Richard would have accepted that from no one else. But John had earned the right to criticize Edward if any man had. Besides, it was a rare relief to be able to admit, as he did now, “Well, there are times…mostly at night…when you’ve the say over men’s lives come morning, and if you do choose wrong…” This was more than he’d meant to confide, however, and he caught himself abruptly, gave John a brief smile.
“You’re too able a listener for my own good, Johnny! You’ll have me confessing to sins I haven’t even committed if I don’t watch myself!”
They’d reached the entrance of the Prior’s lodging when Thomas Parr, Richard’s squire, caught up with them.
“My lord? What of our men?”
Richard was embarrassed. That was something he should’ve seen to at once, but his pleasure at seeing John had put his men momentarily from his mind. He glanced sideways at John, but his cousin was more merciful than Edward would have been, forbore to tease; instead, he suggested casually, “I doubt there’s room enough in the priory, Dickon, and I’d wager, as well, that most of the inns close by are full. You might try the White Rose in Little Parke Street, though.”
Richard nodded gratefully, turned back to Thomas. “We’ll have to billet them wherever we can find rooms, Tom. Try the White Rose and the Angel. Let me know straightaway if problems arise in getting them settled.”
He jerked his head then toward the Prior’s lodging, said, “What with the King’s Grace lodged here in Prior Deram’s chambers, I doubt there’s even a pallet to spare, so we’d best plan to quarter in the guest house. Take care of that for me, too, Tom, if you will. And my lord of Northumberland will be supping with me tonight, so see to that, too….” Richard glanced back at John. “That is acceptable, isn’t it, Johnny?”
“I would suggest you do ask the Earl of Northumberland,” John said evenly, and Richard turned to stare at him.
“I thought I just did,” he said after a moment, with the quizzical uncertain smile of one who misses the humor of a joke but wishes to be polite, nonetheless.
“You truly don’t know? No, I see you don’t. As it happens, Dickon, that title no longer is mine. Nine days ago Ned restored the earldom of Northumberland to Henry Percy.”
Richard caught his breath. He could think of nothing to say, nothing at all.
Richard originally meant to send word to his brother that he had arrived and then bathe and change his clothes before joining Edward in the Prior’s lodging. That plan had been formulated, however, before he was told that the Lancastrian Henry Percy was now Earl of Northumberland and his cousin newly named as Marquess of Montagu. Now his need to see Edward was such that he wasted no time in seeking his brother out.
The Prior’s great hall was illuminated by two oriel windows and several smaller ones, but the light was considerably less than in the sunlit outer garth, and Richard paused a moment to adjust his eyesight accordingly. Will Hastings was there, smiled at sight of him. So did John Howard.
His brother-in-law, the Duke of Suffolk, nodded from across the hall, with no noticeable enthusiasm. Richard was not well acquainted with Suffolk, a Lancastrian who’d been wed to Richard’s sister Eliza years ago in hopes of winning him over to York. Suffolk had proven to be more tractable than Richard’s other brother-in-law, the exiled Duke of Exeter, but Richard doubted that Suffolk had any genuine affection for the House of York.
A slender youth with lanky fair hair and secretive pale eyes was standing by the nearest window. Richard recognized him as Henry Percy, the twenty-three-year-old Lancastrian lord who had so suddenly been elevated to his family’s former earldom. Richard exchanged polite greetings with Percy and started across the hall toward his brother, only to stop abruptly after taking several strides, staring at the man who stood by Edward’s chair.
He was of medium height, of stocky build, in his midthirties. The wide-shouldered velvet doublet, silken hose, gem-encrusted rings all vied to proclaim the wearer as a man of wealth. But the gaudiness of his dress was eclipsed by the neatly trimmed mustache and pointed brown beard, a carefully groomed and cultivated defiance of current fashion that Richard saw as an affectation. But then, Richard had no charitable thoughts to spare for Thomas, Lord Stanley. None at all.
In the past six months, as Edward began to give Richard ever-increasing responsibilities, Richard had endured more than his share of unpleasant moments, moments of private doubt and inner uncertainties. It could be as sobering as it was exhilarating to have other men looking to him for leadership; he was all too conscious, for his own comfort, of his age and inexperience. But no moment had been as bad as the tense encounter he’d had with Stanley a fortnight ago on the Hereford-Shrewsbury Road.
