She knew Edward was holding a council of war in the great hall, and the longer Richard was absent, the more afraid she became that a battle was in the offing. It was Good Friday, and dinner had consisted of wonderful delicacies with fish as the main course, but she had not even been to mass, and she briefly wondered how this omission would count when she eventually went to meet her Maker. Perhaps there would be a vespers in which she could participate unseen. She asked the page outside the door, and he took her along several corridors to a small chapel, where, veiled, she was able to join the worshippers anonymously. Not that anyone knew who she was, she thought, as she knelt on the hard floor at the back of the chapel—but someone might.
It was late in the evening when Richard returned to the chamber. He was glad to see her but distracted and weary. Rob Percy helped him disrobe, greeting Kate as an old friend. Molly readied Kate for bed in the adjoining room, brushing her mistress’s hair until it shone and rubbing sweet-smelling ointments on her skin. In bed, the curtains around him shutting out the threatening world outside and his love held close, Richard began to relax. As much as he wanted to possess his mistress, he could not separate the pressures of the coming days from his physical desire. After the council, he had spent hours taking stock of equipment and readying his men. The tasks had kept him from thinking too much on the inevitable outcome of all the preparations. Though he was trained in warfare, this would be his first test in battle, which exhilarated yet frightened him.
They lay for a while without speaking, Richard staring into the gloom with unblinking eyes and Kate fingering the coin around his neck, her head on his chest. He sighed, turned on his side towards her, caressing the curve of her hip.
“Tomorrow we march north. Edward has information that Queen Margaret will land soon. Warwick is approaching the city and means to join with the queen here in London. Edward would nip the meeting in the bud by forcing Warwick to fight first.” He paused. “I am to lead the van—the vanguard.”
“I know not what that means, Richard,” Kate whispered, frightened.
“’Tis a singular honor, Kate, and one that Ned is entrusting to me. The van is the division that begins the battle, and so my lead is critical. I am sensible of the honor. But I am not a seasoned fighter. I hope he’s doing the right thing.” Uncertainty was in his voice.
Kate’s heart felt like a lump of ice. She was imagining Richard at the head of his troops, his axe held aloft, his eyes gleaming through the slits of his visor, giving a loud battle cry as he charged at the enemy—all of them waiting to cut him to pieces. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, hoping to expunge the vision, but she could not.
“Sweet Mother of God, Richard. ’Tis a fearful thing Edward asks of you. You are but eighteen years old. How can he send you into battle first?” Her voice trembled, and her fear gave him courage. He was eager to prove himself to his eldest brother and bring glory to the House of York. He had been taught the art of warfare well. The irony was that he would be facing his teacher on the field.
“Edward is a brilliant commander, Kate,” he soothed her. “We shall prevail, I have no doubt. It is then we shall have peace again. Edward will have to resolve the dilemma of Henry, who is back in the Tower, and his son, who is with his wretched mother somewhere.”
“What do you mean by the dilemma?”
“As long as Lancaster has a figurehead, there will be trouble. We Yorkists know we have right on our side in the question of the crown, but Lancaster believes Ned is a usurper. Queen Margaret will stop at nothing to get her son on the throne. And, in truth, who could blame her?”
“And then Anne Neville would be queen, would she not?” Too late she bit her tongue.
She felt Richard stiffen. “Your pardon, Richard. ’Twas cruel of me. I know you hoped to wed her.” Kate sat up and hugged her knees. “It must have come as a blow when you heard of her marriage to Prince Edward.”
“Aye, ’twas hard. I heard news of it in Bruges, and I was heartily sorry for Anne. She is but a pawn in a very dangerous game Warwick plays.”
He paused for a moment, then he caressed her back. “But let us not talk of Anne.”
