It took Richard a moment to remember. Sixteen years ago, Buckingham had been compelled to marry Elizabeth’s young sister Katherine.
“You’ll have to dismiss the boy’s attendants,” Buckingham said now, and Richard nodded.
“I know,” he said reluctantly. “He’s got to be weaned away from the Woodvilles, and his people are Anthony’s hand-picked hirelings. But he’s not likely to understand, Harry. How could he?”
Buckingham shrugged again, said, “Be you ready to leave?”
“No, not yet.” Richard got to his feet. “First I do want to talk with Edward, see if I cannot ease his mind some.”
“As you will. But don’t be looking for your brother in that boy. Take it from me, Cousin,” Buckingham said, suddenly serious, “he’s all Woodville.”
Richard frowned, turned away without answering.
Richard was hesitating before the door of his nephew’s bedchamber. What could he say to the boy? He’d have to tell Harry to watch his tongue in the future, not to speak slightingly of Elizabeth before Edward; he could think of no worse way to win Edward’s confidence than that. But could it be won at all? There must be some way to reach him. He was Johnny’s age. Perhaps talking to him like Johnny…. He knocked lightly on the door, pushed it open.
Edward was an unusually handsome youngster, with his mother’s silver-blond coloring, his father’s vivid blue eyes. They were, Richard noted, suspiciously red-rimmed. Had the boy been crying? He could hardly be blamed if so. Jesus God Above, what had Ned been thinking of? Of all the men in Christendom, why had he to pick Anthony Woodville as Edward’s mentor?
“Edward, I should like to talk with you.” He waited, watched the boy come forward reluctantly, sit stiffly beside him on the settle.
“You think I don’t know how you’re feeling, but I do. I know better than most. I was just your age when Ned did quarrel with our cousin Warwick. I did love them both, Edward, learned a bitter lesson in irreconcilable loyalties.”
Edward said nothing. He was studiously staring down into his lap; all Richard could see was a crown of bright hair.
“What I’m trying to say is that I understand how confusing this is for you. You love your Uncle Anthony and you don’t know me all that well. But once we’re in London…”And what difference would that make to the boy? Their problem wasn’t one of geography. He was the wrong uncle.
“Edward….” What was there to say? That he’d loved Ned? That should have been a bond between them, and yet Richard sensed that it wasn’t. Edward had raised his head, was looking up now with Ned’s eyes. No, not Ned’s. Guarded eyes that gave away nothing.
“If you’re ready, lad, we can ride back to Northampton,” Richard said and, without thinking, started to put his arm around the boy’s shoulders as he would have done with his own sons. It was the first time he’d touched Edward; he got a response neither one of them expected. Edward stiffened, jerked back as if stung. The withdrawal was involuntary, and for that reason, all the more telling.
Edward quickly recovered his poise, even looked slightly embarrassed.
“I did not mean to be rude,” he said, very politely. “You did startle me, Uncle, that’s all.”
Richard was stunned, for he’d read in Edward’s recoil more than mistrust. There’d been fear, too. Before he could stop himself, before he could think better of it, he said softly, “Good Christ, what have they told you of me?”
3
Westminster
May 1483
“Bess! Bess, wake up!”
Bess opened an eye, saw all was dark, and buried her face in her pillow. “Go ’way….”
“Bess!” Cecily was insistent, and Bess rolled over onto her back, blinked up at her sister.
“Cecily? It’s not dawn yet, is it?”
“Nigh on four. Bess, do wake up. It be urgent. Grace came to me and…”
Bess was still groggy. “Who?” she yawned.
“Bess, for pity’s sake, listen to me! Something’s very wrong. Lights have been burning in Mama’s chambers all night, people coming and going, messengers running in and out….”
“Well, what did Mama say? You did go to her…didn’t you?”
Cecily ducked her head. “I didn’t dare,” she faltered. “You know how she’s been these three weeks past, Bess….”
Bess did. Fully awake now, she sat up. “Hand me my bed robe, Cecily. Where is Grace now?”
