“’Tis the king’s army!” a man shouted. “King Richard is here!”
A cheer went up, and as the news was passed from street to street, more cheering erupted. Kate felt her skin thrill to the trumpets, shawms and drums. She took Edith’s hand, and they ran to a grassy mound opposite the entryway to the castle and waited. Several others joined them at this vantage spot, excited to see their king. It would not be the first time, for Richard had journeyed through Leicester more than once during his short reign.
“Poor lamb, lost his wife and his young son all in a year,” one woman told her companion. “And now like a pestilence, this rat Richmond sneaks over from Brittany to inflict himself on us and add to King Richard’s woes.”
“I hope he sends the invader packing!” a man answered. “I have no quarrel with Richard. Seems honest enough—for a lord.”
These tidbits warmed Kate’s heart. How can Richard lose, she wondered, when he has the common people on his side? The roaring crowd helped foster this conviction, and when the cavalcade turned into Church Lane and rode in front of her, she found herself shouting as loudly as the rest, “God save King Richard!”
Richard had put his moroseness aside, Kate could see. He smiled and waved at the people lining the lane and accepted a posy of poppies and daisies from a child who ran forward unafraid. Before he disappeared through the archway and into the castle yard, he turned and urged his horse up onto its hind legs. White Surrey, the big courser on which Richard would ride into battle, snorted and pawed the air. Its rider doffed his hat and flourished it about his head.
“I thank you for your welcome, good people of Leicester!” he cried. “God’s blessing on your fair city!”
He whirled White Surrey round as easily as if the warhorse were naught but a pony and cantered into the castle yard. It was then that Kate saw John. He was riding alongside Francis, wearing the badge of Lovell on his sleeve. Kate was torn between attracting John’s attention and not drawing it on herself. She chose to remain silent, and John followed his lord into the courtyard. She was then struck by such a hideous thought that she groaned aloud. Edith stopped talking and put her hand on Kate’s arm.
“Are you well, madam? How foolish of me to chatter so when you must still be sick with grief. I beg you to forgive me.”
“Nay, Edith, ’tis I who should beg your forgiveness. I am afraid I was not listening to you but listening to dark thoughts of my own making. I saw my son in the king’s train. It had not occurred to me he might go into battle. He is only fifteen. I cannot believe they will allow him to fight.”
The narrow streets were thick with soldiers now. The two women held tight to each other’s hands so as not to be separated, eventually reaching the Wygston door. Kate sent a servant for parchment, quill and ink and, armed with these, mounted the stairs to her chamber. An hour later, the same servant was pushing his way through the throng and along Church Lane to the castle. Secured in his jacket was a letter addressed to his grace, King Richard of England. His instructions were to seek Sir Robert Percy and deliver the letter into his hands alone with a message it was from Dame Katherine Haute.
Tucked inside the letter once again was her precious gold ring.
ALL DAY LONG, the tramp of soldiers’ feet and chinking of metal dominated the sounds of the city, drowning out the vendors’ cries from the Saturday Market Place. Kate waited in her room, listening.
It was John who came to take her to Richard. The lady of the house was surprised and flustered when he was announced, for she knew John of Gloucester was the king’s bastard. She was even more surprised when her houseguest was picked up bodily by the young man and covered with kisses. She withdrew discreetly, knowing it was none of her business, although she was consumed with curiosity. Surely, they were not lovers. Mistress Haute was old enough to be the youth’s mother. . . . And then she knew. She hugged her secret and went back to her work.
“What are you doing here, Mother? I did not take you for a camp-following wanton.” When John saw Kate was not smiling, he apologized. “I am truly sorry, Mother, ’twas rude of me. I am here to take you to Father. He will see you within the hour.”
“’Tis good of him. I did not think to see you here, John. I thought you safe at Middleham or Pontefract. I should have guessed that as Francis’ squire, you would be here. Will you . . . I mean, are you expected to . . .”
