‘Don't you see?’ he said. ‘We are trying to ensure peace. What peace would we have, we of the old families, if the Woodvilles had their way? They are not of the stuff for government, they would ruin the young King and the country, and I'll not be a party to that. And if they were in power I doubt not that Gloucester and my father and I would have our heads on the block.’
A few days after Prince Richard was taken to the Tower the order went out for the execution of Lord Rivers and his nephew Lord Richard Grey. Bess could only remember Anthony's kindness to John, his pleasing manner, his voice when he sang to them at court, his knowledge of books, his skill at the joust. She could see him now, flushed and triumphant at the tourney following Elizabeth's crowning. He and William Hastings had been perhaps the two best liked men in the kingdom and now they were dead and by Richard's order. She received an impassioned letter from John, demanding to know his benefactor's crime other than that he was the Queen's brother. She could give John no answer to that, though she begged him to trust Richard's judgement, and in a mood of depression went with Thomas to sup at Crosby's Place. How much more blood, she wondered, would be shed before Thomas's peace was secured?
Richard seemed abstracted, more inclined to listen than to speak, and it was the Duke of Buckingham who kept up the flow of conversation, who clapped his hands for the musicians to play, called for more wine, ordered the dancing to begin. Compared with the days of Edward's court, the lavish spectacles, the long feasts, the laughter, Richard's supper was muted, sober. Anne seemed to be enjoying it in her quiet way, paying the utmost courtesy to Richard's mother the Duchess Cicely who, though in deep mourning, came to be at her youngest son's side. The young Earl of Warwick, Clarence's son, was now in Anne's charge and much attached to his grandmother, standing often by her chair, his vague eyes fixed on her. Bess thought him a little simple for a boy of ten and that it was a pity his cousins, the King and Prince Richard, were not here to company him.
Half-way through the evening she noticed that Richard had left the hall. She danced with Lord Stanley who had been released from the Tower almost at once and was back in favour again, but she did not care for him and preferred to talk with his wife, the Lady Margaret Beaufort. She was hoping it would soon be time to leave when a page came to her saying that the Lord Protector wished to see her.
She followed the boy up the stair, wondering what Richard could have to say that he could not have said when they were at supper. In a small room above, where he sat at a table littered with papers, Richard looked up at her with sombre eyes. ‘Sit down, Lady Howard,’ he said with unusual formality and when the page had brought her wine, which she did not want, and they were alone, he went on, ‘I wanted to speak to you, to ask you – you were at my brother Edward's nuptials with the Lady Elizabeth, were you not?’
Surprised, she answered. ‘Not at the chapel. The Queen asked me to remain with her sons, the Marquess of Dorset and the – the late Lord Richard Grey.’
The hesitation was not lost on him, but he ignored it. ‘I did not realize you were not at the actual ceremony. Do you know who performed it?’
‘No,’ she said again. ‘I was at Grafton that day quite by chance and stumbled upon their plans.’
‘Was there, that you know of, anything irregular in the business? Did you hear of anything – unusual?’
‘They went to a place called the Hermitage quite near by, so I can't tell. But I cannot imagine why there should be. Everything appeared to be done correctly.’
‘I see. And when they returned?’
‘I had made myself useful for an hour but then it seemed better that I should leave. And that is all I knew of it.’ For some reason, much as she had always liked the Duke, she did not want to tell him of her private conversation with Edward that day. There was not the same air of friendliness here that there had been at Middleham and Richard looked strangely preoccupied, harassed, lost in some line of thought he was not going to impart to her.
‘There was no one else there?’ He pursued the subject once more. ‘No one but the family? No – no other priest whom you knew by name?’
‘None that I saw, and of her family only the Duchess Jaquetta and another lady acted as witnesses.’
‘Ah. Thank you, Bess. Good night.’
He had obviously no more to say. She rose, curtseyed and left him. It all seemed very odd.
The next morning she felt unwell and suspected she might be with child again. She lay in bed until noon while Annette read to her and Elysia sewed by the fire, her little son playing on the floor and her new daughter in a cradle nearby. Bess began to wish for her own young ones to be around her and wondered if Thomas would let her summon them after the crowning, or better still allow her to return to Norfolk. She wanted to remember London in King Edward's days and not the bloody deeds done since his death.