Both forces had been taken by surprise, and Richard had suddenly been confronted with the need to make an instantaneous decision, one which might have immediate military consequences for him and long-term political ones for his brother. He knew Stanley, thought him to be as untrustworthy a man as any in England. He wasn’t sure why Stanley should be riding toward Manchester with a well-armed force, but he didn’t like it; he didn’t like it at all. Instinct and suspicion and Stanley’s kinship to Warwick all merged in his mind and, with an icy assurance that sounded surprisingly convincing, even to himself, he demanded that Stanley clear the road. He’d convinced Stanley, at any rate. The latter had yielded, grudgingly and under protest, but yielded, nonetheless.
Now the sight of Stanley brought it all back to Richard in a rush, and even as he moved to kneel before his brother, he kept his eyes upon Stanley. At the same time, he found himself wishing he’d taken the time for that bath and change of clothes. He felt uncomfortably scruffy, defensive, apprehensive, and defiant, all at once.
“My lord of Gloucester,” his brother was saying, and smiled at him as he touched his lips to the splendor of Edward’s coronation ring.
“I needn’t tell you how pleased I am to have you safely back from Wales. However, my lord Stanley has a grievance to voice against you. He has made the claim that you acted in a lawless and unjustified manner on the Hereford-Shrewsbury Road a fortnight ago. He contends”—and here Edward glanced toward Stanley for confirmation—“that you did interfere with his peaceful use of the King’s road and insulted him in the bargain. Is that a fair summing up, my lord Stanley?”
Stanley was staring balefully at Richard. “Quite fair, Your Grace.”
Richard opened his mouth and then shut it stubbornly. He was aware of a hollow sensation in his stomach, an uneasy swelling suspicion that he’d entangled Ned in a sticky political situation, all because he’d been too impulsive, too quick to act. But no…No, he hadn’t! He’d been right to suspect Stanley, he knew he had, and he’d be damned if he’d say different, even for Ned. But there was something off-key in Ned’s voice, the slightest suggestion of…anger? Disappointment? Richard wasn’t sure; the emotion was undefinable but unmistakably there.
Edward was looking expectantly at him, awaiting his response. They all were, Richard saw. Saw, too, with a small shock, that in only one face, that of John Howard, was there any sympathy for his plight. Hastings was amused, Suffolk mildly interested, Percy cautiously neutral. Yet Richard knew not a one of them liked Stanley in the least. Strange, but he’d never before realized that he, too, might be a target for jealousy, that there were those who resented him because he was Ned’s brother and for no other reason. That would bear thinking about, but now he pulled himself together, said tautly.
“My liege?”
“Do you not want to respond to Lord Stanley’s accusations?”
Richard glanced again at Stanley, found anger to be a useful crutch for his faltering assurance, and said, quite steadily, “Lord Stanley did neglect to make the one charge that must have discomfited him the most. Had it not been for our encounter on the Hereford-Shrewsbury Road, he could then have proceeded at his ease to meet with the Earl of Warwick at Manchester.”
“You’ve no proof of that, my lord of Gloucester! I do deny i
t most emphatically and you’ve no evidence to support such an accusation. You know you don’t!” Swinging back toward Edward, Stanley said sharply, “Your Grace, I deeply resent such a slur being cast upon my loyalty!”
“I would expect as much, my lord.” But still there was that elusive intonation in Edward’s voice, one that Richard could not quite identify.
“Have you any such proof, my lord of Gloucester?”
“No, Your Grace,” Richard said unwillingly, and resolutely refused to elaborate upon or explain away that terse admission. But he could not keep from casting at his brother a swift searching glance that had in it a small measure of appeal.
“Well, my lords…As I do see it, it sounds rather like an unfortunate misunderstanding. Your avowals of allegiance are, of course, most welcome, Lord Stanley. Nor am I inclined to question your good faith. However, I do trust my brother of Gloucester’s judgment and I’d not wish to second-guess him. Under the circumstances, I think the incident should best be forgotten. I daresay you both do agree with me?”
