I, Richard Plantagenet: Book Two: Loyaulte Me Lie

by J. P. Reedman

  My mood lightened perceptibly.

  And the Coronation of the young King? I set a new date.

  June 25, just after the Feast Day of Saint John the Baptist, that great prophet beheaded by Herod Antipas on the whim of his daughter Salome. The people of England would already be in fine fettle after nights of dancing and leaping over the St John’s Eve bonfires.

  It would be a time of boundless joy.

  I was laughing with Francis Lovell, or should I say, Viscount Lovell—one of the last acts Edward did before he died was make Frank a Viscount. We were relaxing in the garden at Crosby Hall after yet another council meeting, in which I continued with preparations for the Coronation. Robes were ordered for the King, cloth of gold and silver of the finest quality. My own clothes were on order too; grand as befitting my station as Lord Protector.

  “What marvellous news about Edward Woodville’s fleet!” grinned Francis, over a goblet of wine. “Once your sumptuous offer was on the table, his men deserted him like rats and declared for the Protector. What fun!”

  “Aye,” I said, “but you are perhaps too cheerful, my friend. Sir Edward managed to get himself away and is now hiding in Brittany, doubtless sharing England’s treasury with that scrawny, wall-eyed son of Margaret Beaufort—Henry Tydder.”

  “D’you think?” said Frank amazed. “But King Edward kept Tydder or Tudur or Tudor or whatever his name is supposed to be in exile and wouldn’t hear of him coming back. Well, he did try to lure him back once or twice with promises, but there wasn’t really a nice reward of lands and a fair royal daughter at the end and Tydder, alas, was shrewd enough to know it.”

  I shrugged. “If Woodville can get sympathy from Tydder, and Tydder can gain from him, I’m sure it will be a happy arrangement for all, past be damned.”

  Frank swore under his breath. “A dangerous arrangement, though. Some consider Henry Tudor the last Lancastrian heir, be he of debarred lineage or no. His eagle-eyed mother certainly does. Does Woodville not realise the danger to his own family? That Margaret might wish for a little accident or two…”

  “Frank! Even in jest, that is too much!” I was moderately shocked at where his thoughts were leading. For all her sour looks and sword-sharp mind, Margaret Beaufort was a woman of renowned piety. They said the flagstones before the altar in her private chapel at Lathom were worn into grooves by her bony knees…

  Frank shook his head, looked pensive. “I just pray you are wrong, Richard, and that Edward Woodville is stranded on a beach somewhere miles away from this Tudor. Maybe the natives will eat him. I’ve heard they have wild men in Brittany—just as barbaric as the Scots.”

  At that moment, a crowd of lords and councillors entered the garden, having been invited for an informal chat about the upcoming events. I saw loyal John Howard, broad and red-faced, looking like a good, solid Norfolk farmer; I thought that there was a man who needed rewarding for his loyalty over the years. Hastings strolled behind him, rather glum of aspect, followed by the lawyer William Catesby. Buckingham had introduced me to Catesby several days before; he had once worked for Buckingham, and left his services only because he disliked travelling from London to the remote Stafford castle at Brecknock.

  Catesby had impressed me on our first meeting; a short man (though still slightly topping me in height), of similar age, with well-kept brown hair to his shoulders and sleepy but thoughtful dark eyes. He had a wry sense of humour, his puns delivered straight-faced with no hint of laughter, and was very astute. After consideration, I asked him to join the council and appointed him Chancellor of the earldom of March.

  A few folk side-eyed me at giving such high office to a relative newcomer, but I was always rather partial to a good lawyer. If I had not been a royal duke, I think I should have quite fancied being one, since I bore a strong interest in all aspects of the law. Indeed, my motto, Loyalty Binds Me, referred not, as some thought, to my allegiance to my brother Edward but to my dedication to upholding the law.

  As I strolled around the gardens, I noted that Will Hastings was still looking miserable, even after imbibing a glass of two of claret. I could not fathom why. He had lost none of his offices, and the Woodville threat in which he could have lost all was over for him. He was master of the mint and retained the post of Lord Chamberlain, which put him in close contact with the King. (I only prayed he would not seek to induct the boy into the same lifestyle as my brother, God rest his soul.)