He pulled her on top of him, responding to the touch of her soft breasts on his chest and her lips caressing the hollow at the base of his neck. Her hair spilled over them like a curtain of spun silk and as they whispered of their love to each other, his desire for her overcame his earlier mood and Kate felt him harden. She rose up as he entered her, her back arching with the pleasure of it. In gentle waves they rode a journey of a year’s separation that was exquisite in its ecstasy. Kate sank back down onto Richard’s chest, her toes still tingling and her heart thumping. Her eyes filled with tears of love for this quiet man, and she gave a loud sniff into his shoulder.
“Soft, Kate.” Richard felt the wet cheeks and gently wiped them with his thumbs. “Are you sad?”
She smiled in the dark. “Nay, my lord. Our lovemaking was so beautiful, it made me cry, ’tis all.”
“You are wet-brained, my Kate! And yet you are not. The memory of you and your strong spirit are what kept me sane all those months in Bruges.”
“Fiddle-faddle!” Kate retorted, rolling off him and pulling the covers up around them. “You wrote of the wonders of Bruges to me. I am sure the women were just as beautiful as the city.”
“Aye, they are beautifully dressed, but there is none so beautiful as an Englishwoman, I swear.”
Kate laughed and snuggled up to him. He stifled a yawn and turned on his side. “And now, beautiful or not, I must turn my back on you and let sleep take over. God keep you this night, my love.”
“Before I wish you a good night, Richard, please promise me that I do not have to meet your mother. I am not prepared.”
Richard gave an amused chuckle. “Fear not, Ned has already sent our mother, Elizabeth and his children to the Tower for safekeeping. You are spared the inquisition this time! Bonsoir, mon adorée!”
“Bonne nuit, mon âme!” Kate hoped the unfamiliar French sounded practiced.
RICHARD NEEDED A good night’s rest. He would not have one for many nights to come. Early the next morning, his squire, John Milwater, arrived to dress him, which he did with some difficulty. As soon as she heard her parents moving around in the next room, Katherine began to pound on the door with her little fist. John woke up, used the bed curtain to slide to the floor and crawled with the speed of light to his sister’s side. Using the studs on the door as leverage, he pulled himself up and imitated her banging.
“Mama, mama! In, in! Katherine wants to come in. Mama! Mama!” the girl cried.
Molly, cocooned in the unfamiliarity of a luxurious bed, was having a hard time awakening. The high-pitched cry finally penetrated her slumber, and she stumbled out of bed. She got to the door just as Richard clicked open the latch from the other side. Molly swooped down and rescued John from a certain crack on the head. Katherine stepped back. The door opened. Richard stood in his shirt, his legs bare and a welcoming grin on his face.
“Good morrow to you, Molly. I pray you give me my son and go fetch the wet nurse. Katherine, come with me, poppet.”
He took John, watched as Katherine ran to find her mother, winked at Molly and shut the door. John was wriggling to be put down, arching his strong back away from his father and beginning to protest loudly. Richard acquiesced and put him down, providing the crutch John needed to support his steps across the room. The boy’s face was rigid with concentration, and the determined look amused Richard and tugged at his heart.
“How much I have missed, Kate!” he said over his shoulder. “I envy you this time with the children.”
“Ha! Just try keeping them for a full day and I swear you would be glad to ride away and leave them again.” Kate laughed at him from the bed, where Katherine was bouncing up and down with abandon. “Hush, child. You will waken the whole house—or should I say castle. This is an enormous place, Richard. How do you know your way around?”
Rich
ard laughed. “You forget, I have lived here on and off for most of my life. ’Tis home to me, Kate. But look, our son is almost walking. In a few days, he will stand alone. You are a good, strong boy, John Plantagenet,” he said to the boy, who had reached the bed and was working his way around it with the help of the covers. “Your father is much pleased with you.”
“An’ me, Father. An’ Katherine,” she squealed, jumping so high that she almost fell off the bed and onto the floor. Richard plucked her out of the air and kissed her.
“Aye, and Katherine. I am pleased with both my children.” He looked at Kate, his eyes shining. “But most of all, I am pleased with their mother.”
He set about tickling Kate with Katherine joining in the game and John attempting to climb up the bedcovers. Molly returned with the wet nurse and whisked John off to the next room. Richard and Kate continued playing with Katherine, and they did not hear the squire knock and enter.
