“Where is Perkin Warbeck, my lord?” Bess asked, smiling. “Is he locked up safely somewhere?”
“Nay, your grace. It pleases me to treat him as I would any guest who has had the friendship of kings and an emperor,” Henry said, amused that his nonchalance was catching his wife and the assembled company off guard.
Bess was nonplussed and her smile faded. “But is he not an enemy? A traitor?”
“Certes, he is an invader whom we have vanquished, but as a foreigner he cannot be a traitor, can he? I have not decided what we shall do with him, but I shall, never fear. At this moment, however, he is travel weary—as am I, my dear. We shall rest and meet at supper, if that pleases you?” He lifted her hand to his lips again and waited for her response. He knew what it would be; his accommodating wife had never gainsaid him yet in their marriage, and he doubted she would begin now.
“Whatever pleases you pleases me, my lord,” she said, smiling again. “’Til supper, then.”
Henry bowed, turned on his heel and hurried away before any other awkward questions about his odd treatment of the pretender could be raised.
“Extraordinary,” Cecily murmured to Grace while they were still in their curtsy.
“Nay, ’tis not,” Grace replied, a little glimmer of hope in her heart. “It means he is still not convinced one way or the other.”
GRACE AND TOM strolled arm in arm around the queen’s audience chamber, talking and admiring the view of the river from the long windows. Others also took the opportunity to stretch their legs in the long hall, its walls boasting murals of long-ago legends, as the rain continued outside. Her sisters Anne and Catherine along with their husbands led the way, and behind Grace and Tom several attendants, including Lady Katherine Gordon, lollygagged in their wake.
Without warning the king appeared on the threshold and waited for the courtiers to move aside and provide passage to the low dais at the far end of the room. Following behind him, clothed in his own princely finery and walking freely, was Perkin Warbeck. A gasp of surprise echoed around the room when the man’s identity was whispered. Grace caught sight of Katherine Gordon’s stricken face in the group opposite her as Perkin’s eyes scanned the many courtiers, searching for her. A look of relief came over his handsome features when he found her, and he quickly turned his gaze back to the king in front of him, Henry’s pet monkey scampering along on his golden chain beside him. The implication was not lost on the court, whose eyes were now glued to Henry’s other pet—the pretender. After the initial murmuring, the room went quiet.
Grace saw Thomas of Dorset frown when he observed the man from only a few feet away, and Grace could not decide if he was recognizing him or not. The two were half brothers, albeit twenty-two years apart, and Dorset had not often been in the little prince’s presence during Edward’s reign. Would he recognize the boy of ten in a man now twenty-four? Would she have picked Ned of Warwick out in a crowd from the nine-year-old boy at Sheriff Hutton? She thought not.
Henry called for a stool for Perkin and allowed him to sit a few steps down from the throne. “Lady Katherine, I pray you, approach us and greet your husband,” Henry said, his sallow face animated for once, his bony fingers fondling the white-faced monkey. “And let us have music. ’Tis far too sober in here.”
Henry’s cheerfulness astonished the court, and Grace wished Cecily were present to discuss it. She frowned. Where was the queen? She assumed Cecily was in attendance, and later when she helped ready Bess for bed, she found out.
“Henry thought it prudent for Bess to stay away from le garçon,” Cecily said, emphasizing Henry’s favorite French moniker for Perkin. “He said ’twas insulting to the queen to have to endure the company of a man who played the part of her beloved departed brother,” Cecily whispered as they set out Bess’s finest chemise. Another attendant was warming the mattress with hot stones, and sweet herbs were sprinkled on the soft white bed linen. The king would attend the queen tonight, they had been told, and Bess must be at her most alluring.
Grace nodded, but she was certain Henry was afraid that Bess might recognize Richard as her brother, and she knew Henry could not take that chance. But there were many others who could have told the king the truth, she thought. Many of King Edward’s councilors were still at court—like Cardinal John Morton, and Prince Richard’s attorney, Andrew Dymock, who was now Henry’s solicitor. Certes, Richard’s cousin and contemporary the earl of Arundel would have played with the prince in those far-off days. It seemed all had accepted the confession as the truth, and none was about to gainsay the king.
