Royal Mistress

by Anne Easter Smith

  “It was bad enough he chose to invade my council, bad enough that he railed at my councilors for executing ‘innocent men,’ but he chose that scurrilous preacher, Goddard, to read Burdett’s statement from the scaffold to the council, the same scoundrel who had denounced me as king at Paul’s Cross in ’70 in favor of Henry.”

  Jane nodded. “Aye, I was there,” she remembered. Then she was moved to ask: “But what makes your brother’s latest actions worse than the previous ones, your grace?”

  “My dear Jane, he has acted as though he is king. He has undermined me by accusing my council of hanging innocent men. And what did he think he was doing when he hanged the Twynho woman? He had no right to drag her across the country, try her, and execute her on trumped-up charges. He is behaving for all he wears the crown.” His voice was rising and Jane could see he was wanting to gallop off. “By Christ’s nails, he has gone too far. I shall have to deal with him once and for all. I have recalled Will from Calais; I have need of his counsel.” He reached over and patted her hand. “Farewell, mistress, and”—his mouth twisted into a wry grin—“for what ’tis worth, I cannot blame you for leaving as you did.” He had been sorry to hear of Jane’s unfortunate encounter with the queen, but Jane’s rapid departure had relieved him of an unpleasant scene with Elizabeth. He had not relished possibly having to mediate between his wife and his mistress. He blamed his wife’s spiteful nature, never recognizing that he was the cause of the conflict. “I shall not stay away from Thames Street long, I promise, for I shall need you to restore my humor.”

  He raised his hand to his retainers and motioned them to follow him at a gallop. They left Ankarette rubbing dust out of her eyes and mouth and Jane wondering what would become of Clarence.

  By the time she made her weary way to Thames Street, George of Clarence was imprisoned in the Tower and Edward was entertaining the French ambassadors with the help of Will Hastings, who had returned from Calais in haste. It seemed the hapless duke had been doomed to his incarceration for a very long time. Edward had learned from King Louis’s mouthpieces that a story was circulating in Europe, said to have originated from George, that Edward was a bastard and that if he, George, had married Mary of Burgundy, he would have overthrown his brother. This mounting treason was all too much for Edward to forgive, and by the beginning of 1478, Parliament was pressing Edward for a death sentence.

  But before Edward would countenance fratricide and risk his immortal soul in that most heinous of crimes, he chose to organize a wedding.

  The bride and groom sat on outsize cushions bolstering their bridal thrones and took in the pageantry that unfolded before them throughout the day’s celebrations. Edward’s second son, Richard, duke of York, was four years old and his bride, Anne Mowbray, heiress to the great fortune of the dukes of Norfolk, was six, and thus neither could be blamed for not comprehending the meaning of the solemn oaths they had to swear in front of the exclusive congregation at St. Stephen’s Chapel inside Westminster Palace.

  As she was fatherless, Anne was escorted to the altar by John, earl of Lincoln, and Anthony, Lord Rivers, and the choir burst forth with a “Te Deum” that lifted Edward’s spirits. As he waited for his betrothed, little Richard of York stared about him at the magnificent, colorful, and gold-leafed murals interspersed with azure carpets emblazoned with fleurs-de-lys that hung along the walls. The boy was equally well supported by his parents, his brother and sisters, and his regal but devoted grandmother, Duchess Cecily.

  “We do have the papal dispensation, do we not, Edward?” Cecily had asked her son the day before. “Pointless going forward if we have not.”

  Edward winced at his mother’s lack of confidence in him, but he did not wish to argue with her at this time of intense tension in the York family. Cecily had already made several pleas for George in the past few months, but they had fallen on deaf ears for once.

  “Certes, we do, my lady Mother,” he answered with forced politeness. “What a foolish question. You must know we have been requesting this for two years, not to mention all the bargaining I had to do with Norfolk’s widow.”

  “I wonder you can remember anything at the moment, my son, with your brother languishing in the Tower. Could you not have allowed him a day of freedom for this occasion at least?”