“Fight? Nay, I will arm Lord Lovell and stay behind the lines with the other squires. I begged him to let me fight, and I even begged Father. But they both refused permission. I am too young,” he groused.
Kate said, holding his hand to her cheek, “I am glad, my son, very glad, for I could not bear to lose two of my children in the space of as many weeks.”
“What are you saying, Mother? What has happened to Katherine?” He snatched his hand from her and gripped her shoulders. “Is she . . . is she . . . ? ”
“Aye, John, your sister is dead. God rest her soul. ’Tis not a good time to be a bearer of bad tidings, but I must tell your father myself.”
John bit his lip, his eyes full of tears. His self-control was admirable, she thought; the blood on his lip told of his valiant attempt not to cry. He choked on his one-word question: “How?”
She told him and held him as he finally succumbed to bravely disguised sobs. After some minutes, she pulled him to his feet. “Come, lead me to the king. The walk will serve us both well.”
A few soldiers recognized John and bowed as he walked by. However, many were well on the way to getting drunk and made ribald remarks as they passed.
“She be old enough to be your mother, baby boy!” one bold yeoman called. “He must like the experienced ones, comrades!” He laughed uproariously, rotating his lips lewdly. However, his stomach objected to the violent movement, and he promptly lost whatever jugs of ale he had consumed onto the dirt, spattering the hem of Kate’s gown with his vomit.
John leapt at the fellow, grabbing him by the neck. “She is my mother, you puking, onion-eyed maggot,” he snarled, unsheathing his dagger. “Apologize, or I’ll cut that batfowling tongue out of your head!”
“John! I beg of you, keep your temper,” Kate entreated. They were beginning to draw a crowd, and all she desired was to see Richard at the appointed time. “Leave him alone. The king has need of every last soldier he can muster, even drunken ones. Come, we must hurry!”
John threw the man down into his own foul-smelling mess, replaced his knife and took Kate’s arm again. He strode away, making Kate run to keep up with him.
“I see you have your father’s temper now that you are a man. That used to be Katherine’s domain, remember.”
“Aye, I remember.”
They walked on in silence, both with their own memories of Katherine.
Rob met them in the great hall. So anxious was Kate now to see Richard that she barely noticed her magnificent high-beamed surroundings or the hustle and bustle of knights and advisors preparing for battle. Her courage was beginning to fail her. Perhaps she should have waited until after Richard had routed Richmond’s army. Was she doing the right thing? It was too late now. Her cryptic note had imparted nothing of her mission. She had simply begged him to see her with all speed. He had acquiesced, as she knew he would. She kissed John, and he left to check on his lord’s armor for the thousandth time. A familiar figure stopped to give him a “good morrow” and slap on the shoulder. It was Jack. Kate excused herself and ran to greet him.
“Your fears were for naught, Jack Howard! I am here safe and sound.”
“I am happy to see you, Kate. On your way to the king? He is in another of his foul humors. Beware. He has just received word from Master Fencesitter—Thomas Stanley, that is—who begged leave to go home for personal reasons not two months ago and has now begged Richard’s indulgence yet again. Why Richard let him and Morton free after the Hastings affair, I cannot understand. He says he cannot join with us at present for he is ailing. God’s bones, the man needs to feel my boot on his neck.
I would crush his gullet like a sparrow’s! It will cost Richard several thousand men if he does not come.”
“Surely your numbers are greater than Richmond’s? Who fights with him?”
“Henry fights with two thousand French, three thousand other exiles, and those he has wooed to his flag since his arrival—we know not how many. Aye, we have the greater numbers, but we cannot now count on Lord Stanley, and ’tis said his brother, William, intends to turn his coat as well. Then there is Percy—Northumberland”—he had lowered his voice to a murmur—“who is here, but who knows . . . He has not forgotten that the house of York disgraced his family those many years ago.” He looked about him and said more loudly, “’Tis good that you are here. You are the only one who gives him comfort anymore.”