Edward leaned back in his chair, regarding them both over the rim of his wine cup. Richard nodded, almost imperceptibly. Stanley, however, said loudly and with some heat, “No, Your Grace, I do not! Why should I be held to account for a boy’s suspicions? I don’t think you do fully comprehend, Your Grace, just how insulting he was! He dared to say—”
Edward glanced at Richard, cutting through Stanley’s harangue to inquire curiously, “What exactly did you say, Dickon?”
Richard was more angry now than uncertain, and Edward’s inadvertent use of “Dickon” dispelled the last of his doubts. He knew that his brother was going to back him up, at least in public. He still wasn’t sure what to expect once they were alone.
“I told him to clear the road. When he refused, I said we could go through his men or over them, that the choice was his,” he said, taking care to enunciate each word quite clearly, and Edward choked on his drink.
He gasped, sputtered, and began to cough, and both Richard and Will Hastings started forward, before realizing that he was struggling not for breath, but to suppress laughter. But it had been too long pent up, and he could do nothing but yield to it, laughing until he was blinking back tears of mirth, too convulsed for speech.
Stanley stood very still, staring down at Edward. His face was on fire, had gone a shade of red never meant by nature. He, too, had tears in his eyes, tears of rage; they burned like cinders, blurring his glimpse of the other men. They were all grinning now, he saw, Hastings and Howard and Suffolk, even Percy. And Gloucester…Gloucester was watching him with poorly concealed triumph.
“By Your Grace’s leave,” he managed to say, jerking the words through rigidly clenched teeth.
Edward’s amusement had subsided somewhat, and he started to rise, saying with a grin, “You’re too thin-skinned, Tom! We know each other well enough to overlook an occasional lapse of manners, surely?”
Stanley stared at him. Surprised by the surge of dislike that beat back his anger, cold and measuring and contemptuous. He’d never liked Edward of York, but he’d never seen the younger man as clearly and critically as he did at this moment. How very like York this was, he thought bitterly. So cocksure none could resist his charm, that he had only to smile and make a jest. So bloody sure of himself, sure there was no sin he could not be forgiven.
He didn’t realize how clearly his thoughts showed in his face until he saw Edward’s smile change, chill considerably.
“Once you do think on it, Lord Stanley, I don’t doubt you’ll agree with me, that this entire incident is best forgotten.” Edward held his hand out for Stanley’s submission, said in a cool ironic voice, “I would suggest, as well, that you bear in mind that I am well aware of your worth, my lord. I do, you see, know precisely what value to place upon your loyalty.”
Richard’s good intentions abruptly went the way of most such resolves. He’d been trying very hard to be a gracious winner, not to gloat openly. But at that, he couldn’t help himself and laughed aloud. Edward glanced toward him; as their eyes met, he laughed, too. Their laughter followed Stanley from the chamber. He seemed to hear it even after he’d emerged into the warmth of the sunsplashed priory garth.
Thomas Parr was both industrious and efficient; by the time Richard entered his bedchamber, water was already being heated for his bath. Thomas had also sent to the buttery for wine and was glad he’d thought of it when he saw that his young lord was not alone, was accompanied by Lord Hastings and His Grace, the King.
“Ned, I know I was right about Stanley. I’ll never believe otherwise.”
Richard’s voice was muffled, coming as it did from within the folds of his doublet. He hadn’t bothered to unfasten all the buttons, impatiently pulled it over his head, with some assistance from Thomas. Free again, he resumed, “He meant to join with Warwick and George at Manchester. I know he did!”
“I don’t doubt it, Dickon,” Edward agreed complacently. He’d sprawled out on the bed, was reaching up for the wine cup Thomas held out to him.
“There’s little in life that’s constant, Little Brother, but this you can take as true, that you can never go wrong suspecting a Stanley!”
Richard joined in his laughter; so did Will. After a moment, Edward sobered somewhat, said with a grin, “You did me a service I’ll not soon forget, Dickon. But I must tell you, lad, that you’re woefully lacking in tact!”
Will gave a hoot of disbelief. “Tact? Holy Mother Mary!”
