by Kari August
The
Arrival
Of
RichardIII
Kari August
Mountain Track Publishing
Denver, Colorado
This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to a living person is entirely coincidental.
Published by Mountain Track Publishing
Denver, Colorado 80221
Published in the United States of America
Copyright @ 2015 by Kari August
All rights reserved.
Cover design: Caroline S. Christner
Inquiries should be sent to:
Mountain Track Publishing
Denver, Colorado 80221
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
For my husband,
a first cousin,
a bazillionth times removed,
from
Richard III
Acknowledgments
A special thanks and kisses to my kids, who are endless sources of inspiration for potential storylines. Sweet hugs to my dogs, who always keep me company, sleeping by my feet while I write.
The
Arrival
of
Richard III
Chapter One
Bosworth Field
England
August 1485
From atop a rise, Richard III surveyed the vicious hand-to-hand combat taking place in the field below. Against advice, he wore his crown over his armor helmet. The shiny ringlet made him an easier target for anyone seeking to do their king harm in this frenzied scene, but Richard had never been one to hide behind other men’s protection. He was a warrior king and never shirked from fighting his own battles.
Besides, Richard was feeling lucky today. His highly trained forces greatly outnumbered Henry Tudor’s pathetic regiments. In fact, Tudor had been so desperate for troops before he set sail for England to try to seize the throne, he had “recruited” convicts out of the French prisons in order to wage war. It was laughable, really.
Richard’s men were well supplied with sword and mace and were battling courageously. Richard nodded and smiled smugly. He couldn’t wait to see the startled reaction of his opponent when Richard let his special regiment use their brand-new firing artillery. He sat straighter in his saddle. He prided himself on his extensive knowledge of warfare and made use of the latest inventions. This victory would be his!
How could that upstart Tudor possibly win? More incredibly, how could Tudor possibly think he had a divine right to usurp the kingdom from Richard? Tudor’s claim to the throne was weak at best, in comparison to Richard’s, and Tudor even had bastard stock in his lineage a few generations back. It was hard to believe this minion Tudor was the best candidate the Lancastrian forces could come up with to defeat Richard’s Yorkist side.
Richard scoffed. Why, Tudor didn’t even have any actual fighting experience himself, whereas Richard had been relied upon for years as his brother’s right-hand man, especially defending the North of England from the Scots.
But Richard’s world had suddenly changed two years ago, when his brother Edward IV had abruptly died from an unknown illness, and Richard had ascended to the throne. Of course, that was after Richard had found out that Edward’s sons were actually illegitimate and couldn’t possibly become kings, but that was a detail Richard didn’t have time to think about now.
Richard surveyed the distant battlefield, and his eyes widened. Henry Tudor had just isolated himself from his major fighting force! In fact, he was surrounded by only a few loyal protectors.
This was Richard’s chance. He was going to take on Tudor himself and put an end to this battle once and for all. Richard shouted his intent to his surrounding men-at-arms and started racing down the slope on his trusty mount, followed by his loyal cavalry.
As Richard charged, he watched as the weakling Tudor quickly dismounted and surrounded himself with a circle of men holding their pickaxes out in front of them in defense. What? Tudor wasn’t going to come out and fight Richard himself? He wasn’t going to take on Richard man-to-man, stallion-to-stallion, as if they were noble knight fighting noble knight? He didn’t deserve to be king! Richard would fight through those men Henry was cowering behind. He would prove without a doubt that he was the rightful monarch!
He spurred his horse to greater speed and traversed down the hill. He was almost on Tudor! He just needed to cross some swampy ground, and he would have him in his clutches.
Without warning, Richard’s stallion let out a high-pitched shriek, stumbled, and fell at the water’s edge. Richard was thrown from his horse’s back. His helmet flew off and he landed facedown, swallowing a mouthful of murky liquid. While coughing and gasping for breath, he valiantly managed to stand, despite his heavy armor.
Suddenly William, his loyal cavalry lieutenant, was at his side. “Sire, take my horse. Flee, before you risk being cut down by these devil’s spawn!”
Richard pulled his sword and dragged himself to drier ground. “No, I will end this now between Tudor and me.”
But before Richard could take another step, he was clubbed by a blow to the back of his head, and he staggered a few feet. Despite the pain, Richard managed to right himself and, with several savage thrusts and parries, fought courageously on. If he could just get to Tudor, he knew he could victoriously cut him down.
Ah, but word spread quickly that the king himself was fighting, and before long he was surrounded by an angry mob. His men tried to save him, but to no end. Within a few minutes, Richard lay in a crumpled heap on the ground, stabbed and bludgeoned so repeatedly that living through this battle was no longer possible.
A half hour later, with the golden ringlet on his own head now, Henry VII ordered Richard’s body stripped and displayed naked in the local town’s square. He wanted everyone to be able to view Richard’s deformed spine, shaped like an S instead of straight. Surely the crowd would take it as a sign of evil.