“Aye, and I must go. God keep you, Jack. Return to Tendring whole, I beg of you. I shall pray for you all.” She reached up and kissed his cheek, giving him an extra squeeze for good measure. She should not worry about Jack, she thought, seasoned soldier that he was. But still . . .
Rob took her to Richard’s private chamber, where he was busily dictating letters to John Kendall, his secretary.
“You may leave us, Rob, John. I thank you.”
Kate sank into a deep curtsy and remained there until both men retired and closed the door. She walked slowly to him, a flush mounting as he gave her one of his sweet smiles. His temper had cooled, it seemed. “I think I shall have to claim this ring now, Kate. I am in possession of it almost as much as you are. God’s greeting, lady. You are a sight for sore eyes.”
He was forcing the lighthearted banter, she could see, and she loved him for it. However, his eyes told the real story. Dark hollows around them revealed he was not sleeping, and their dullness spoke of the suffering of the last eighteen months. The deepened furrows in his thirty-one-year-old brow represented the anxiety he had endured from the mounting tension and the eventual invasion by Henry Tudor.
Kate managed a smile. “God’s greeting to you, too, Richard. Forgive me for my untimely visit, but this could not wait. Perhaps we could sit.”
“To be sure, Kate. Come, sit by me.” He led her to a padded bench. “What is it that brings you so far and at such a time?”
She took a deep breath and told him. She watched him physically crumble as she related the tragic death of their daughter, and she caught him to her when he let out a moan that pierced her heart.
“I am so sorry, Richard! How could I simply write to you of this? I had to tell you myself. Please understand. I needed to grieve with you. She was born of such love between us, I could not bear to have you hear in any other way.”
Kate was composed. She had done her share of crying. Now it was Richard’s turn. She stroked his hair as his tears fell on her gown.
“Ah, my sweet Katherine! Never was a father prouder of his poppet.” He abruptly wrenched himself from her and stared at the crucifix on the wall. “Now I know I am cursed. God has marked me, and I know not why.”
“Richard, Richard! You must not believe this. ’Tis a bad omen for your fight with Tudor. Katherine will watch over you. She is with God, she will tell Him of your goodness, fear not. You must be strong. You must guide your men to victory. You need God’s help for that. You cannot believe He has abandoned you, or your quest is doomed.”
She took a piece of velvet from her pouch and gave it to him. “Take this. Carry it with you when you fight.”
He saw the package but his eyes could not focus. He sat looking at it for several minutes while he took control of himself. Finally, with trembling fingers, he unfolded the wrapping. Lying on the silky fabric was a lock of Katherine’s auburn hair, still shining and supple as though alive, tied with two ribbons, one of murrey and one of blue. He touched the hair reverently, refolded the velvet and tucked it into his doublet. He got up and poured himself some wine. Kate was relieved to see he appeared calmer. But once again his mood deceived her, for after drinking the entire contents in a single draught, he flung the cup against the wall, narrowly missing the crucifix.
In a voice that came from the dark place in his heart, he groaned. “I have nothing to live for, Kate. I have lost my wife, my son, my brothers, my nephews, and now my beautiful daughter. I swear to Almighty God I do not care if I live or die! He has forsaken me!” He thumped his fists against the wall. “I wish Richmond would come through that door this very moment and put me out of my misery!”
Kate leapt to her feet and spoke to his back, remembering a similar scene when he had told her of the death of his nephews. “Sweet Jesu, Richard, do not say such things. You have a son who adores you and another who will be proud of you when I have the courage to tell him. And you have me, Richard. I love you as much now as in those wonderful days when we were together. I have never forgotten nor ever shall the sweet love we bore each other. I have tried, oh, how I have tried, but God will not purge me of my sinful love.” The floodgate open, she was unable to stop herself. What did she have to lose? “Oh, I am so foolish to have told you of our daughter now. I should have waited until after your victory. I confess, ’twas selfishness that drove me here in such haste. Forgive me. I would not add to your pain.”