She asked Elysia where her master had gone and Elysia said to hear a preacher at Paul's Cross, the mayor's brother she thought who was supposed to be very eloquent and able to stir men's hearts, and that Robert had gone with him. Eventually it was Robert who came home alone and then not until the supper hour, his face wearing a stunned expression.
‘Was the preacher so excellent that he talked all day?’ Elysia asked teasingly, but to her surprise her husband stood stiffly before his mistress and said simply, ‘Yes.’
‘You have something to tell us,’ Bess said. ‘What is it, Robert?’
He paused before speaking. ‘The Duke – the Duke, my lady, is to be King of England and crowned as soon as maybe.’
‘What!’ Bess sat rigidly in her chair, her malaise forgotten, the servants about to bring in the meat, standing agape by the screen. ‘Robert, what are you saying?’
‘The preacher – Friar Shaa – told us all, a great crowd including the Lord Protector and the Dukes of Buckingham and Suffolk and my lord Howard and your lord, madame, and many others, that he had discovered, by God’s law, the Duke was entitled to the crown.’
‘But how can he be? King Edward's heir –’
‘Is proclaimed bastard, madame, with all the late King's children.’
‘Bastards?’ Bess echoed. ‘What nonsense is this? I know the King was truly married to the Lady Elizabeth. I have been their friend for twenty years.’ And then she thought of the meeting with Richard last night. ‘Go on,’ she said tensely. ‘Explain, Robert. And sit down. You look tired out.’
He accepted gratefully and Elysia took a stool by his side, her hand slipping into his. ‘They were saying in the crowd,’ he went on but diffidently, ‘that a few days ago Bishop Stillington revealed to the Council that King Edward had been contracted to another lady before he wed the Queen.’
Bess gasped. ‘I never heard of such a thing. And he was only eighteen when he wed her. There had been other ladies mentioned, of course, but which was he supposed to have espoused?’
‘I don't know that there was a wedding, madame, only a plighting, and it was to a Dame Eleanor Butler, old Lord Shrewsbury's daughter. Her sister is the Duke of Norfolk's widow but it seems that lady knew nothing of it.’
‘I recall hearing of Dame Eleanor, but she died years ago.’
‘Yes, but that does not invalidate the fact that she still lived when the King married the Queen. And Bishop Stillington says he was there at the plighting, which the King wished kept secret for state reasons. The Bishop says the King desired Lady Eleanor and she would not give herself to him without the blessing of the Church.’
Something stirred in Bess's mind, an old memory. From over the years she seemed to hear Elizabeth's laughing voice: I told him I would die virtuous rather than live with him without his ring upon my finger. It all rang so true, Edward dominating, wanting his desire, a woman holding out against him, and his taking the easy way to what his body demanded. She knew only too well that what Edward wanted he took. She had not been strong enough to deny him, or herself, but it seemed that Eleanor Butler as well as Elizabeth Woodville had been wise to do so. Yet Ele
anor had never insisted on the crown. How had Edward bought her silence? She must have loved him deeply, Bess thought, and understood.
‘When was this supposed to have happened?’ she asked.
‘I don't know, except that it was some time before he wed the Queen. The friar says that their wedding was bigamous and the children of the union illegitimate. The late Duke of Clarence's son is debarred and only Duke Richard has true claim to the throne. My lord of Buckingham leapt up beside the preacher and shouted to all that the Duke must be proclaimed king and after that all the great lords hurried to Westminster to discuss the matter. I attended Sir Thomas there and when he decided to stay the night in the palace he sent me home to tell you all. There is much to be done before Parliament meets.’
In utter bewilderment Bess sat silent, trying to grapple with the incredible tale. At first she refuted it utterly, but why should Bishop Stillington make up such a lie? Yet if he had known all along why had he not spoken before? And then she remembered at the time of Clarence's disgrace that Edward had said there was more to it than anyone knew, and he had sent the Bishop to prison for a time. Suppose Clarence had known, threatened to reveal the secret? With Dame Eleanor dead and unable to answer for herself, the whole business would have appealed to Clarence's devious mind for he would have seen it as a weapon to prise Edward from the throne. It made sense – dear God, it all made sense! She shuddered. What would Elizabeth shut in sanctuary make of the accusation? And what of the young King, soon perhaps to be shorn of his title?