  “Nay, I could not,” Edward snapped. “It astonishes me that you still side with the son who accuses you of birthing a bastard. It would seem your own words have come back to haunt you, Mother.”

  Cecily gave a derisive laugh. “Aye, ’tis the truth. I wonder at the petty things people choose to remember. My flippant remark all those years ago was spoken out of anger and disappointment at your marriage to Elizabeth, if you recall. It never occurred to me anyone would take it as the truth.” She touched his arm. “I hope at least you know I never strayed from your father in thirty years. You are Richard Plantagenet’s son, and I will swear to it on his grave.” Then she tried again. “However, George is also my son, and I must not abandon him. Please look on him mercifully, Edward. ’Tis all I ask. I fear some of this conflict is my fault. We did spoil him.”

  “Enough of George, Mother,” Edward warned her, but he could not help admiring her steadfast defense of the black sheep. “He is not worthy of your tears.”

  Cecily turned away. She knew when to hold her peace, but she would not give up on George, she promised herself. She would try again with Edward after the festivities.

  Her youngest son, Richard of Gloucester, was given the honor of dispensing gold and silver coins to the spectators following the wedding mass, and then he and his royal cousin, Henry of Buckingham, escorted the earnest young bride back to the king’s hall for the feast.

  Being of average height, Richard had difficulty finding his petite wife in the throng, and he thought he had never seen so many people in one room at one time. He was dismayed at the din, which he considered disrespectful at such a solemn occasion, yet another sign of Edward’s uncensored court. His brother must have spent a fortune on the event, Richard surmised and assumed that it was probably taken from Edward’s new daughter-in-law’s coffers, not surprising, since young Richard was now given the dukedom of Norfolk to add to that of York. So much responsibility for such a little boy, Richard thought, glad his own son, Edward, was safely ensconced with loving nursemaids far away at Middleham.

  Richard would attend the opening of Parliament in a few days and then he and Anne would disappear north to their haven in the dales. He did not feel at home at court anymore, and he had no interest in taking part in the jousts that had been organized for the Londoners in honor of the marriage. Richard took his skills with weapons seriously; but they were supposed to be wielded in times of war, not in times of peace. He disdained using them for entertainment, even though he was one of the best swordsmen in the country. Nay, he would leave tilting for sport to Rivers, Courtenay, and Oxford.

  Richard spotted Edward towering above a group of extravagantly clothed nobles, slapping Jack Howard on the back and laughing at something Lady Margaret had said. He smiled. They were his good friends, and seeing them again forced his mind back to fond memories of Tendring Hall in Suffolk, where he used to meet his sweet Kate in secret, thanks to the discretion of the Howards. Dear Kate, he thought wistfully, she had awakened a passion in him he had never dreamed possible, and he cherished the love he knew she still bore him. But duty had taken him away, and he counted himself fortunate to have found another love in a more suitable bride. He put thoughts of Kate aside, and as he resumed his search for Anne, he was dismayed to see a couple kissing in a window embrasure and that the man’s prick was thickly visible in his lover’s hand. The outraged Richard could not stop himself from commanding them bluntly to desist, and unsurprisingly the man’s arousal instantly wilted.

  Once Richard found Anne, they went arm in arm toward Richard’s cousin Harry Buckingham and his wife, another Woodville woman. Raised voices caught Richard’s attention to his left, and he frowned. His brother’s chamber
lain and the queen’s eldest son were quarreling again. When Richard had challenged Edward on the conflict between Hastings and Dorset, Edward had shaken his head in despair. “I have been told, although neither will tell me who she is, that both men have their eye on the same woman. ’Tis not the first time,” Edward confided. “One in his dotage and the other barely out of swaddling bands fighting over a woman is amusing, is it not?”

  But Richard Plantagenet did not find it amusing, as his teasing older brother knew he would not.

  The trial of George, duke of Clarence, commenced two days after the wedding festivities. It became a war of words in public between the king and his renegade brother, and all knew who would win in the end.