He finally made himself known. “Ahem! Excuse me, my lord. The king is assembling his commanders in the hall.”
Richard and Kate jumped at his voice, and Richard scrambled off the bed with as much dignity as the commander of the van could muster under the circumstances.
“Aye, John. This horseplay must stop, ladies. We men have work to do.”
Richard tried to sound flippant for Kate, but his eyes were at once serious again. The poor squire’s haste, however, was impeded by Katherine’s inquisitive questions about this and that piece of soldier’s attire. “What’s ’at?” was her constant query. Kate finally called Molly to come and carry Katherine off, while she sat at the edge of the bed with her bedrobe over her chemise to watch the dressing ritual.
Over Richard’s undershirt John placed a heavy, quilted leather jacket, lacing it up to his neck. It had chain-mail sleeves and was studded with metal plates. Over Richard’s hose he rolled on the chain-mail leggings. Richard’s full battle armor would be carted separately until such time as battle lines were drawn. On top of the jacket John placed a soft tunic with Richard’s White Boar badge on murrey-and-blue quarters. His sword was buckled on last, and Richard turned to face Kate, a rueful grin on his face.
“Do I look the part, Kate?” he asked. John bowed and left the room.
“Aye, my lord. You are every inch a knight, though I do prefer you the way you looked last night.” Kate was serious. “Come let me kiss you God speed. Here is my kerchief to wear near your heart, and I pray you will return to me unscathed.”
“Kate, I will return to you, I promise.” They kissed each other tenderly. He went to the inner door, knocked once and entered to bid his children farewell. Then he was gone.
A little before the midday hour on the day before Easter, the shawms’ raucous notes rang in the courtyard, and the king and his commanders mounted their warhorses and moved to the head of the lines of soldiers waiting to march out. This core of the army would gather strength as it moved through the city and out of the gates to St. John’s Fields, where the entire force would be mustered before moving north.
A man sat unblinking on a palfrey next to Edward, his frail form in stark contrast to the warrior commanding attention at his elbow. Henry’s vacant eyes surveyed the crowd, and he occasionally smiled and waved, but at what the onlookers knew not. Richard had told Kate that Edward would take the other king with him, although he was unsure of Edward’s motive. Perhaps he thought it would dishearten the Lancastrian leaders, or perhaps Edward wanted to show Warwick who now had the upper hand. It was certain Henry would not fight; he was incapable of wielding a sword.
He flinched now as Edward raised his arm and shouted, “Brave men-at-arms, I, Edward, your rightful king, shall not forget your loyalty. Let us march out together this day and put our enemies to rout once and for all time!”
“God save the king! God save King Edward!” the troops cried, waving weapons, banners and standards. Henry waved gaily and shouted something, too, but it was lost in the din.
Richard turned in his saddle to say something to Rob Percy. He glanced up at the castle behind them and saw Kate framed in an archway two stories up. She was holding John, and Katherine was seated on the low wall, waving gaily at the soldiers below. He raised his hand in salute. Kate took John’s arm and helped him wave back.
Richard could not see the tears that ran down her face.
THE BATTLE OF BARNET was fought and won on that Easter Sunday in April. Edward triumphed in little more than three hours and by midafternoon rode back into the city with Richard by his side. Londoners were taken by surprise at the speed of the victory. Edward had been gone a little more than twenty-four hours. Still, they turned out in large numbers to cheer the victors.
Kate walked along the river wall. The thick fog that had swirled around the castle, rendering the river invisible earlier, had finally dissipated, and the sun was shining. She could just see London Bridge from her vantage point, and she marveled at its many spans and multistoried houses. She turned and faced north, wondering if a battle had yet been fought on some distant field and whether Richard was safe. She thought she heard a far-off fanfare but dismissed it. Then the bells began to peal. Probably for Easter, she thought. Standing so high, she was able to see the first straggling soldiers attain the gate to the castle through the streets below. She frowned. Surely these are not the king’s men returned already, Kate mused. Perhaps they are deserters.