  I had hardly spoken to Hastings since entering London with young Edward, other than on necessary business. Time for niceties was limited; such was the frenzy of activity to prepare for Edward’s Coronation. As it was, I could have sworn the Lord Chamberlain was scowling at me across the garden. I was surprised he had turned up; lately, according to my eagle-eyed informants, he spent much of his time with certain other councillors—Lord Stanley, Thomas Rotherham, and John Morton. How it had fallen out that way eluded me, although it was vaguely disturbing…and surprising. With the exception of Stanley, who only supported Stanley, the other two supported the Woodville faction, and to add to it, Morton was an old Lancastrian. An odd fellowship indeed, since Hastings had shown such disdain for the Woodvilles, and obvious glee at their fall.

  I decided to find out what ailed old Will and make amends if possible. Many long years I had known the man, and he had been my brother’s closest friend—and often his partner in debauchery, although I approved of that far less than good friendship! He had been diligent enough to warn me of the Woodvilles’ intentions in regards to the young King, although of course it benefited him that I foiled their ploy to take over the government, for he was not in favour with that family, especially the Queen and Dorset.

  “Will, you look as miserable as sin! What ails you?” I pushed my way through the throng towards him. He glanced up, looking surprised…and guilty? “Have I offended? It has not been my intent.”

  Hastings opened his mouth but whatever he replied was lost in the blare of a dozen loud horns, which startled everyone and drowned out all conversation.

  Buckingham had arrived. Flanked by his squires, clad in damson and scarlet with Stafford knots literally bursting all over him, he strode into Crosby Hall’s gardens with head held high and chest outthrust, his gait supremely confident, almost a military march. Taller than I, but not by a great deal, Harry Stafford yet had this overwhelming presence that made him seem a giant, and everyone from the highest lord to the saintliest churchman to the lowest servant craned around to stare.

  “Richard!” His voice boomed out, uncaring that many might think his tone and use of my forename showed an over familiarity with the Lord Protector.

  In a secret spot deep inside my heart, I rather admired his bold affront. It was Edward, bright and burning. Even more, it was George, uncaring as to what others thought, with that hint of impudence overriding all. It was pure Plantagenet.

  He swept up to me, made a great show of kissing me on either cheek before the assembled lords. I was suddenly aware of Frank Lovell slipping away into the house as if he could no longer bear to be present. Was it…could my oldest friend be jealous? Surely he realised that Buckingham had very likely saved my life when he arrived in Northampton, and that he had fought my corner in every way. Harry was an orator, eloquent with words, forceful and determined, while I had no grace with public speeches, no overwhelming charm that could be used upon the listeners. I needed Harry Stafford.

  I also noticed Hastings was making curt farewells and hurrying for the gates as if a bad smell hung in the air. So much for trying to pacify him. With a jolt, I realised that he, like Frank, seemed to have no love for my friend Buckingham.

  “What are you looking at, Richard?” asked Harry, drawing close, his larger shadow enveloping my smaller, thinner one. “You look troubled.”

  “Hmm,” I murmured. “Lord Hastings is of sullen disposition these days.”

  “Undoubtedly,” sniffed Buckingham, flicking away an errant fly that wafted about him, perhaps attracted by the swe
et imported scent he wore, which was more than a little overwhelming. “He always considered himself more than he is, and how he finds that he is not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he was King Edward’s confidante; he may have considered it his right to remain in such high esteem throughout your Protectorate and the reign of the young King. “

  “He has kept all his offices.” I crossed my arms defensively across my chest, feeling that I was somehow being blamed.

  Harry shrugged. “Perhaps he thinks you should have given him greater rewards that just allowing him to keep what he sees as his.”

  “I am grateful to him for his information about my brother’s passing but it is not as if he sent me men, or came in person to assist me against the Woodville threat. Not like you did, Harry. If anyone deserves rewards from the events of the past weeks, it is you! That is why I appointed you Chief Justice and Chamberlain in Wales; and why you have been given the power of array throughout the west of England.”