‘Oh,’ Elysia said, as if reading the working of Bess's mind, ‘I pity the children. I know what it must have meant to my father to be a royal bastard.’
‘Jesu!’ Bess put out a shaking hand to take hers. ‘It is hard to credit, any of it, and yet – I must!’ She was struggling to grasp it, that Richard – Richard! – was on his way to the throne by the shedding of blood and an old tale hard to prove. Surely Richard's love for his brother, his very motto – Loyalty binds me – must prevent him doing this to Edward's memory? Yet she too must be loyal – to Richard, to Anne.
In bewilderment she awaited Thomas's return. He finally came back the following afternoon to fetch her to Baynard's Castle. ‘There is to be a great assembly,’ he said. ‘Send for your cloak, Bess, and come with me.’
They went by river and at Baynards found the great courtyard already crammed with people. It was so hot a day and the crowd pressing so close that Bess feared she might faint, and he found her a place where he could sit on a stone ledge. How often had she sat with Catherine Hastings on great occasions, but Catherine had gone north to her Leicestershire home and Bess thought sadly it might be a long time before they met again, for Catherine would not forget that Thomas had led William to his death.
Presently the Duke of Buckingham came out and with his face flushed with excitement made a speech, reading a petition from Parliament. Richard was on a small balcony above a stairway and on one side of him stood Lord Howard, on the other his brother-in-law the Duke of Suffolk.
‘We beg you,’ Buckingham cried, ‘we the three estates of the realm, to accept and take upon you the crown and royal dignity to which no other man has the right. Hail, King Richard III!’
There was an answering roar from the crowd but Bess found her tongue constricted, unable to make a sound. She could only stare upwards, her eyes on Richard's slight figure. He seemed to hesitate, and then, coming down one step, lifted up his hand. The noise subsided. ‘If it is your wish,’ he raised his voice hardly at all, ‘I accept this great responsibility as God's will for me, for the kingdom.’
‘There!’ Thomas said. ‘Now we shall have a man for King and no boy. Edward's son is all Woodville and no fit ruler for such a country as ours. This is a great day for Richard, for England and for us Howards, by God.’ He caught Bess's arm and she saw his eyes blazing with an unusual light. ‘I have kept our best news from you until now. My father is to be Duke of Norfolk at last.’
‘But I thought – Prince Richard –’
‘He is naught now.’ Thomas brushed aside the boy in the Tower and his transient title. ‘And since Anne Mowbray has been dead these two years my father has the right. He will be on equal footing now with Buckingham and Suffolk, and I – I am to be the Earl of Surrey. Will you like that, Bess?’
‘I don't know,’ she whispered. ‘Yes, oh yes, Thomas, if it pleases you, but I cannot grasp it all yet.’
He laughed and touched her shoulder lightly. ‘We are to ride to Westminster at once – this was all arranged, you understand – but the boatman will take you home. I did not wish you to miss this great moment.’
Richard was descending the stair and a moment later, bareheaded, he rode out through the cheering crowd of barons and knights and squires. The long train of nobles rode out after him and as Thomas seized a squire's bridle, to the young man's chagrin, Bess said, ‘I will go up and see the Duchess before I leave, and the Lady Anne.’
'The new Queen,’ Thomas said, ‘has already gone to Westminster.’
Mother of God, she thought, no moment has been wasted, and she went slowly up the now empty stair. She found a page, asked him to enquire if the Duchess would receive her and was soon shown into a spacious apartment.
Richard's mother sat by the window, a still-erect figure in her sixties, and for a moment Bess did not know what to say. At last she began, ‘Your grace, I hope – I rejoice for the Duke, at least – does it please you?’
The Duchess looked at her with eyes that seemed to see nothing. ‘Please me – to have my grandchildren dubbed bastards? I do not know whether it is true that Dame Eleanor was plighted to Edward – it is too long ago – but Richard is wrong to do what he is doing, even if he believes it is right for the realm. Edward would not have so hurt us all.’ She had forgotten her own fury on hearing of his marriage to Elizabeth Woodville, for this new situation had struck at her, unprepared and in her old age.
