A Rose for the Crown: A Novel

by Anne Easter Smith

  “Blessed Mother of God, keep safe my babe. Let not the sin of her mother rest on the child. And make me fruitful, sweet Virgin. I long to bear another child, if it be Thy will. Show me Thy love and kindness, I pray you.”

  As she gazed at the perfect face of the statue, the walls of the shrine faded, and it seemed she was in a meadow. She began to dream. She saw two happy children playing in the meadow. A third watched from the edge. His eyes were sad. A light shone around the two in the middle, and they began to float before her eyes. The third child ran towards them, his arms outstretched heavenwards as if to catch them. Across the meadow she saw a lone knight, charging full tilt towards her. As he drew near, he gave a great cry, fell from his horse and lay still.

  “Kate, are you well?” Margaret’s hushed voice broke through Kate’s trance and brought her back to reality. “You did cry out as if in pain.”

  Kate turned two huge, frightened eyes to her friend.

  “I had a vision, Margaret. ’Twas too terrible to tell. Take me out of this place, I beg you. I am afraid unto death!”

  KATE SAT AMONG the crowd that hovered around the village’s elaborate stone pump. It felt good to wash her feet in the icy water and quench her thirst. Two children squabbled in front of her, every exposed part of them covered in a layer of dust and grime. She was still troubled by her vision and tried to find a meaning in it that was anything but the obvious. Margaret was also troubled by it and could offer no happy explanation either. She found Kate after buying them each a small pie and a mug of ale, and they walked northward to a quiet wheat field to rest their legs and eat. Out of earshot of anyone who might have found the information interesting, Margaret attempted to take Kate’s mind off the dream and told her of the rumor that was now troubling the king.

  “I did not remark on the absence of George of Clarence in Bury and Norfolk, did you, Kate?” she began. Kate shook her head. Richard was the only brother who mattered to her, and when he was anywhere near, she saw no one else. “Jack told me the king believed George was doing his duty and rallying support to his banner in the west. Thus he did not invite him here. Now he wishes he had, I warrant.” Margaret looked serious. “The rumor that has flown south is that of a conspiracy between George and Warwick to unseat Edward and put George on the throne in his stead. It seems Edward’s leading strings are harder to pull than Clarence’s, and Warwick is chaffing for control.”

  Kate was shocked. “George conspiring against his brother? Where is his family loyalty, pray? ’Tis unthinkable!”

  “Oh, Kate, certes you are a greenhorn. Brother against brother, father against son, ’tis the way with men seeking wealth and power.” Margaret’s words reminded her of Richard’s tirade at Stratford Langthorne. “Jack says the king is unpopular with his people these days. He says Edward has bestowed too much power on his Woodville relatives and has let slip the reins of government. He has not a male heir to strengthen his position, either. George is a weak man and easily controlled by Warwick. If George succeeds in toppling Edward, ’tis Warwick who will rule England from behind the throne.”

  Kate frowned, looking around anxiously. “’Tis treason you talk, Margaret. I like not the consequences for Richard. He is caught between his brother and his lord.”

  “Oh, Richard will survive, no matter which way the wind blows, never fear. Jack, too. He has much faith in that young man of yours, Kate.” Margaret patted her hand. “But should a fight ensue, I like not that both our men will be in the thick of it. ’Twas my special prayer to the Virgin”—she nodded her head in the direction of the village—“that the rumor is false and all will be well.”

  “Perhaps that is the interpretation of my dream! Three children—I did not see clearly if they were all boys or no, but it could be the three brothers, with Richard on the outside watching the other two. But they did seem to be happily playing. And then who was the horseman? I thought it was Richard, but his visor was down. It could have been the Angel of Death!”

  “Aye, you could be right. But let us not dwell on it too much, Kate. You will go mad if you do.” Margaret stood and flicked pie crumbs from her skirt. “Listen, a horn! Perhaps the king’s party is in sight. Come!”

