by MARY HOCKING
They crowded around him. The room seemed full of people bearing down on him, saying that if he did this and that, he might one day be King of England. He who had ridden with the Welshmen past hooded mountain peaks, who one summer afternoon had come upon Robin Goodfellow riding out of the mist, he might, they said, be King of England. It seemed a very little thing. When he couldn’t bear their talk any longer, he said, ‘That fish . . .’ He pressed a hand to his stomach. ‘. . . it is burning inside me . . .’
‘I thought you hadn’t eaten any of it,’ his uncle said sharply.
‘A little . . .’ He closed his eyes. ‘I ate a little, but not enough . . .’ He got heavily to his feet and then, registering at last the full extent of their dismay, added, ‘not enough to do me any harm.’
‘This worrying about food will do you harm!’ his uncle said angrily.
‘Edward died of over-eating, so you have just told me.’ Henry recovered himself because he saw that he must. ‘A fate I an unlikely to suffer.’
‘The important fact is that Edward is dead,’ Jasper snapped.
‘And his son?’ Henry turned on him, spitting words out angrily to the surprise of the onlookers who had never seen him show anything but respect for his uncle. ‘How old is the young Edward? Eleven? And am I to expect that he, too, will shortly die of a surfeit of good food and wine? If not, what profits it me that Edward is dead?’ He turned and walked away, the sleeve of his gown catching the remaining dishes on the table and sweeping them to the floor. ‘What cause have I for rejoicing?’
‘There are many in England who will not be pleased by the prospect of a long minority.’
‘Why should they look to me in their displeasure?’
‘When they are dissatisfied with the Yorkists, they will look to the House of Lancaster.’
‘And when the House of Lancaster no longer pleases them, they will turn again to the House of York. No!’ He held up a hand as his uncle began to speak. ‘No!’ He faced them, standing at a distance which something in his manner warned that none should seek to lessen. ‘This game that they play with kings does not please me. Before I take part in this game, I shall need to be very sure that it is worth the winning.’
‘While you remain here what can you hope to gain?’
‘Gain? It is for others to lose. I can wait.’
‘And while you are waiting . . .’
‘I shall be well-informed while I am waiting.’
‘There is a limit to what my spies can do,’ Jasper said dourly.
‘But I have spies, too; did you know that? One of them has just tried to poison me.’
At first they were disbelieving, but the authority of his manner finally convinced them. Then they must have it that Robin should first be put to the torture and then disposed of.
‘No, no, no,’ Henry answered wearily. ‘It is unwise to ill-use enemies. There are too many.’
‘This is madness!’
Henry shook his head. ‘One must accept one’s enemies. Once they are known, they can be turned to some account. This young man has his uses. I have not eaten the food he has prepared for me; but he shall eat the food I prepare for him.’
And so, Robin was fed with such tales about Henry’s movements as it was deemed expedient should reach the ears of Henry’s enemies and confuse them.
Henry had learnt his lesson. He would never again be surprised by the treachery of his fellow men, though he would sometimes grow weary of it.
Chapter Eleven
1
The noise of the wagons rolling over the cobbled London street drowned the voice of the crier. People shouted angrily and waved clenched fists, although few of them knew what they were angry about. This did not please Christopher Ormond who liked to establish good cause for his anger. ‘What does he say?’ he demanded of the man standing next to him.
‘He says the armour of those wagons belonged to Lord Rivers. Lord Rivers meant to have himself crowned King, only the Duke of Gloucester put a stop to that.’
Ormond was really angry now but kept silent, telling himself that it would serve no purpose to make public protestation. ‘I should merely gratify my own passion,’ he thought; though, in fact, it was fear of punishment that kept him silent.