  Buckingham beamed, recalling his recent appointments. “Aye, and it was very kind of you, Cousin Richard. I do not deserve such rich rewards; I did only what a kinsman should do…and a true English lord who loves his country. Our land, our very way of life, would have been doomed had the Woodvilles taken control. They would have destroyed all of the old blood.”

  He clasped my hand; the hot stickiness of his fingers surprised me. Despite his confident appearance, he was sweating. “However, if ever you feel that you wish upon me yet another gift, I would beg you speak to our young sovereign about the Bohun inheritance. It has been in my mind for many years.” His words tumbled out in a rush; the first time I had ever heard him so agitated. This matter clearly meant much to him. “My grandmother, as you know, was Eleanor De Bohun; I inherited many lands through her. Her sister Mary’s portion of their family lands, however, became property of the House of Lancaster, and then they reverted to the Crown. I tried to speak to my dearest cousin Edward about regaining them, but I was unsuccessful in my pleas, which filled me with great sorrow.”

  “I do not know if I can help in this matter,” I said dubiously, “but when the time is right I shall speak to the King, I promise you that.”

  “I knew you would not fail me.” Buckingham’s face lit up like the sun.

  Abruptly he drew away from me. “Ah, my old lawyer is here, what a fine chance is that?”

  I turned. There, in his long burgundy robe, stood Catesby. I thought he might have left with Hastings, for despite his new appointments he still served him as a lawyer, but there he was, hands tucked in his sleeves, his hem making a faint swishing noise on the grass like a cat’s subtle tread. He bowed to Buckingham and to me. “Your Grace…and your Grace the Lord Protector.”

  “We were just discussing your present employer, Lord Hastings,” said Harry cheerfully and rather loudly, although I motioned that he keep his voice down. “Mayhap you could fill in the Lord Protector as to why he seems so gloomy.”

  Catesby flushed a little but his deep eyes, his vaguely smiling mouth did not change. “May I speak freely? Your Grace?”

  “You may,” I said, before Buckingham butted in.

  “He is unhappy with my lord of Buckingham’s prominence.”

  Buckingham smirked, looking pleased with himself, as if this was exactly what he wanted to hear.

  “And he is likewise unhappy with the appointments of Lord Howard.”

  I made a noise of exasperated annoyance. Howard had served the House of York well but had at times been sorely treated by Edward. John had taken interest in my welfare when I was a youth and had treated me almost like an extra son. We had travelled around Norfolk and he had tried to further my ‘education’ with women, which at that age, was rather limited. Apparently Ned, for all his open lechery, was too shy to speak of such matters to his small brother, and had asked Jockey to see that I duly lost my virginity! I rather confounded John, though, because I outright refused a trip to the stews paid from his purse. Truth be told, at that age the harlots in their striped hoods terrified me. Jockey, who frequented stews often, was rather perplexed and doubtless feared I had unnatural tendencies—until I told him not so very many years later, that I was a father twice over!

  Recently, John Howard had fared with me to Scotland, taking on the naval campaign to great effect. We had traded in lands; he purchased Wysnowe for a goodly sum and was so grateful at obtaining the manor, he gifted me with seven wooden crossbows and one of steel. Steel! John Howard was a generous and grateful man. Even this very month—on being made steward of the Duchy of Lancaster south of the Trent, he presented me with the gift of a covered cup weighted with gold.

  “Hastings shall just have to get used to the prominence of others,” I said, a little loftily. “And I am not having him sniffing around the young King too much, encouraging him into vice as he grows up. He was Edward’s friend, but in some ways, also his bane. He encouraged him in all the worst ways.”

  “Indeed.” I heard Buckingham snigger, and glancing up I saw a strange, knowing look pass between him and William Catesby.

  It was as if they shared some private secret. And they were not going to divulge it to me.

  Annoyance gripped me, but what could I do—torture them to find out what they knew? My mood rapidly became as gnarled as Will Hastings’.