It occurred to her that these could be Warwick’s men come to rid the world of the rest of the House of York, and panic seized her. She flew down the stairs to the floor she had marked as hers with a cross in the stone and ran along the corridor to Richard’s chamber.
“Make haste, Molly, bundle up some clothes for the children while I prepare them for flight. I saw soldiers coming to the castle gate, and I fear they may be the enemy come to pillage,” she gabbled, “or whatever it is they do.” Molly gave a scream, put John none too gently on the bed and ran to do her mistress’s bidding. She had no desire to be raped or have her throat cut. As the women readied for flight, a trumpet sounded from the courtyard and cheering erupted.
“Long live the king! Long live York!” was the cry Kate heard through the din. “King Edward has triumphed!”
Kate crossed herself. “Sweet Jesu be praised! Molly, Molly! ’Tis over. The king is restored! Stay here with John. I must know what has happened to Richard.”
All was chaos in the courtyard. Horses milling around with no owners, soldiers lying on the bloodied cobblestones groaning in pain, others shouting for water or food, and carts still rumbling through the postern gate with more wounded or dying. Kate dragged Katherine along the flagstones and down the stairs to the hall. Soldiers were pouring in there, too. Those in good health were being thumped on the back by the pages and lackeys left behind; those wounded were being wrapped in blankets and linens and given water and comfort. A priest had hitched up his robe the better to run from one dying man to another, giving succour and the last rites. Despite those in dire straits, the mood was exultant. Kate saw the steward and ran to him.
“Master Dudley, what of my lord of Gloucester? Do you have word of him?”
“Kate! Kate Haute!” Rob Percy’s voice floated over the crowd to her. “Over here!”
She picked up Katherine and ran to where Rob was resting from carrying a wounded man to the dais under the stained-glass windows.
“Mother of God, ’tis Richard!” Kate cried, regretting that she had brought Katherine with her. The child was whimpering, overwhelmed by all the confusion, bloodied bodies and noise. She screamed when she recognized her unconscious father, and Kate tried to calm her. Then she settled the child into the throne on the dais and told her to stay there and not move. Her mother’s distress impressed Katherine, and she sank into the soft cushions and went silent. Kate bent over Richard. His tunic was covered in blood, but she was not certain if it was his or that of the many others with whom he must have battled. He appeared to be asleep. There was an angry bruise over one eye, and his nose wa
s bloodied.
Rob was matter-of-fact. “He is not badly hurt, Kate. Just a flesh wound to his left arm, but he has lost a lot of blood. He will live, have no fear!” he added quickly when he saw Kate’s stricken look. “You should have seen him. He was magnificent! He is just dog-tired, as are we all. We have just come from St. Paul’s. The bishop was none too pleased to see us all stagger up the aisle in our armor, I can tell you. The king bade me take Richard to you, so we missed the sermon—God be thanked! Now, if you would take care of him, I can be of greater assistance elsewhere.”
“Where are his squires? John, Tom?”
Rob’s face was grim. “They were both slain today, Kate. Hard by Richard’s side. I will send mine to you apace, I promise.”
“John dead?” Kate whispered, remembering the dressing scene of the day before. “’Tis too high a price to pay.”
“Nay, Kate. For such a victory, he would be glad to give his life, I promise you.” He turned and left.
Richard opened his eyes and managed a weak smile when he saw Kate. “You see, my love, I promised I would return. If you will but bandage up my arm, I shall live to fight another day.”
“Can you walk, Richard? Let me take you to our chamber. ’Tis sleep you need.”
He nodded, stood unsteadily and leaned on her shoulder. Some of the men saw him stand, and a cheer went up.
“God bless Gloucester! God bless our young duke!”
Soon the hall was ringing with cheers. Kate blinked back tears as the ranks parted to let them through. Slowly, they made their way up the stairs and to the peaceful chamber, where Richard fell on the bed, exhausted.
A Rose for the Crown: A Novel Page 48