The last of the wagons was passing. Ormond had a good view, having climbed onto the low roof of the stables adjoining The Cock Tavern. He watched the bend in the road. Already he could hear the sound of horses’ hooves and the angry cries had turned to cheering. Into the narrow street rode the young King attired in blue, riding a rather dour horse, and flanked by the Dukes of Gloucester and Buckingham in black on somewhat more lively mounts. The boy King looked from side to side as though afraid the people might press in upon him, while his dark-clad companions talked across him, the Duke of Buckingham pointing to The Cock Tavern as though recalling something of interest associated with it. The Duke of Gloucester, seemingly unimpressed by his handsome companion’s tale, leant across to speak to the boy who thereupon, still looking at the people as though he feared them, held up his hand in stiff acknowledgement of their clamour. The boy’s face glistened white as lard in the sunlight. The people cheered as wildly as though there was something miraculous about this sickly boy.
The street was full of men and horses now as the black-clad followers of the Dukes of Gloucester and Buckingham rode by, hard men, unused to London, not rating its people very high. There was not much cheering now, the Londoners saving their breath for the arrival of their own men. Ormond turned away and began to push his way to the back of the roof where there were steps leading down to the courtyard of the inn. ‘Don’t you want to see the rest of the procession?’ A man caught his arm. ‘See! Here they come!’ He pointed to the plum-coloured robes of the burgesses of the city. Ormond took no heed, but clambered down the steps into the shadowed courtyard. To his left there was a narrow alleyway which ran along the backs of the buildings flanking the street. Here he was near the Thames and had he been a Londoner would have known by the smell that the river was at low tide.
In the distance he could see a wharf with boatmen idling in the sun, not having much custom on this festive day. Nearby, there was a big house with a garden running down to the river. Ormond had come to London in the hope of seeing John Morton, now Bishop of Ely. What influence he had with the Protector, Ormond did not know, but he meant to urge him to intercede on behalf of Earl Rivers. Ormond thought the Earl a man of little sense, but he was cultured and, so far as Ormond could judge, sincere in his religious beliefs if not a profound thinker. Such men were few and Ormond, who so constantly complained of the general corruption, felt he had little choice but to plead the Earl’s cause. It was unlikely, however, that he would be able to see Morton today, even if he could find where he was lodged. So he must look for lodgings for himself He walked towards the big house and sat in the shade of the garden wall to eat the bread and cheese which he had brought with him. The tide was on the turn now and a light breeze was stirring. He was glad to rest here awhile. He was tired and slept after he had finished eating. Gradually, the light faded and the breeze grew sharper. Ormond woke to the sound of water lapping gently against the timber of the wharf. As he looked at the darkening river, he was conscious of sadness welling up within him. His sense of justice, always strong, had been roused by Earl Rivers’ plight, but Ormond seldom felt sad for adult men and women, most of whom, in his opinion, were in large part responsible for the ills which befell them. It was the boy King for whom he felt sad. He had not liked seeing the youthful figure flanked by those black-clad men.
There was mist rising from the opposite bank of the river where the ground was marshy and at first he did not see the boat. It made little noise; whoever rowed touched the water stealthily as though afraid to disturb it. A few yards out from the wharf the mist lifted and the boat nosed out of it, long and dark. The rower was resting on his oars; water lapped against the side of the boat but there was little other sound as it drifted in. Ormond was seized by a sudden dread of dea
th. A man was standing in the prow with a lantern and behind him other figures crouched low. Death did not usually travel in company; nevertheless, Ormond crossed himself and pressed close against the wall. At the wharf, the man with the lantern leapt ashore and stood swinging the light from side to side as he looked around him. Then he put it down and began to tie up the boat. Three other people clambered ashore. They had cloaks muffled around them and did not speak until one of them tripped over Ormond’s foot as he crouched against the wall. A hand caught hold of him roughly and the man with the lantern came and held the light so that they could see him.
‘As like as not he’s harmless, but we’ll take no chances.’ Hands grabbed Ormond and began to drag him towards the river. Another voice said, ‘Let him be! I want no priest’s curse on me; I’ve trouble enough in store without that.’ The speaker affected a jauntiness that failed to mask his unease. ‘Let him go. And, Father, since I’ve saved your life, say a prayer this night for Robin Prithie.’