After three days, Henry began his march toward London, but before he left he ordered Richard buried in the local chapel. His men took little care to dig a large enough hole, and stuffed Richard with his head bent in the grave site. They snickered, knowing it was no way a former king of England, even an enemy, should be treated. But if their current sovereign didn’t care, why should they?
Over the centuries, the chapel would be damaged during Henry VIII’s reformations, the land on which it had stood bought privately and turned into estate gardens—with owners hearing unbelievable rumors about the area being Richard III’s grave site—until finally, during the 1900s, the town of Leicester obtained the property and decided to turn it into a parking lot for government offices, not knowing that Richard, indeed, lay buried underneath.
That was until 2012, when a dedicated group of individuals, following leads and hunches, started excavating the site with major digging machinery to find out just what exactly was underneath the parking lot. . . .
Chapter Two
England
2012
Richard III was forced awake by a jolting shake of the ground and a distant rumble. He’d never heard anything like the sound. Trying to sit up, he gaped, realizing he was naked and surrounded by soil and rocks. He spit out the dirt that crumbled into his mouth and looked around, stunned. He was encased by earth and nothing else. He was in his own grave site? Where was the special marble coffin he had requested for his burial site, if—God forbid—the unthinkable happened? Was this a
ny way a king of England should be laid to rest?
Tudor! He was going to kill him if it was the last thing he did.
Richard brushed the grime off his arms. Well, okay. Perhaps it was a little too late for that, considering Tudor had won the battle. But why was Richard awake? Didn’t the dead remain sleeping? And why wasn’t he in heaven by now? Because surely he had been a candidate for paradise in the afterlife. This couldn’t really be heaven, could it? My God, it had to be more luxurious than this! Oh, nooo! Richard gasped and inadvertently inhaled some more dirt. He wasn’t actually in hell, was he? He shook his head. Where were the burning fires, if that was the case?
With a sudden whoosh Richard felt himself being lifted. He flew as if he were a bird without wings, but with greater speed. He looked down upon the ground, which was fading away rapidly. He’d never seen such tall buildings before. And so many! There were tiny balls moving along the roads. He couldn’t make out exactly what they were, but surely they raced more quickly than a cart and horse. He looked up into the sky, passing through clouds as if they were nothing more than mist in the air.
His velocity suddenly increased even more. But wait! Where was he going now? Somebody heeelp! The moon was straight ahead. He was going to crash into it.
As if his thoughts were heard, his body wobbled slightly and his direction altered. Phew. He looked back at the Earth as he passed alongside the rocky moon. It was a beautiful bluish sphere! Could the oceans really be that large?
When his speed increased even more, it was no longer frightening, but exhilarating. He passed stars in a blur of colors. Whee! This was fun. He decided to try some turning and tumbling in the air. He did a backflip. How about a handstand? No a spread-eagle.
But just as quickly as he began, he came to a crashing halt. Oomph! Now, that hurt. He raised his head groggily and eyed the surrounding fog.
“Sorry about that. Transitions just don’t go as smoothly when I have to manually guide them,” a meek voice announced from the vapor.
Richard looked over and saw a chubby man, smiling sheepishly, emerge from the mist. He held a spoon in one hand and wore an . . . apron? And what were those clothes he had on underneath? Certainly not a tunic and hose. Richard quickly stood to take command of the situation, natural leader that he was. “Give me your name and tell me, where am I? Speak up, man. You’re talking to the King of England.”
The man frowned slightly and took a step back. “Not anymore you aren’t.”
The man dared utter treason to him? Richard reached for his sword, only to realize he didn’t have one attached to his waist anymore. He felt bare and defenseless, which, looking down at himself, he was. But Richard was a warrior king. He knew not to reveal his fear. “I will defeat that whoreson Henry Tudor just as soon as I can gather my forces again and retake my crown—”
The man patted the air with his free hand. “Calm down, Richard. You’ve got bigger fish to fry at the moment.”
Confused, Richard could only utter, “What? Just who are you?”
The man picked at what appeared to be dried gravy on his sleeve before continuing. “I’m Herman, God’s, uh . . . I know—personal assistant.”
Richard narrowed his eyes. “What’s a personal assistant?”
Herman smiled and shook his head. “How silly of me. I should have realized you wouldn’t know modern jargon. Let’s see, in your era I was called the steward. No, no, that’s not right. How about Lord of the Garderobe?”
Richard frowned. “You’re master of God’s garderobe? I’ve traveled all this way to meet the person in charge of—”
Herman dropped his head back and laughed, before looking back at Richard. “Okay, forget that. I know—let’s make me Lord Protector of the Realm.”
Richard stared at the man, who could definitely be described as . . . soft. No way was this man a warrior, a fighter, a knight of the realm. “You’re lying.”