“I sent her to see what she could find out. Do you know what she told me, Bess? That a hole has been knocked in the sanctuary wall! She said she saw men dragging coffers and furniture across the court, and when the doorway proved to be too small, they just made another opening through the wall! Don’t look at me like that, Bess! It’s true! Come to the window, see for yourself!”
Bess stood frozen at the window, gazing down at a scene out of forgotten childhood nightmares. Torches stabbed the dark, blazed through the blackness of the outer bailey to show men struggling with coffers and crates, wrestling with what looked to be a huge feather mattress, staggering under the weight of silver plate and heavy oaken chests.
Cecily had been too young to have memories of their six months in sanctuary; that was a time in her life mercifully lost to her. Bess was not so fortunate, for Bess did remember. Now as she stared down at the utter chaos below, it all came back to her, and the fear she felt was familiar, was that of a bewildered four-year-old child, suddenly thrust into a world that was alien, threatening.
The stairwell should have been lit by rushlights. It wasn’t, and Bess and Cecily had to grope their way up by the feeble glow from Cecily’s lantern.
“Bess, could the French be bombarding London? Now that Papa’s dead, they might think they could….” Cecily gave a gasp, for she’d just bumped into something that was warm, alive. She recoiled so violently that she stepped on her sister’s foot. Bess gave an irritated exclamation that would not have passed muster in polite company, grabbed for the lantern.
“Cecily? Cecily, it’s me!”
“Grace? Oh, thank the Lord; you did stand my hair on end! Tell us, what have you learned?”
“Not much. But I did find Master Brent, your lady mother’s almoner, and he said he’d heard that your brother Thomas Grey has been trying to raise an army!”
Cecily swung around toward her sister. “Bess, why would Tom…Bess? Bess, wait!”
By the time Bess reached her mother’s chambers, she was panting and her heart was beating in such a rapid irregular rhythm that, suddenly dizzy, she had to stop and catch the doorjamb for support. Just then the half-open door swung back, and Thomas Rotherham, her father’s Chancellor, pushed through.
Bess caught his sleeve. “My lord Archbishop, what be wrong? Please, tell me!”
His face was blanched, looked to her to be the exact shade of bleached white worn by the Cistercian and Carthusian White Monks. An elderly man, he seemed to Bess to have aged years since she’d seen him last. If he was surprised to see her here at such an hour, he showed no sign of it, said in a throaty quaver, “You needn’t fear, my lady. I’ve given the Great Seal over into the Queen’s own hands.”
Bess blinked. The Great Seal? Mama had no right to that, no right at all. What was he talking about?
“No, you needn’t fear. As I assured Madame your mother, should any evil befall young Edward, we’ll then crown your younger brother in his stead.”
Bess stared at him in horror and then pushed past, entered her mother’s bedchamber. There she stood rooted, unable to believe what she was seeing. Men were dismantling the enormous feather bed, stripping tapestries from the walls. Coffers were open in the middle of the floor, table and chairs piled high with her mother’s gowns, with bolts of velvet and cloth of gold. From a storage place in the garderobe, men were lugging out furs of ermine and fox, dodging and cursing at the hysterical small spaniel that was nipping at their ankles and barking like a creature demented.
None paid the slightest heed to Bess. Like one maneuvering t
hrough an obstacle course, she edged around the coffers, an overturned stool, moved toward her mother. Elizabeth’s back was to her, but she could see the faces of her half brother Thomas and her uncle Lionel, Bishop of Salisbury. Both men looked dazed; Thomas was saying, in a voice that was so unlike his normal speaking tones Bess would not have recognized it as his, “Mother, it be no use. I’ve been trying for nigh on five hours, and I tell you none will fight for us. Stanley says bluntly he can do nothing, that he’d have to be a lunatic to come out for us now. Morton of a sudden be counseling caution. St Leger was apologetic enough, but he, too, thinks the risks be too great. Even Edward Grey, my father’s own brother…even he will not…”
“Mama?” Bess could wait no longer. “Mama, what is Tom talking about? Mama, what be happening?”