He stood gazing down at Edward; with the freedom of long familiarity, now said, “That’s a rare jest, Ned, coming from you. I rather doubt Stanley expected you to take his complaint seriously; as hard as it might be to believe sometimes, he’s not an utter fool! But I very much doubt that when he came to you to save face, he did expect you to damned near rupture yourself laughing at him!”
“It wasn’t one of my more diplomatic moments, was it?” Edward conceded, sounding thoroughly unrepentant. “But Jesus, Will, the man’s such an ass!”
“You needn’t tell me!” Will made a face. “We are kin of sorts, after all, the both of us having Neville wives.”
“I wish to God Warwick would run out of sisters! He has far too many brothers-in-law for my taste. He’s drawn the Earl of Oxford into his net now, too.”
Richard tossed his shirt to Thomas, glancing over at Edward in surprise. “Oxford? He’s Lancastrian, isn’t he?”
“More or less. But last year he wed Warwick’s sister Madge and it seems he’s been paying Warwick too much mind ever since. He’s somewhat lacking in nerve, though. He bolted as soon as he got word that I’d won Lose-Cote Field, fled to the coast and took ship for France.”
Edward drained his cup, set it down on the floor.
“I wonder if the Most Christian King of France will be quite so enthusiastic about his Neville allies once they start turning up with prices on their heads and no money in their purses,” he said acidly and signaled to Thomas for a refill.
Richard was pleased to see the French King discomfited, to see French foreign policy in such chaos, but Jesus God, at what a price! He could not envision Warwick and George as impoverished exiles at the French court. But if they didn’t escape, if they fell into Ned’s hands…what then? He preferred not to think about that.
The bath was scented with bay leaves and marjoram, was fragrant with mint and delightfully hot. This was a luxury that had been much missed by Richard, and he sank down contentedly in the wooden tub, resting his head against the folded towel that had been placed behind his neck. The room was quiet for the moment. Will Hastings had departed and the servants pouring water under Thomas’s supervision were too awed by the presence of the King to do more than whisper among themselves.
“Ned, I saw Johnny when I first rode into the priory. He told me you’d restored Northumberland to Percy.”
Richard wasn’t accustomed to questioning his brother’s judgment; in fact, had never done so before. He hesitated and then said, si
mply, “Why, Ned?”
“There’s no mystery in it, Dickon. You know the trouble I’ve been having in the North. The Percy family has long been a power there. It’s a popular move, will do much to ease local grievances. It doesn’t hurt, Little Brother, to show the people you can be responsive to their complaints…. Provided that you don’t make a habit of it!”
“I know there’s much support for Percy in Yorkshire,” Richard admitted. “But…” He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, though, found himself hesitating again.
“Do you realize, Dickon, that it was nine years ago this Thursday last since I did win Towton? Nine years and still I’m forced to waste my energies in putting down Lancastrian rebellions! I can think of better ways to spend the next nine years, Little Brother, I do assure you. No, if a restored title can placate the Percy family, that’s a cheap price to pay. I do need the Percys to keep the North quiet for me…and that, Dickon, is the answer to your question.”
“But…but isn’t Johnny the one to pay the price?”
“Did he say that?” Edward was sitting upright now, sounded surprised. It occurred to Richard for the first time that loyalty to Johnny and loyalty to Ned might not be one and the same.
“No, of course not,” he said quickly. “That was my thought, not his.”
“I hardly think Johnny ill used, Dickon,” Edward said slowly. “Not only did I name him as Marquess of Montagu, but I gave him, as well, the bulk of the estates once held by the Earl of Devon. Moreover, as you do know, I created his son Duke of Bedford and agreed to betroth the boy to my Bess. That could make his son King of England one day. Is the earldom of Northumberland too high a price to pay for that? I think not, Dickon.”
Richard was inclined to agree. The betrothal of his little niece and John’s boy, which had taken place just before he’d left London for Wales, was impressive proof, indeed, of royal favor. Edward had three daughters, and if he died without a son, the crown would now pass to his Bess and John’s son, rather than to George.
The Sunne In Splendour: A Novel of Richard III Page 25