  The two women hurried over the tiny bridge and back into the village square. Judging by the throng pushing its way towards the road from the Slipper Chapel, the king was coming. The herald walked ahead of Edward, parting the crowds for his passage. Edward and all his retinue were barefoot and clad in plain brown serge cloaks over their finery. Edward’s head was bowed in penitence as he told his rosary.

  Kate spotted Richard not far behind his brother, walking alone, and started to push her way closer to him. But the aura of piety around him, together with his solitude, gave a new dimension to the man she loved, and she faltered. She wondered if she would be included in his supplication to the Virgin. In this moment though, he seemed as far removed from her as if she were stranger in the crowd.

  IT WAS DUSK when they were reunited in the chapel garden.

  “I will send you money for Katherine, sweetheart,” Richard promised. “’Tis only right she have support from her father. I cannot send a fortune, but as soon as I raise some funds, I will send you something. I must find men and arms for Edward and fund my own expenses.”

  “But Richard, there is no need. We lack for nothing with my continued portion from Thomas’s business. You will have your own costs on the campaign. Think no more on it.”

  They sat holding hands, both aware they might not be together again for a long time. Richard lifted her hand and kissed the ring he had given her.

  “I wish we had but one more night together, love. But I shall carry the memory of these days on the long journey north, and I shall write as often as I can. Do not cry, I beg of you. ’Tis not the way I wish to remember you.” He wiped away a tear. “’Tis your strength that I cherish, Kate, and your carefree spirit. Tears are not for you.”

  Kate brushed aside another with her free hand and gave a loud sniff.

  Richard laughed. “That’s better! ’Tis what I love about you—you are a lady and yet you are not. I hope little Katherine grows up exactly like you.” Richard bent and kissed her on the lips. “And now I must leave before that husband of yours comes looking for you. Certes, he is a petulant fellow! I know not how you could have loved him.”

  Kate laughed. “I had not met you then, Richard. He is very handsome, and I was very young!” Serious again, she said, “You are in my prayers every night. I pray no harm will come to you.” A thought occurred to her, and she squeezed his hand. “But how would I know if you were hurt? Not by Jack Howard, because Margaret tells me he will not go north but stay in London with his fleet.”

  “Fear not, Kate. I will have Rob send word, if it is the worst. But you have seen me fight. I can hold my own—even against my own brother.” He grimaced when he thought of disloyal Clarence. “Now, I must bid you farewell and God speed.” He pulled her to her feet and took her in his arms one last time.

  GEORGE WAS WAITING to be summoned by Jack to join the fleet. He was in a foul mood. Being with Kate and the baby at Dog Kennel House reminded him constantly of her infidelity, and the prospect of spending several weeks on a ship added to his woes.

  Two weeks had passed since the king had left Norfolk for Fotheringhay and thence to Nottingham. En route he had learned the worst. Not only was Clarence in Warwick’s pocket, but also he had married the earl’s eldest daughter, Isobel, without permission from the crown. Perhaps Clarence had chafed under Edward’s thumb and Warwick offered him a chance to shine. Perhaps Warwick had greater plans: replacing Edward with Clarence and making his daughter queen of England. He appeared to believe his power had no limits.

  Edward was only now taking the Redesdale rebellion seriously—finally accepting Warwick as its instigator—and his supporters hoped it was not too late. He had ordered his royal wardrobe to provide armor, flags and a thousand uniform jackets of his murrey and blue colors, and he had sent his c
losest followers around the country to muster men and arms to his banner. Somewhere in the flurry of activity surrounding the king, Richard found a moment to send Kate the gift he had promised. The letter came with Jack, who had returned to outfit his ships in case Edward had need of them. He gave it to her one morning in his office.

  Jack was matter-of-fact. “I was forced to send George back here, Kate. I have need of him now, and I do feel he is better doing my bidding on board ship than attempting to wield a sword on the battlefield. The master-at-arms despairs of his abilities, but he has a head for counting and he makes a fair scribe. He can help me with victualing the fleet.” His eyes twinkled. “You are not vexed with me?”