Elizabeth turned, and Bess received yet another shock on this, a night of so many. Never had she seen her mother look as she did now. Elizabeth’s face was deeply flushed, barren of cosmetics and shiny with sweat. The silver-gilt blonde hair Bess had so often envied was in utter disarray, falling into her eyes and hanging in untidy wisps about her face; it had all the luster and sheen of sun-dried straw. It was the first time that Bess had ever seen her mother show her age, show every one of her forty-six years. And that somehow was more frightening to Bess than anything that had so far happened.
“Bess?” As if focusing on her daughter for the first time. “Thank God you’re here! There be no time to spare. You must awaken your brother and sisters, tell their nurses to get them dressed, to pack clothes for them. Go on Bess, hurry!”
“But…”
“Bess, don’t argue with me! Do as I say!”
Bess had never before disobeyed a direct order; her mother had always been one to command immediate obedience. But now she stood her ground, cried, “Name of God, Mama! Tell me what be wrong!”
Thomas had slumped down on one of the half-filled coffers. He looked up at that, fixed upon Bess the blank green eyes of one in shock; she’d once seen a man exposed to too much cannon fire who looked as Thomas did now.
“It be Gloucester, Bess,” he said, shook his head as if trying to clear it. “All has fallen through, all….” He waved his hand vaguely. “He’s arrested Anthony and Dick, has taken Edward into his custody….”
“Gloucester?” Bess whirled about to stare incredulously at her mother. “You mean to seek sanctuary from my Uncle Dickon?” Shock sent her voice higher, made it suddenly shrill. “Mama, he be Papa’s brother!”
Elizabeth had turned away, was kneeling before an open coffer. Taking out a small casket, she raised the lid, gave them a glimpse of gold-encrusted emeralds.
“So was Clarence,” she snapped. “Now stop standing there and do as you were told. We don’t know how much time we have.”
Cecily had come unobtrusively into the chamber. Bess saw on her sister’s face the same stunned disbelief that must show upon her own. Had Mama gone mad? How else explain this mindless senseless panic?
“Mama…. Mama, please listen to me. This be madness. I know you’ve no liking for Dickon, but we’ve nothing to fear from him, believe me. Have you forgotten how Papa trusted him? How close they were?”
Elizabeth slammed the coffer lid down, gave her daughter a look of such fury that Bess shrank back.
“Papa trusted him,” she mimicked savagely. “And you need no more than that, do you? Your precious perfect father, who could do no wrong…. Oh, Blessed Mary, if you only knew!”
“Don’t, Mama!” Bess locked her hands together to still their trembling. “Don’t speak that way of Papa.” She was as angry now as Elizabeth, and for the moment, that anger overshadowed all else, even the awe Elizabeth could always inspire.
“I don’t know what did happen at Northampton, but I do know there be no reason to seek sanctuary. Dickon would never do us harm, never. If what Tom says be true and he did arrest Dick and your brother Anthony, it be…” Bess drew a deep breath, and then it was on her tongue, the accusation she’d not dared make until now.
“It be because you gave him no choice, because you acted to thwart Papa’s dying wishes! He did want Dickon to be Protector, Mama; you know he did. You had no right to go against his will. And you needn’t try to convince me it isn’t so. I know what you and Tom got the council to do, and I know what Papa wanted. I was there, remember? I was with him till the very last…even though you weren’t!”
With her daughter’s first words, Elizabeth had come to her feet, stood listening in rigid, unbelieving rage. Now she crossed the space that separated them and slapped Bess across the face.
Bess hadn’t been expecting that; even as a child, she’d never been struck. She gasped, stumbled backward, and tripped over one of the open coffers. She grabbed frantically for the table, but her ankle was twisting under her and she went down hard, felt pain jolt up her spine, lodge in her lungs and take away her breath.
Cecily gave a stifled cry, knelt by her side in a flurry of swirling skirts. Thomas, too, was bending over her, extending his hand.
Bess ignored it, ignored Cecily’s encircling arm. She’d bitten the inside of her mouth, could taste blood on her tongue. She stared up at her mother, her face flaming, and was able to take a small measure of satisfaction when Elizabeth was the first to look away.
