are sorry.’ He walked unsteadily away, veering toward the bier, then away from it. His hand covered his mouth, stroking the mustache, then the trimmed beard. ‘The entire realm is sorry,’ he said into his hand. ‘They all loved her.’
‘Yes, they did. They still do.’
‘Oh, Guest, Guest.’ Richard’s voice fell soft and slow amid the echoes of the chapel, gently bouncing off the cold painted stone. ‘We were so young then. So … inexperienced. We never expected Father to die like that … We weren’t expecting to be king so soon.’ His shoulders lifted with his sigh. ‘We needed help of trusted men, trusted knights. Our uncle was there, of course. We knew that he was versed in what a king should do, should say, how he should act. There were tutors … so many tutors.’ He gazed at Crispin with glossy eyes. ‘We would have been overjoyed to have you serve at our side,’ he said. There was an unaccustomed tenderness to his tone, something Crispin wasn’t used to hearing, especially when directed toward him. ‘To be a knight of the court,’ the king went on. He even smiled. ‘Do you remember when Henry and I were young and we enjoyed many an entertaining hour in your company?’ He cocked his head, shaking it slowly and frowning at Crispin. ‘You had no idea how much I … loved you, did you?’
Crispin’s jaw slackened in shock. If Richard were to don motley and dance for the court, he couldn’t have been more surprised.
Richard chuckled bitterly. ‘You never knew that, I’ll wager. That I loved you and looked up to you. You who were merry and full of mischief and so very clever. I could never be that clever. Or so very full of mischief. No, I had to behave. I was to be the heir … and then suddenly the king. But oh! Such a horseman you were! How I loved riding with you. I learned much about my own mount; more from you than from my many governors.’ The king’s smile faded as the memories, no doubt, dimmed. He stiffened and drew himself up. ‘I was hurt by your treason.’
Crispin lowered his head again. Shame suddenly washed over him. When Richard took the throne, he was the same age as his son was now. And Christopher had been just as hurt by Crispin’s seeming betrayal by ignoring him for the last two years.
‘It is a poor excuse to say I was young and didn’t know the extent of my … my betrayal,’ said Crispin. ‘But the truth of it is I wasn’t that young. Not young enough. I … I didn’t know … didn’t realize the full extent of the hurt I caused. I am sorriest for betraying your trust, sire.’
The king leaned over, resting his hands on his knees, to look Crispin full in the face. ‘Are you truly sorry? Are you? Today is a day of penance. Would you swear it in the presence of our gentle queen?’
‘I do so swear it, Your Grace.’
He studied Crispin, brown eyes roving over his features beneath its hood. ‘Why must you be so contrary?’ He sniffed, wiping the royal hand under his nose. ‘You swore an oath to me and then you broke it.’ He shook his head. ‘A knight should never do that.’
Crispin drew a trembling breath. ‘I know, Your Grace.’
‘Look at you. You are more knightly now than you ever were at court. It drapes about you like a mantle. Not many men can do that, Crispin. I wish …’ He raised his gaze to the chapel’s vaulted ceiling again and wiped at his eyes. When he looked down at Crispin again, they were dry. ‘My wife the queen urged me to forgive you.’ He shook his head. ‘But I can’t. You must understand. I can’t.’
‘I know, sire. You have no reason to forgive.’
He straightened. ‘Have I not? Do you still plot treason, man?’
‘No, sire. I am loyal to the crown.’
‘To us?’ He beat his chest. ‘To Richard?’
He could almost hear the little boy in that plea. ‘Yes. To King Richard.’
A tear ran slowly down the king’s cheek. It wasn’t for Crispin, he was sure of it.
‘To the prince I once was? To that boy?’
Crispin lowered his face again.
‘I wish I could believe you, Crispin.’
Crispin stared at those embroidered slippers again. ‘So do I.’
Richard almost laughed. ‘You are still and always will be an impudent fellow.’
‘So I have been told.’
‘Ha! By your lord of Lancaster, no doubt.’
‘And many others, sire.’
‘He smuggled you into our court.’
Crispin hesitated.
Richard waved him off. ‘You need not answer. Your fabric betrays you.’
He looked down at the tabard with Lancaster’s arms.
‘Under our nose. At our most vulnerable …’ Richard wrung his hands. ‘So many times you could have killed us. Even in this past hour, you could have killed your king whom you betrayed with treason when we were but a child. Why did you not?’
‘It was never my intention …’
‘You are under the eyes of God here, Guest.’ He stretched his arm to encompass the chapel. His hand gestured finally to the crucifix above the rood. ‘Best not to lie.’