And ever since her clandestine conversation with Katherine, a niggling doubt that Richard was her half brother had crept like a worm into Grace’s heart. She tried to squash it, prayed to St. Thomas to ease it, but it wriggled and squirmed its way into her waking thoughts, making her snappish even with Tom.
“My courses are due, ’tis all,” she told him when he expressed concern. “It will pass.”
BEFORE HENRY LEFT Shene for Westminster after three days’ rest, he called the queen’s household together and, with Perkin standing between his two guardians high in the musicians’ gallery, commanded Cardinal Morton, archbishop of Canterbury, to read the confession made at Taunton. The old man stepped forward and read it as he would a lesson from the Bible:
“First it is to be known that I was born in the town of Tournai in Flanders, and my father’s name is John Osbeck: which said John Osbeck was controller of the town of Tournai. And my mother’s name is Katherine de Faro.” People frowned at the unfamiliar Osbeck name, but Grace remembered Tom saying Henry’s spies had interchanged the name with Werbecque in their reports. Perhaps this was a sign that Henry had indeed tortured the unfortunate man into repeating only what he was told to say, she thought.
Morton droned on with a detailed list of Perkin’s relatives and their rank, none of whom gave Grace a sense of where Perkin’s advanced education could have been achieved, but her ears pricked up when Morton read: “…afterward I was led by my mother to Antwerp to learn Flemish in a house of a cousin of mine…with whom I was the space of half a year.” Then he fell sick for five months while with a merchant named Berlo in a house nearby the English merchants. “After this the said Berlo set me with a merchant in Middelburg to service, with whom I dwelled from Christmas unto Easter; and then I went into Portugal in the company of Sir Edward Brampton’s wife in a ship which was called the Queen’s ship. And when I was come thither, I was put in service to a knight that dwelled in Lisbon which was called Pero Vaz da Cuhna, with whom I dwelled an whole year, which said knight had but one eye; and then because I desired to see other countries, I took license of him. And then I put myself in service with a Breton called Pregent Meno, the which brought me with him into Ireland. And when we were there arrived in the town of Cork, they of the town, because I was arrayed with some clothes of silk came until me and threped upon that I should be the duke of Clarence’s son…”
Grace glanced up at Perkin, but he stared straight ahead at the royal arms carved in the plaster high above the king’s head. “And for as much as I denied it, there was brought until me the Holy Evangelist and the Cross by the Mayor of the town; and there in the presence of him and others I took my oath as truth was that I was not the aforesaid duke’s son, nor other of his blood.”
The confession stated that Perkin was then urged to pretend he was King Richard’s bastard, John, which he denied. Grace blanched at this and then felt Tom’s hand lightly squeeze her shoulder in sympathy from behind her. She put up her hand and touched his gratefully.
Morton took a sip of wine and savored the absolute silence in the room. “And then they advised me not to be afraid but that I should take it upon me boldly, and if I would so do they would aid and assist me with all their power against the king of England.”
A gasp went up at this treasonous statement, and, as one, the heads swiveled from looking at Morton to Perkin. Still he remained motionless. The confession now implicat
ed the earls of Desmond and Kildare in the plot, “so that they might be revenged upon the king of England; and so against my will made me to learn English, and taught me what I should do and say.” Is that true? Grace wondered. She was so confused, she began to question her sanity. She remembered him at Dendermonde describing his flight from the Tower, the death of his brother, his kindly treatment at Guisnes. It had all seemed so genuine, and Aunt Margaret believed it, too. She brought her focus back to the archbishop, who was coming to the end.
“…and thence I went into France, and from thence into Flanders and from Flanders into Ireland. And from Ireland into Scotland and so into England.” Morton looked over the top of his spectacles at the expectant courtiers and held up the document for all to see. “It is signed by the man up there—Piers Osbeck or Pierrequin Werbecque or whatever other name he falsely uses. The so-called duke of York,” he cried scornfully, pointing at Perkin, who was now flushed pink.