Richard turned and faced her, his hands longing to draw her to him. Both felt the magnet and both resisted its pull. It was too late to begin again. His eyes met her steady gaze, and she saw the love in them. It was enough. She turned to go.
“Know that you will ride with me too,” he said, slowly pulling the écu on its worn string out of his shirt. She turned back, amazed that he still wore her simple gift. “I cannot lie to you, Kate. I grew to love Anne for her gentleness and steadfast devotion. But you have always been with me. Every moment I spent with Katherine and John I spent with you. As for John, no father could wish for a finer son. His future is sunny. If I win the day against Tudor, as soon as he is sixteen, he will take his place as Captain of Calais. I have you to thank for John. I could not have endured losing him so soon after Ned, and so I refused him the right to fight in this battle. Now I am doubly happy I refused.” He paused and dropped the coin back under his shirt. “As for Dickon. If I am victorious, you and I shall go together to tell our son who his real parents are, I promise you. And he shall know that he is a king’s son and was born of the love we shared. I shall not forsake him, Kate.”
“Thank you, Richard.” Impetuously, she took his face in her hands and kissed his mouth. “I shall pray for your safety and for a great victory. God keep you, my dearest love. Farewell.” She turned and went slowly to the door.
“Adieu, ma rose,” he whispered. “Adieu.”
* * *
THE CHURCH BELLS RANG out over the city the next day calling people to Sunday high mass. Those attending at St. Mary de Castro were surprised to see their king stride in and make his reverence on one knee before making his way down the long nave to the high altar. There he received the priest’s blessing, was given Holy Communion and moved to the side of the chancel, where he prostrated himself on the floor. Several of his commanders also kneeled for the blessing and silently moved to a side chapel. Not until after the bells pealed and the townspeople had left did Richard lift himself up. He joined with his companions and walked out into the sunlight. A roar of approval greeted them. Most of the congregation had stayed to get a closer view of the monarch and show their support. Richard looked about him curiously but acknowledged the cheers with a smile and a wave. Later in the day, the bells rang out again, this time accompanied by fanfares of trumpets and the steady beat of drums. Men tumbled out of taverns, brothels and stables, heeding the call to arms. Those who had seen Richard’s scouts gallop through the South Gate in the morning had spread the word that Henry Tudor was marching towards the city from the southwest. The king was preparing to leave Leicester and establish an advantageous battle site.
Kate wanted to see Richard ride out to victory and yet dreaded the possibility it might be her last sight of him. Finally, the excitement in the streets proved irresistible, and
she left Edith behind as she ran for a good view. Most of the crowd was gathered around the castle entrance and near the West Gate, from which the road wound over the River Soar. Thousands of armed men were massing for the march out of the city. The noise was deafening and Kate hurried away from it.
The Soar created an island at that point in its flow. Kate had noticed two smaller bridges on the other side of the island during her explorations with Edith. She pushed her way through the melee, over the main bridge, along the marshy path to the stone Bow Bridge. Only a few spectators had bothered to go that far, and she sat on the wall, leaning on the large end-stone. An old woman was babbling to herself nearby. Poor thing, Kate thought, watching her. She was filthy and her gown was in tatters. Kate took a farthing from her pouch and threw it to her. “God keep you, my good woman.”
“And God keep you, mistress.” The hag grinned, showing her toothless gums. She bit the coin and shoveled it away somewhere in the rags she wore. “The king be coming, bain’t he?”
Kate nodded and returned to her own thoughts. It was then she saw the magpie hopping along the side of the road that led to Kirkby Mallory.
“Good morning, Mr. Magpie, how’s your wife?” Kate muttered, blanching. Such an omen directly in Richard’s path. She crossed herself and spat at the same time.
A Rose for the Crown: A Novel Page 70