  “How can I be vexed with you, Sir John. I can handle George. You have been more than generous to both of us. And now you have brought me more joy with this letter. I thank you.” She curtsied and left the room, only to bump into George as he was crossing the hall. She swiftly concealed the letter behind her back. “Have a care, George!” She smiled pleasantly at him. “You almost knocked me over.”

  He glowered at her. “What is that you are hiding, wife? What has Sir John been telling you about me?”

  “Only that he is mightily pleased with you, George, and is sore in need of you this very minute! And I must deliver this to Margaret immediately,” she added, waving the letter and skipping to the staircase. She was gone in a trice before he had time to react. He cursed her and knocked on the office door, convinced she was lying to him.

  Kate waited until the office door closed behind George before reading her letter.

  “Five pounds annuity for as long as Katherine lives with you. When she is of an age, I shall find a place for her in my household, and she shall be treated as befits a duke’s daughter. That is my promise to you, Kate. I cannot write more, there is much to be done here, and I leave for Fotheringhay on the morrow. But be assured you are in my heart and in my prayers, as is my little rosebud.” This time he gave his full name, either to dignify the contract or because he was in a hurry and signed it out of habit: “Richard Gloucester.”

  “Five pounds! Certes, ’tis a healthy sum for such a tiny mite,” Kate told her daughter later, who stared at her with her long eyes and then broke into a smile. “Aye, you may smile, sweeting. Your father loves you, in truth.”

  Kate read the letter again, and briefly wondered why Richard had been sent back to Fotheringhay when the king was at Nottingham. She folded the letter, hid it inside a letter from Anne and locked it in her chest. Her long-ago gift held her letters from Geoffrey, Richard Haute and Anne among her jewelry, combs and some special stones she had found by the river. Painful though it was to see them burn, Richard’s letters were always consigned to the fire as a precaution. But this one she would keep for her daughter. If something should happen to her, it was proof for Katherine of a loving father.

  It was Kate’s wont of a fine afternoon to take Katherine to the hall’s walled garden. It was a warm July day, and Kate took off Katherine’s swaddling bands and watched as the child rolled over and attempted to get onto her knees.

  “She is trying to crawl, Molly! Do you see that, she is trying to crawl!”

  Molly laughed and showed Katherine how it was done. The baby gurgled and laughed and fell flat onto her stomach. Determined, she tried again and failed. Her little brow became furrowed with concentration, and it made the two women laugh again as she persevered. George heard the laughter on his way back to the house from his session with Jack. He was feeling much relieved. A messenger had arrived from the king. Jack was to give an accounting of any men in the Howard manors who would join the army at Nottingham. Edward also wanted news of the readiness of the fleet. George was to ride to Ipswich, gather information and from there ride post haste to Nottingham. He might yet avoid going to sea, he thought. He had no reason nor desire to see Kate before he left, and he did not want to alert her to his presence on the path to the house.

  He was on a mission, for Jack had inadvertently told him that the letter he had given Kate was for her and not for Margaret. George’s question had been innocent enough: “Kate seemed happy when she came from here with the letter in her hand, Sir John. We did not have time to discuss it as ’twas my duty to serve you at once.” He gave Jack his most charming smile.

  Certes, Jack thought, he is a comely fellow, ’tis no wonder our Kate was taken with him. Aloud he said, “Aye, she was pleased to receive it.” And left it there.

  Armed with the knowledge that the letter was indeed for Kate and was being kept from him, George was determined to see it for himself. He had no doubt it was from her lover, although he wondered briefly why it had been delivered to Howard. At Jack’s dictation, he scratched out a letter to the king for the waiting messenger and listened to his orders. Armed with several other missives for contacts in Ipswich, he bade Jack farewell and went down the driveway, deciding to make a quick search of Kate’s belongings. Convinced Providence was on his side when he heard Kate and Molly in the walled garden, he sprinted the rest of the way to the house and ran up the stairs. The cook and wet nurse were conversing in the kitchen and did not hear him. Only when dust fell through the floor above onto her apron did Janet know someone was in the house.