Elizabeth was alone in the Jerusalem Chamber of the Abbot’s lodging. It was a room of many memories for her; in this chamber, her son Edward had been born. In these rooms, she’d taken sanctuary with two half-grown boys and three little girls. And now she was back. With a grown son, a boy not yet ten, and five daughters, the eldest seventeen, the youngest two.
Twelve years, seven months. To the very day. October 1, 1470. May 1, 1483. In my end is my beginning. Who did say that? Was it from Scriptures? Why could she not remember?
Twelve years and so many deaths. Her mother. Three of her children, two in the cradle and Mary, taken at fourteen. Ned. Warwick. His brother Montagu. Clarence. But not Stillington. God forgive you, Ned, but not Stillington.
What now? Jesus, Lamb of God, what now? Twelve years ago, she was still young. She was only thirty-three and she’d known…she’d never doubted…that Ned would come back. She’d known he would not fail her.
Elizabeth found she was standing by the window; how long she’d been there she did not know. I am alone, she thought. I am utterly alone and there is no one to deliver me from mine enemies. No one. She leaned forward, brought her hands up to her face and wept, bitterly and without hope.
The Lord Mayor of London, the city aldermen, and five hundred of the most prosperous citizens gathered at Hornsea that following Sunday to welcome their young King into the capital. Edward wore blue velvet; on his right rode his Uncle Richard, Duke of Gloucester, and on his left, his Uncle Harry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, both in the stark black of mourning. The people of London turned out to cheer, ready to love the son as they’d loved his father. With considerable ceremony, he was installed in the Palace of the Bishop of London. Buckingham retired to his own manor in Suffolk Lane, Richard to Crosby Place.
“I agree, Dickon, that it’s damnably awkward.” Will Hastings smiled, rather sourly. “To have our King’s mother and her children huddling in sanctuary not a stone’s throw from the palace…well, it be downright embarrassing. But we’ve had no luck in getting her to see reason, to come forth with young York and his sisters. You know, if she had a brain in her head, she’d have stayed put, brazened it out. What could have been done to her, after all? As a woman and the King’s mother, she’d have been well nigh immune to the consequences of her treacheries, whatever price Thomas Grey might have paid. By scrambling for sanctuary, she did only confess her own guilt, show one and all that her conscience could not stand the scrutiny of close light.”
Richard was only half listening to Will. “I truly think,” he said abruptly, “that I was gaining ground with Edward. At least, he was no longer looking at me as if he suspected me of having a cloven hoof.”
Will grinned
at that. Richard did not. There was an hourglass before him on the writing desk. He picked it up, flipped it over.
“And just like that,” he said bitterly, “whatever progress I may have been making has been obliterated. Did you see the boy’s face, Will, when we had to tell him? Can you imagine how it looks to him? By retreating into sanctuary, that bitch did confirm in Edward’s mind every fear he’d been taught to harbor against me. How can I ever hope to win his trust now, with his mother proclaiming to the world that I am not to be trusted with the lives of my brother’s widow and children?”
Francis gave him a sympathetic look. “It’ll take time, Dickon, but it can be done,” he said, with far more confidence than he felt.
Will, too, was sympathetic, but not to the extent of letting Richard’s bad humor dampen his own good spirits. Will had been celebrating for four days now, ever since word of Richard’s actions at Northampton had reached London. To Will, the future looked to be full of promise. The Woodvilles had broken like branches in a high wind. Edward was securely in their keeping. Till the boy came of age, he and Gloucester would have the government. He’d be Lord Chamberlain to Edward as he’d been to Ned, thought he stood a good chance of eventually winning the boy’s confidence.
It stood to reason, after all. By taking such drastic, decisive action to sever Edward from the Woodvilles, Gloucester had done the country no small service, but he’d paid a high price. Will did not think Edward was likely to forgive Gloucester for it. In his mind, Gloucester would be ever branded as the man who’d separated him from the uncle he loved. Will was sorry for that, but still, it did work to his advantage. It was true he was no friend to the Woodvilles, either, but he hadn’t been at Northampton. That, he thought, would count for much with Edward.
The Sunne In Splendour: A Novel of Richard III Page 92