Bess said, ‘Your grace, forgive me. I don't know why I came. I had best go home.’
A faint smile lifted the thin lips. ‘Dear Lady Howard, you came out of sympathy, your tongue running away with you. But I can see you are not happy either. You were Queen Elizabeth's friend, were you not?’
‘And the King's. Madame, I don't know how to bear it – the calumny when he is no longer here to defend himself.’
‘He is dead, and in God's heaven where he cannot feel it.’
‘That makes it worse,’ Bess broke into tears. ‘Oh, madame, I loved him so.’
Somehow, she did not know how, she was on her knees by the Duchess's chair and Edward's mother was stroking her hair and murmuring, ‘Poor soul, poor soul. It must have gone hard for you. Were you –’ and when there was a mute shake of the head the Duchess gave a long sad sigh. ‘I think I shall leave London. I am too old for any part in this, but I shall pray for Richard, for all of you – especially for you, my child.’
Ten days later Richard was crowned King of England. The new Duke of Norfolk and Earl Marshal bore the crown into the Abbey and Cardinal Bourchier set it on Richard's dark head. Thomas, Earl of Surrey, bore the sword of state, Buckingham carried the King's train, and Margaret Beaufort, as if to affirm her place among the high nobility, carried the Queen's. Her husband Lord Stanley was among the foremost in the procession, walking with Viscount Lovell, Richard's friend. But Buckingham's Duchess had been born a Woodville and was not there, nor was Duchess Cicely, gone to her prayers at Berkhamstead. Remembering the old happy days at Middleham they seemed to Bess infinitely preferable to this glittering pageantry. Nothing could ever be quite the same again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
In the summer of '85 Tom Howard was betrothed to Anne Plantagenet, the late King Edward's daughter, and Bess, who had lost the babe she carried two years ago at the coronation and had since miscarried of another child, did not attend the formal contracting. She stayed at Ashwellthorpe, nursing her ageing father, watching over the younger boys, and busying herself with Annette and Marg
aret, about all the usual tasks of a great house.
‘Did you wish to be there?’ she asked Annette once again. ‘I hope I didn't deny you pleasure, but the court is no longer a happy place.’
‘Oh no, Mother. I had rather stay here with you, though I wish Father was at home more often.’
‘So do I,’ her mother agreed, ‘but the King leans on him and his father more than any since the Duke of Buckingham betrayed him.’ That vain and incompetent young man had not found all he sought under Richard's rule and had enmeshed himself with Henry Tudor shortly after the accession. He was seen often in Lady Margaret Beaufort's company and presently went off to Wales to launch a rebellion. But he proved utterly unable to hold an army together, the affair collapsed and Buckingham lost his head as a result. Henry Tudor, hovering off the west coast, had prudently turned back towards France. Bess was not sorry to hear of Buckingham's death, he had run upon it himself, betraying the King he had so ardently supported, and deserving nothing less. But two other deaths had changed Richard more. His delicate little son, so recently made Prince of Wales, had died last year and both Richard and Anne had been beside themselves with grief. They had adored their only child, and it was obvious that Anne, in poor health herself, would bear no more.
Bess had journeyed to London to comfort her if such a thing were possible and found the city alive with rumours, spread, Thomas said, like poisoned darts, by secret supporters of Henry Tudor, though how he knew this she could not tell. No one, it seemed, knew where the disinherited Princes were. They had not been seen playing in the Tower grounds for many months. Some people thought they had been sent to the King's castle at Sheriff Hutton where Clarence's children were, but ugly gossip was hinting at more sinister reasons for their disappearance. Bess on one or two occasions heard the word 'usurper' uttered and even worse whispered accusations. She believed none of this nonsense but it created a chilling atmosphere. It seemed to her so unjust. No one could deny that Richard was proving a wise and surprisingly lenient King, and ordinary folk knew he gave them fair dealing. For the most part, few people cared where the previous King's bastards might be. It was, Thomas reiterated, entirely the work of the Tudor's spies to foment trouble.
The Sun in Splendour (The Plantagenets Book 6) Page 22