  “Who be there? Be that you, Molly?”

  “Nay, ’tis I, your master.” George was imperious. “Leave me alone, woman. I am about the king’s business.”

  Janet rolled her eyes and cocked him a snoot from the room below.

  The wet nurse chuckled. “How do the mistress put up with him, Janet?”

  Janet shrugged. “What be he adoing of up there? He be making all kinds of a racket. It be none of my business. But I warrant he be up to no good.”

  George was pulling Kate’s dresses and shoes out of her wardrobe chest at the foot of the bed. Finding nothing, he stuffed them back and banged the lid shut in frustration. Then he turned his attention to the little chest on the table.

  “Damnation!” he muttered, realizing it was locked. Kate never used to lock the box, he remembered. Why was she now so prudent? It must be because she was hiding something. He pulled his knife out of its sheath and tried to pry it open. The lock was not meant to be anything more than a safeguard against accidental opening and spillage, so it yielded without much resistance. For once George ignored the ready money and jewels and began perusing the letters.

  “Christ’s nails, what drivel!” he spluttered, reading a few lines of one of Anne’s.

  Then he found it, folded several times inside another of Anne’s. The even handwriting was different from the rest of the pile. He looked furtively at the door and then down again at the parchment in his hand. The broken seal was impressive, although now indecipherable. He scanned the contents, nodding with mounting excitement. When he saw the signature, his mouth dropped open.

  “Richard of Gloucester! The king’s brother? Nay, ’tis not possible. It cannot be possible. When could she have met . . .” He broke off and then whistled. “Chelsworth! That day she discovered Simon and me . . . she said Richard of Gloucester had been at the house with another. Jesu, who was that? Think, George!”

  But Rob Percy’s name escaped him. He sat perfectly still on the bed, staring at the letter. He ran his tongue over his dry lips and began to formulate a plan. He had thought he would be angry, that he would want to find and kill the man who had cuckolded him. But a royal duke? That was a different proposition. This had possibilities.

  George imagined his conversation with Richard. “Five pounds, your grace? That is a paltry sum, in truth. For my silence maybe you would like to pay me, oh, say four times that. Aye, twenty pounds should not hurt your grace too badly in the purse, I’ll warrant.” He put the letter inside his jacket and rubbed his hands together. Now he was doubly glad he was not having to stay with Sir John and go aboard one of those puke-inducing vessels. He was to ride close to where his antagonist was lodged, according to the letter. It was on his road to Nottingham. Perhaps he would ride straight to the
king, deliver his messages and then ride back by way of Fotheringhay.

  A noise downstairs roused him from his planning, and he carefully folded up all the other letters and placed them back in the box. He could not resist helping himself to a noble or two before he closed the lid. He hoped Kate would not notice the knife marks around the lock for a while. Grabbing his saddlebag, he pushed a few necessities into it and went downstairs.

  “Tell your mistress I am about the king’s business for a few days, cook,” he called as he exited the house. “Wat goes with me.”

  He strode up to the Tendring stables, where Wat, dressed in the Howard crimson and argent, was waiting with his horse. Jack insisted George take Wat with him, because two riders were less vulnerable than one. In a few minutes, they mounted and trotted off.

  “AYE, SWEETING, ’tis time for a feeding.” Kate tickled Katherine’s round belly and tried to make her daughter laugh. But the baby was having none of it. Her face began to pucker, and she emitted a few whimpers. Then the chin began to wobble, her head moved from side to side and she flailed her arms and legs in protest. Finally, her cherubic mouth opened wide as the hellgate and sent forth a wail that could have woken the dead. Molly and Kate laughed at her, which made Katherine more furious yet. Her cheeks turned red with the effort of her cries, but she shed nary a tear.