  I was about to approach Harry but then a raindrop struck my hand. Glancing up, the blue summer sky had deepened with an impending summer storm. An ominous yellow light hung over the spires and crenels of London; the air seemed to sizzle.

  “It is going to rain.” My voice was curt. “And I have more business to attend to. I want to visit the Keeper of the Wardrobe to ascertain that all the robes for the Coronation are coming along to my specifications.”

  I walked away briskly, expecting Buckingham at least to follow me. He did not. Glancing back, I could see him deep in conversation with Catesby. They both looked serious. Uneasiness rushed through me for reasons I could not fathom.

  It must have been the impending storm.

  Anne arrived in London on the fifth of June. We greeted each other formally in the hall of Crosby House, dined…then rushed for the privacy of the bedchambers, where we fell into each other’s arms.

  “Oh Richard, I heard the most terrible tales out of Northampton! Anthony turning on you, weapons hidden on the road! I was so afraid I would never see you alive again, that the Woodvilles would kill you and crown Edward…and then they would take Middleham and all our lands, and I’d be forced to marry some wretch and our little Ned…”

  “Hush, Anne.” I shut off the stream of impassioned words from her lips with my own mouth. “It has not happened. Rivers and Grey are in prison. The Queen is hiding in sanctuary and Edward Woodville and the odious Thomas Grey have fled. They won’t trouble us.”

  “But Richard!” Anne broke away from me, her blue eyes huge, troubled. “The King…Anthony has had a strong hand in his upbringing. What if he seeks revenge on you when he is older?”

  “He will learn the truth,” I said with firmness, taking her by the shoulders. “With the right tutors and counsellors around him, he will soon grow into a righteous and sensible prince, I am certain.” I dared not tell her what a horrid brat he seemed, pampered, preening and spoiled.

  “How is our little Ned?” I asked, turning the conversation away from Edward V.

  Anne sighed. “His coughing and wheezing has returned. Recovering now, but I dared not bring him with me to London. He cried. He wanted to see his cousin crowned.”

  Once, in the aftermath of George’s execution, I had told Anne that I wished Ned would never have to go the court in London. I still felt that way, more or less. I could not imagine what my poor little son would make of the brash, spoiled cousin who would soon be crowned King of England. I did not think King Edward would make much of him either.

  “When you write to him, tell him I will take him to York when I come north again,” I said, but a sinking feeling grip
ped the pit of my stomach. When might that be, with all my duties here?

  Anne called for her ladies and I left her a while as they prepared their mistress for bed, removing her headdress and brushing out her hair, and unpicking the stitches where she had been sewn into her fine brocade gown.

  Once they had finished and Anne had dismissed them for the night, I re-entered the bedchamber wearing but a long deep rich red robe. My feet were bare on the flagstones, freed of my tight, pointed shoes; the soles felt good on cold stone, since the night had grown very hot and humid.

  Clad only in a thin linen shift, Anne was looking at herself critically in a hand mirror set into an ivory frame. “If I am to spend more time in London, I do not wish to seem unfashionable. Do you think I should pluck my brows, shave my forehead to here?” She put a hand up near the top of her head, indicating.

  “It is not a look I much admire, truth be told,” I muttered. “I prefer you as God made you…with hairs.” Over the years, I had my fill of seeing the Woodville woman with her silver-yellow tresses and eyebrows plucked back until her hairless brow bulged out like a white full moon.

  “I will not ask again if you do not like it.” Anne put down the mirror. I did not know what she fretted about, her forehead was already high and pale and her brows light-hued. Some things about women were too mysterious for their husbands ever to understand.

  I reached for her across the huge bed, deeply draped in scarlet curtains and hung above with posies for freshness. Outside a jolt of lightning burned the London skyline. “Come, my lady, enough of this chitter-chatter. I have missed you much, and thought of you every night I have been alone….I am a weak and sinful man.”

  “And I am just as weak and sinful.” She leaned against me, her slim white hands sliding beneath my robe.

  “Tomorrow I will introduce you to Harry Buckingham,” I told her. “He has been a great friend to me.”

  “You could introduce me to the Pope himself for all I care this night,” whispered Anne, kissing my collarbone.