A commotion in the group opposite spoiled Morton’s dramatic moment, and Tom whispered, “’Tis Perkin’s wife. She has swooned.”
“YOU ARE TO accompany Lady Katherine in the king’s train tomorrow,” Bess told Grace that night at the prie-dieu, where Bess had invited her to pray. “She is well enough now, but I sent her to bed early. Henry wants the couple to be seen in public.”
Grace knew her sister well enough to recognize that Bess was nonplussed by this turn of events, but she merely nodded and waited. Why me? she wanted to ask. Does Henry suspect me still? I have given him no reason, she thought, unless someone saw me speaking to Katherine those few times and reported it. But she had been very careful.
“Henry asked me which of my ladies I could spare who would be kind to Lady Katherine, and I told him you were the only one I could trust.” Bess half turned to make sure they were not overheard. “I also thought ’twas a chance for you to make amends with Henry, Grace. He knows you are the only one of my sisters who is unconvinced of Perkin’s guilt. Perhaps you can be her confidante and—”
“And spy on her!” Grace hissed angrily. “How could you, Bess?”
“Be silent, sister,” Bess warned, and for the first time Grace felt the power of the queen and was cowed. “If you do not do as I ask, I will send you from here in disgrace. And there will be no returning this time. Do I make myself clear?”
“Aye, your grace.” Grace’s voice was barely audible, and tears stung her eyes. “I will gladly accompany Lady Katherine.”
“’Tis well said,” Bess answered. “All I ask is that you stay close while Henry takes her with Perkin to Westminster. Your children will be safe with us here. You will all return for Christmas in a month’s time, and I shall pray daily that by then you, too, dear Grace, will believe the man is not our brother.”
“Aye, Bess,” Grace assented again. Then, taking her courage in her hands, she begged a favor. “’Tis my understanding—or perhaps ’tis naught but gossip—that Lady Katherine’s child was removed from her custody before she was at Exeter. If Lady Katherine should mention this to me”—Grace held her thumb between her first two fingers to protect her lie—“what may I tell her? I know that as a mother, you—and I—would be bereft if the same were to happen to us.”
Bess turned her head and stared at Grace. “A child, you say? ’Tis the first I have heard of it.” She turned back to gaze on the vibrant portrait of her own St. Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist and patron saint of all expectant mothers. Dear God, what has Henry done now?
“Aye. Katherine and Perkin”—Grace used the name to appease Bess—“have a son—Richard,” she said. “He was with them when they landed in Cornwall.” She dared not say more or Bess would guess she had had intimate conversation with Katherine. “I thought everyone knew,” she said innocently.
“I will find out what I can, Grace, but I cannot promise anything. Henry is secretive and touchy about le garçon, as you know. I shall not see him privately before he leaves on the morrow, and at Christmas”—Bess drew a breath—“his mother will be with him.”
Grace heard the resignation in the final statement and nodded. “I understand.”
“Give Lady Katherine my assurance that the child is well cared for. ’Tis all I can do.” And with that, Bess crossed herself and rose, signaling the end of the private conversation.
“God bless you, good Queen Elizabeth,” Grace murmured, and she saw Bess smile.
29
London
WINTER 1497
Riding for all he was a free man and showing he was as at home in the saddle as any of the nobles who rode in Henry’s train, Perkin seemed not to have a care in the world. Some way behind him, Grace rode pillion on her cousin Richard de la Pole’s palfrey, with Katherine on her own horse alongside. The retinue was strung out for half a mile along the road to Lambeth, and for once the weather was kind. A milky sun penetrated the ever-present clouds, but the fields were boggy and the trees dripped moisture down unsuspecting necks as the riders brushed past the bare branches. It was cold enough for the horses’ breath to plume from their nostrils, and Grace’s feet on the pillion-saddle support were already numb. She hated November: the last of the leaves had fallen; mists and fogs rolled in; the dark, cold mornings often meant breaking ice in the wash basin; and the sun rarely shone. Even the birds were not singing, except for the unattractive cawing of jackdaws and crows, foraging what they could find in the fallow fields. The parting from Susannah and Bella had been hard for Grace, but with other children now to play with, they hardly knew she had left them.