  “ ’Tis a pity women are not allowed to speak, let alone be present,” Edward conceded to Jane when, after a harrowing day at Westminster, he took a chance she might be at home. “If the judges could have but heard the words written to me by my sister Margaret, begging for clemency, and see my noble mother on her knees in front of me, wringing her hands, George might have had a chance. But no one came forward to speak in his defense, Jane, no one.”

  She had only spoken to George once, but she had noted his good looks and charming manners. Like Edward and his mother, George was an undeniably charismatic presence in any room, but observant Jane had also noticed that his winning smile never reached his eyes, which were wary and ever-moving. Insincere was the word that she had finally settled on him.

  “What will happen to him, your grace?” Jane asked as she kneaded his knotted shoulders.

  “I suppose I shall have to attaint him and take away all his titles and possessions. I expect he will disappear to France and curry favor with the spider king. Louis will be glad to have someone close to me nearby, I will wager. Aye, George will still be a danger, but an untitled danger, which is less of a magnet for powerful people.” He pulled Jane around into his arms and cradled her against him. “Ah, Jane, how I wished he had been even a mite remorseful. Perhaps I might relent, but the man is obdurate, and thus my heart is hardened against him.”

  “No king could have forgiven him more times than you, my dear lord. You have done what you can for him, and now he must face justice. As the Bible says, we reap what we sow.”

  Edward was surprised. “This is a new side to Jane Shore. I do not believe I have ever heard you invoke the name of God or His scriptures before.”

  “Certes you have! Only ten minutes ago when I was pulling out those accursed hairpins,” Jane retorted. “I seem to recall I used one of your favorite curses.”

  Edward laughed softly and then he let his hands wander over her bodice, and Jane felt her nipples respond as desire for him mounted.

  “Have I ever told you that I love you, Jane?” he murmured into her long, glossy hair.

  Jane’s heart stopped. Had she heard right? Had the king declared his love for her? She turned in his arms to look into his face and had no doubt of his sincerity. She stroked his stubbled cheek and astonished herself with her own unwitting truth. “And I love you, too, my sweet lord,” she replied.

  “Close the God-forsaken window, will you?” George called to one of his keepers in his chilly chamber in the Garden Tower. He slammed down his cup, spilling long red rivulets over the table. “ ’Tis February. Do you want me to die of cold before the executioner does his work?”

  He put his head in his hands and stared blearily into the cup. If he closed his eyes and prayed hard enough, perhaps he would open them again and find he was really at the Erber, his dog at his feet and little Meggie and Ned playing quietly with their nurse, and that all of this was a bad dream. But then, why could he still hear the lions roaring in the Tower menagerie nearby, the guards outside his room throwing dice, and the boatmen’s bells warning of the fog on the river a few feet from his prison?

  And then his tears began to fall one by one, faster and faster into the claret as he sank into a deep melancholy.

  How he hated Edward, his big golden brother who had somehow come back from the edge of disaster seven years before to snatch the crown from within George’s reach and then had thwarted the chance for George to rule in Burgundy with Duchess Mary, who had since wedded Maximilian of Austria. Aye, he scoffed, Edward could never do anything wrong in his family’s eyes even from a young age, forgetting it was Edmund—patient, gentle, murdered Edmund—who had earned that right, not Edward.

  No one has ever cared for me, George thought, refusing in his misery to acknowledge his intelligent sister Margaret, who had been his best friend, his champion, and his favorite dance partner. He conveniently forgot how everyone had spoiled him for his blond curls, huge gentian eyes, and engaging smile. Only Dickon had stuck with him back then. But what happened there? George asked, wiping his nose and sniffling in derision. Dickon became earnest, dutiful Richard of Gloucester, jumping whenever and however high Edward asked him and had sided against his childhood playmate.

  And his mother, his beautiful but haughty mother, Cecily. Does she love me? George asked himself. Where was she when he most needed her as he heard his death sentence pronounced? Why has she not come to visit me in this miserable prison? Aye, even his mother did not love him, he wept. He did not know that Cecily had prostrated herself in front of Edward and pleaded for her son’s life. In fact, she was still on her knees in her private chapel at Baynard’s, not a stone’s throw from him, begging God and the blessed Virgin to spare her wayward son.