Herman giggled. “You’re right. Anyways, Richard, we’re getting hung up here on labels, and there’s work to be done. Let’s just say I handle God’s personal business, which you, by the way, are under the heading of.”
Richard shook his head, perplexed. “Why?”
“Why did God pick me? Oh, that’s easy. I won the cooking contest, and God, in his infinite wisdom, knew to keep a chef close by his side. I mean, what could be more satisfying than a scrumptious meal after a long day’s work—”
Richard held up his hand impatiently. “No. I mean why am I part of God’s personal business?”
Herman blew out a long breath, obviously reluctant to answer. “Well, you know when a person passes away, God makes a judgment where that person’s ultimate resting place is going to be? Um . . . er, that didn’t happen the day you died.”
“Why not?!”
“God was a bit indisposed that day.”
“Indisposed?”
Herman started making quotation marks in the air. “Feeling the effects. On the rack.”
Richard looked at him, bewildered.
Herman hung his head. “Uh . . . he celebrated a little too strenuously the night before.”
Richard was aghast. “That’s blasphemous!” He reached for his phantom sword again, coming up short once more.
Herman quickly continued. “Now, in God’s defense, it’s the only time it’s happened, and quite frankly it’s all your brother’s fault. If he weren’t so charismatic and such a continuous reveler, I’m sure God never would have agreed to partake in the partying that went on the evening before—”
“Eddie? This is Eddie’s fault?”
“Yes, your older brother Edward IV, former King of England, is known up here as the life of the party, the man to be around for a good time. God couldn’t resist joining in the merriment one night. It started as just one drink, but then Eddie suggested the drinking competition, and, well, you know the rest.”
Richard closed his eyes and shook his head. “So now what?”
Herman cleared his throat. “We’ve been working more than five hundred years, and we finally have the mess nearly straightened out. In fact, you are our last straggler to appear, needing placement in the afterlife.”
Richard opened his eyes, astounded. “Over five hundred years? This is the . . .” He started counting on his fingers.
“The twenty-first century.”
Richard’s mouth dropped open.
Herman explained. “We couldn’t find you for the longest time. We assumed we could get back to you at the priory burial ground you requested, and started working first on other lost souls that day of God’s indisposition. Foolish us. We hadn’t taken into account that Henry VII would bury you so unceremoniously, and then when that parking lot was erected over you, it seemed a most unlikely area to go looking. Luckily the construction excavating was done carefully enough that your burial site was finally discovered, and we came immediately.”
Richard pleated his brows. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. First off, what’s a parking lot?”
Herman scratched his neck. “Let’s just say not the most distinguished of burial plots.”
Richard glared. “I assume God punished Henry Tudor, and he’s rotting in hell!”
Herman smiled proudly and started bouncing up and down on his toes. “God likes to keep with the times, and he recently enacted a new privacy law.” He paused for effect. “In other words, I’m not at liberty to tell.”
Richard rolled his eyes. “Then, get on with it. Send me to heaven.”
“That’s God’s work. His decision.”
Richard looked at Herman as if he were dealing with an imbecile. “Well, tell him I’m here, and it’s time for me to go.”
Herman looked uncomfortable. “I’m not sure if I would be in such a hurry to get to your final resting place. Perhaps you’d like to stick around here for a while. Right now God’s really into sauces. All the special herbs and spices blending into a magnificence of gastronomic delight—”
Richard crossed his arms
. “Herman! Now what bad news do you have to tell me?”
Herman scrunched up his nose before stating, “You don’t exactly have the best reputation in history, and I’m just not sure where he’s going to place you.”
Richard’s eyes widened. “What?!”
“You have to admit that business with your nephews—and let’s not forget Lord Hastings—is a bit much to swallow, even for God. Of course, I’m sure God holds nothing against your physical appearance, but a disfigurement was thought to be the sign of evil for centuries, which makes the populists’ opinion of you a lot to handle. I mean, even if God thinks you’re deserving of heaven, he still might take the majority opinion into account.”
“God’s all-knowing. He wouldn’t do that.”
“Let’s just say there were other persons who made me wonder about his decision-making process. . . .” Herman trailed off.
Richard started pacing, hands behind his back. How had events and circumstances gotten so misconstrued? Tudor was behind this. He just knew it. Richard had been a decent person, a noble king. Richard recognized that. Why didn’t everybody else? More important, what could he do about it now? Richard stopped pacing and looked at Herman. “I need to talk to God. I must be allowed to explain.”
Herman shook his head. “Oh, no. Quite impossible. He’s staying away from mere mortals for the time being, after that debacle with Eddie. As I said, it’s God’s only mess-up since time began.” Herman smiled. “Eddie’s such a charmer, isn’t he?”
Richard started to feel a sense of panic. Think, man, think. There must be something he could do.
Herman shook his hand nervously and reiterated, “If only you didn’t have such a horrid reputation, I’d feel more comfortable with God’s ultimate decision.”