The royal barge at Lambeth dock was waiting, and so was a small but vocal crowd, who jeered and booed Perkin as he dismounted and was helped into the vessel. How cruel Henry is, Grace thought angrily, although she had to confess that Perkin did not appear unduly discouraged. Katherine, on the other hand, could not stop the tears from coming, and as Grace maneuvered herself close to the young woman in preparation for embarking on the second barge, she whispered: “Courage, Lady Katherine. Take a leaf from your husband’s book.”
The mockery was worse on the Westminster side of the river, and Perkin suffered the ignominy of spittle and an egg. Henry pretended not to notice as he strode up the path to the king’s gate and on into the palace. Grace was glad the citizenry did not know Katherine Gordon was in the king’s train, but she was beginning to understand Henry’s motive for including the pretender’s wife. Certes, he wants her to see that England has forsaken Perkin, she concluded, and that his cause is lost. He is as wily as a fox, she decided, but she was still puzzled as to why he had not simply imprisoned or executed the man. Henry had not quibbled earlier that month when he chose to hang all the Flemings who had been captured at Deal during the first disastrous invasion attempt. In truth, his clemency gave her hope that perhaps deep down he could not bring himself to end the life of someone who might be King Edward’s son. God’s wounds, she thought scornfully, I hope he stews in his own juice.
More outings in London followed the arrival of the king at Westminster, and each time Perkin either rode amiably with whomever was alongside, or he rode in dignified silence, enduring the stares and ridicule of Londoners lining the streets or hanging from second-story windows. By then he was known by one name only—Perkin—in the manner of a lowly servant, and the name was cursed on every corner, at every market cross and in every tavern. The worst ride yet came on November twenty-eighth, Grace wrote to Cecily, when Perkin was “forced to lead one of his followers—who had once been Henry’s farrier—lashed to a horse all the way to the Tower. ’Twas said the man expected to be imprisoned or, worse, executed, but it pleased Henry to command Perkin to lead the farrier all the way back again to Westminster. For what purpose, Cis, I cannot tell except that more curses were heaped upon both men. Through all of it, Perkin was brave and dignified, so Tom tells me.”
Two days earlier Henry decided to show off his captive to the various ambassadors who served their European masters at Westminster. This was nothing new, Tom told Grace when they
had a chance to talk that morning after Mass. “The viscount says the Spanish ambassador—you know de Puebla, I think—is increasingly concerned with the king’s indecision with regard to Perkin. He says de Puebla told my lord that Ferdinand and Isabella want no trace of doubt as to Arthur’s claim to the throne. The alliance is in abeyance because of Perkin.”
“A pox on Henry’s alliance,” Grace muttered. “Whether he be Richard or no, the unfortunate man has no right to be treated thus. So he is to be paraded again tonight?”
“Aye. But this time, Katherine is to be by his side,” Tom said, looking at the subject of their discussion walking to the lodgings accompanied by two servants.
“She will be ecstatic,” Grace exclaimed. “Although the black dress is decidedly travel-stained, we shall endeavor to have her looking her best for her husband tonight.”
“Lady Katherine does not need ribbons and satins to be the most beautiful woman in the room,” Tom mused, and was not prepared for the kick to his shins he received for his thoughtless remark. “You did not let me finish my sentence,” he complained, grinning sheepishly. “I was going to say ‘except for my wife, dearest Grace,’ truly I was.” And, taking off at a run, he avoided another playful blow.
AS KATHERINE’S COMPANION, Grace stood by the young couple in a corner of the king’s smaller audience chamber. Katherine looked paler tonight in her black dress, Grace thought, although it lent her an ethereal beauty. Perkin was arrayed in his cloth-of-gold suit, complete with a spice-studded orange pomander hanging from a ribbon around his neck. It was the first time Grace had been close enough to speak to him since their meeting in Dendermonde, but she dared not say anything to him, as all eyes were upon the little group.
The King's Grace Page 57