But Ormond had other things to think about. In his heart, he believed that Rivers’ cause was already lost and he had decided that when he saw Morton he would plead his own cause; for what was to become of him when Rivers was dead?
2
A few weeks later, in a house not far from West Minster, Robin Prithie sat writing by candlelight. First, he must report on affairs in London to his master. Later, he would seek an opportunity to report on his master’s affairs to such as might be suitably appreciative.
‘Queen Elizabeth Woodville and her children have fled to West Minster and taken sanctuary in the abbey. The Duke of Gloucester is now proclaimed Protector and he has given great honour to the Duke of Buckingham and this has displeased many, including Lord Hastings.’ He thought it politic to begin with those acts of the Duke of Gloucester which had caused displeasure, and this was certainly the foremost of them. ‘I have been about the town in the taverns and heard much talk of plots; in particular are named Lord Stanley and John Morton, the Bishop of Ely. And it is rumoured that Jane Shore is now Lord Hastings’ mistress and that she will have him reconciled to Queen Elizabeth Woodville.’ Robin wrote this with some misgivings, for the idea that there should be any sympathy between a man’s wife and his mistress seemed strange and not pleasing to him.
‘The date of the coronation has again been postponed and it is said that even when the King is crowned, the Protector will continue to rule until he comes of age. The Protector is much seen riding about the city, and whereas at one time he was little recognized, now a cry goes up as soon as he appears—“Here’s Dickon!” ’ He thought of adding that while some people did not like the Protector because he was a hard man and from the north, others were saying that such a man was needed to keep the great lords from starting to war among themselves again; but he doubted whether his master wanted to hear praise of the Protector and left this out. It was of no importance that he omitted it, for others reported more fully to Henry, who was interested to learn all he could about the Protector’s efforts to maintain peace in the realm; if ever he came to the throne the maintenance of peace would be his aim and he was as content to learn from another man’s achievements as from his mistakes.
Robin wrote finally, ‘There is much talk of where the King will take up residence, some say the Palace of West Minster and others that he should remain at the Bishop of London’s Palace; I have heard the Tower mentioned, and even Crosby’s Place so that the Protector can keep his eye on the young King.’
The letter finished, Robin sat crouched over the table, massaging the misshapen bone in his left hand while he made his plans. One of the men who had met him on his arrival in London had warned him of the need to be on his guard at all times. ‘For there are those who would dearly like to have news from one who knows the Earl of Richmond’s mind.’ Robin had protested that not even the torture would make him betray his master’s secrets; but he had enquired who the men were ‘so that I may be particularly careful should I encounter any of them.’ This information was supplied with a readiness which might have given a shrewder man pause for thought.
Robin was particularly attracted to a certain Osbert Scouser who was a clerk in the service of the Duke of Buckingham. The Duke of Buckingham had all the attributes which Robin deemed necessary in a man who has far to go.
The future residence of the young King was a matter of concern to the members of the Protector’s Council, and to none more so than the Duke of Buckingham, who thought he should be concerned in all matters.
‘I say it should be the Tower.’ He put the suggestion in the first instance to his wife; not because he valued her judgement but because he knew she would be angered by the proposal.
‘He should be with his mother,’ she protested.
‘He could scarcely go into sanctuary, and she will not come out, so how can he be with her?’
She looked at him resentfully, biting her upper lip with pointed yellow teeth. He was very powerful now and this suited her ill, she aged with every honour set upon him. But in spite of his increasing power, he was still not sure of his own role and tried out first one part, then another: the warrior impatient for action, the statesman whose keen wit is as dangerous a weapon as his sword, the elegant debator who can capture men’s hearts, these diverse people roamed around in his imagination barely acknowledging one another’s presence. All three tended to desert him in exchanges with his wife.
‘In any case, it would not be advisable for Edward to be with his mother,’ he said. ‘Indeed, this is one of the reasons why I consider it particularly important he should be in the Tower where he will be well away from her influence.’