  And so he wallowed in self-pity and despair, unwilling to take any blame for those treasonable crimes he had committed. Trumped-up charges, he had yelled back at his accusers during his trial. He had been stunned when Parliament had recommended death, and Edward had turned away, acquiescent, his signature all that remained to carry out the pronouncement.

  He slurped the rest of his wine, which tasted bitter now, and he refilled his cup from the big butt of malmsey Edward had sent over for him after the king had answered George’s entreaty to visit him in prison. He had never seen Edward so unmoved, and despite George’s efforts to first cajole and then threaten his brother with eternal damnation, Edward had left him with no hope of freedom.

  George huddled closer to the fire, trying not to think of his imminent execution. Would he show courage? Would Edward watch? He doubted his faithless brother would even drag himself away from his whore to witness his death. This made George weep further, and thus he did not hear the key in the door and visitors enter until the cleric among them spoke.

  “I would hear your confession, my lord,” Father Lessey said, dismayed by the slovenly figure swaying on the stool. George turned to his mother’s chaplain in astonishment, the man coming into and out of focus at an alarming rate.

  “Confession, Father? Now, at night, and”—he hiccoughed—“in my cups?” He wiped his runny nose on the back of his hand.

  “Aye, your grace. Now. I beg of you.”

  George was suddenly aware of the others in the room, two burly men he had not seen before, and behind him in the doorway his usual guards. He stood up, but his legs gave way, and he would have fallen had the priest not steadied him. “What is this intrusion, sirrahs? Who are you?” he slurred, feeling the walls close in around him.

  Lessey eased the drugged George to his knees and began to recite a prayer for the dead. George tried in vain to control his movements and his voice, but he ended up slipping to the ground. “Oh God, have mercy on me,” he cried, and even the guards pitied the fallen duke.

  Dragging the wailing, pathetic man to the large wine barrel, the two thugs pinned George’s arms behind him and, as he pleaded for his life, forced his head under the deep red liquid while he tried to make his legs fight desperately to keep him upright or to kick his assailants.

  “The poison should have done its work,” Father Lessey cried to the guards. “Did you administer the poison?” The guards, fixated on the drowning, assented. Lessey tried pleading with the captors, but he saw they were intent on their duty. Whoever had given them their orders ha
d obviously given them free rein to end George’s life as expediently as possible. The priest was sickened by it. He fell on his knees chanting as loudly as he could to cover the hideous noise of the victim’s futile efforts to survive.

  When Lessey had learned that his mistress, the duchess, had won the king’s permission for a private, more humane death, he had been told poison would be administered in the duke’s all-too-familiar wine. But he had not anticipated this horrible drowning when he had acquiesced to seeing the duke shriven. He could not believe Edward had ordered such a degrading execution, but it was out of his hands now. Somewhere along the way he had learned that drowning was a peaceful way to die under normal circumstances, but this had turned into a horrifying end to a life, even if Lessey believed the duke deserved to pay for his crimes.

  The flailing and the terrible splashing ceased after an interminable minute when the chaplain heard one of the men say, “ ’Tis done. He be dead, all right.” Lessey crossed himself and sent up a miserere for Clarence’s soul, wondering what tale would be spread concerning the manner of the hapless duke’s death; he and the others had been sworn to secrecy, and Lessey was not about to jeopardize his position in Cecily’s employ. All he would say was that he had been present at the execution.

  Edward received the news with an eerie calm. He sat slumped on the canopied throne in his audience chamber at Westminster, flanked by the queen, his brother Richard, and his chamberlain. The king stared at the opposite wall. No one dared move for several minutes.

  Richard was wondering if Edward had planned such cruel irony—George drowned in his favorite claret? Surely not. Richard looked sideways at Hastings to ascertain the man’s complicity, but for once Will appeared to be as dismayed as he was. Richard could not tell if Edward had ordered this atrocity or not. Like Father Lessey, Richard had believed poison would be administered as George’s merciful escape from the axe.