‘I am not lying, Your Grace. It was never my intention to do your person harm.’
‘Only depose us.’
Crispin said nothing. They both knew the truth of it. Still on his guard, Crispin’s shoulder muscles tensed.
Richard seemed to relax. He even rested his hand on Crispin’s shoulder, still kneeling as he was. ‘How we wish you could have been loyal to us,’ he whispered. ‘We would have laid honors upon you. Made you a favorite. I’m certain of it. You are so loyal to our uncle. Why not to Richard?’
Did he want an answer? Crispin pondered what he could say.
‘But that time has passed,’ said the king regretfully. His hand fell away and he wandered toward the south wall. With his back to Crispin, he said, ‘You may return to our uncle. Try not to let us see you again.’
‘Sire.’ Relief flooded his whole body. Crispin rose unsteadily and bowed.
‘You’re getting old, Crispin.’
He paused. ‘Yes, sire.’
‘You can thank your mentor for that.’
‘Yes, sire. And you … for your mercy.’
‘Yes, mercy.’ He seemed to contemplate the far wall, when suddenly he spun and faced Crispin anew. ‘Do you think I wanted to execute you?’
It had never occurred to him before. But now he saw the truth of it and felt a renewed warm wash of shame in his heart again.
‘Don’t forget your sword, Guest. Since my cousin Henry saw fit to give it to you, you might as well keep it.’
‘Your Majesty.’ He bowed and backed toward the archway.
‘Pray for our queen, Guest.’
‘Every day, Your Grace.’
‘Good. That is good. Good man.’
The king seemed to have expended his conversation, so Crispin knelt to retrieve his sword and sheathe it. He edged further toward the entry, pivoted, and hurried away.
‘God’s blood,’ he whispered, finally away from the guards. He crossed himself and sent his grateful thanks heavenward.
He’d barely gone a few steps when someone hissed at him in the shadows.
‘Psst! Goat’s master!’
When he looked harder, it was one of the queen’s English ladies. ‘There is something I wish to say to you,’ she whispered.
TWELVE
‘My name is Lady Agnes. I have been the queen’s attendant since she came to this country. I know everything about her.’
Crispin studied the sweet, oval face of the woman before him. She was swathed in a cloak and hood and held that hood close to her face. ‘The note you showed us,’ she went on. ‘It made no sense if it was a threat against our dear Queen Anne. Because, you see, she asked for and was given—’ She stopped and looked both ways up and down the corridor. ‘She was given,’ she whispered, ‘a Bible … in English. She learned to read it.’
‘A Lollard Bible?’ said Crispin.
‘Yes. She was a friend to them. She often calmed the king when he began raging against it. He had
not in the early days. He knew many of his lords sympathized with Lollard teachings. Now he is not as gracious.’
‘Then the queen knew Lollards and received a Bible from them?’
‘Yes. It would have been a great crime indeed if a Lollard had plotted against her, knowing well how she stemmed the king’s wrath on them.’
He nodded. ‘I see what you mean. Thank you for this information. Did she have any enemies in other quarters?’
‘No. I can think of no one who harbored ill will toward her. As you know, she was kind and gentle.’
‘Yes. I have never heard an unkind word about her.’
‘I knew I had to tell you. I believe the queen died of illness, just as the physicians said. There is no cruel cause here, good master.’
‘I am beginning to see that, Lady Agnes.’
She clutched at her hood and glanced up the corridor again. ‘And Master Goat. Does he fare well?’
Thinking of Jack made him smile, and he needed to smile just then. ‘He does indeed, fair lady. With a wife and children. He has always been my faithful man.’
She seemed to brighten. ‘Ah. That does my heart good. I shall tell the others. We worried so about him.’
‘You need never worry over him. God shines his blessings upon that man.’ He thanked her again and allowed her to make her way down the corridor without him. He waited a moment more before he set out himself to return to Lancaster’s apartments. When he turned the corner, the man himself was pacing. He whipped around at Crispin’s step.
‘God be praised,’ he gasped and rushed toward him. He took Crispin by his shoulders and drew him into an embrace.
Surprised, Crispin allowed it, face thrust against John’s shoulder. John pushed him back to look him over. ‘You are alive!’
‘There was some question about it at the time,’ he answered.
‘Come inside.’ He ushered Crispin beyond his door and through to the antechamber. ‘What happened?’
Crispin gestured toward the wine on the sideboard and John granted him leave. He poured two generous goblets. ‘Mostly, I stood guard.’ He handed John one while he gulped at his own. When the wine settled in him he released a sigh. ‘But then he spoke to me and I had to answer. And then I felt it was useless to hide who I was.’
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