She poked at a boil on the side of her nose, her eyes watching him malevolently.
‘It is he who must rule, not his mother.’ He paced about the room, energetic but aimless. ‘Is this not so? Or do you fear, as I must confess I begin to, that he has been made unfit to rule?’
Alarm flickered in her eyes. She repeated ‘Unfit to rule . . .’ tonelessly as though any inflection might be dangerous.
‘I mean that he has had bad advice.’ He meant to taunt her about the fate of her brother. Earl Rivers. It was to plead for her brother’s life that she had insisted on coming to London. On this occasion, however, instead of becoming agitated, Katherine’s alarm died down. Buckingham noticed the slight slackening of her shoulders; he was not perceptive, but he had an animal awareness and he pounced now. ‘What did you think that I meant?’
She made a movement as if to turn away, but he caught her by the shoulders. ‘Have you heard the rumours which I have heard?’
‘I don’t listen to rumour,’ she spat at him, momentarily recovering her old temper.
‘Perhaps in this case you have no need to listen to rumour? Is that it?’ His fingers pressed painfully to the bones of her shoulders. ‘You know the truth, is that it?’
‘Truth?’
‘That King Edward was wed before he took your sister to wife.’
‘It was nothing.’ The pain in her shoulders put everything else out of mind. ‘And a long time ago.’
‘You knew of a previous contract?’ He stepped back, releasing her. He had not really believed the rumours which he had heard and had only intended to torment her.
‘I know nothing of the sort.’ She tried to recover the situation. ‘But I remember something being said, a long time ago, and my sister making light of it. Can you imagine that Edward would have contracted a secret marriage? He was much too astute for that!’
‘Indeed? When he kept his marriage to your sister secret for some time?’
‘That was different.’ There were special circumstances governing the affairs of her family and any failure to recognize this caused her great offence.
Buckingham turned away. He had started this to annoy her, but now she no longer had his attention. He stood by the window looking down into the courtyard, conscious of something stirring within him that was new and exciting. ‘What was it Clarence said?’ he mused. ‘T
hat Edward was no son of the Duke of York?’
‘Clarence said anything that came into his head because he wanted to cause trouble,’ she said scornfully.
‘Was his mother not supposed to have said this very thing when she heard about Edward’s marriage?’
‘To spite my sister she would have said anything. They were all jealous of my sister. They hated her.’
‘And she is no mean hater, either. Dickon has always held that she was responsible for Clarence’s death.’
‘Clarence was a fool. No one took anything that Clarence said seriously!’
‘Except Edward, who had him put to death.’
‘Lies!’ she resorted to vehemence. ‘Lies and rumour! Always lies and rumour!’
‘Rumour doesn’t rise out of the air. There is no rumour surrounding my birth.’
‘You are not the King.’
‘But it seems my claim to the throne might be as strong as young Edward’s.’ He made the comment idly; but it pleased him and he allowed it to dwell in his mind. She warmed his pleasure with her anger.
‘Your claim to the throne! What claim have you? You trace your family back to the youngest son of Edward the Third. Everyone traces his family back to Edward the Third. It is nothing. He had all those sons, and then John of Gaunt with his wives and his mistress and all those children legitimized. It was monstrous.’ John of Gaunt’s marriage to Catherine Swynford was a matter she would argue as passionately as if it were in her power to reverse the event; Buckingham had no mind to listen to her on this subject now. Nevertheless, he had gained more than he had ever expected from an exchange with his wife.
Katherine, left alone, transferred her anger with John of Gaunt to its proper source. ‘God save England if you are to have the running of it!’ she shouted. ‘Can’t run your own estates, never look at your account books, don’t take any care for your tenants, and can’t tell a good steward from a bad.’ She stamped her foot and screamed, ‘God save England, I say!’
Buckingham put his view strongly that the young King should be resident in the Tower. There were good precedents for the King to take up residence there and ample state apartments were available; it seemed a sensible suggestion and so, on a May day of fitful sun and showers, the young King rode to the Tower.
