I, Richard Plantagenet: Book Two: Loyaulte Me Lie

by J. P. Reedman

  Overhead, the summer night had clouded over. The heat was breaking. The moon had foundered.

  The first drops of rain began to fall, running down my upturned cheeks like tears.

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  CHAPTER FOUR: KING’S PROGRESS

  Gloucester, the ancient Roman town of Glevum. Amidst great celebration, I entered the town precincts and processed in splendour before the doors of St Peter’s Abbey. The bells rang out from Blackfriars, Whitefriars and Greyfriars, from Mary de Lode and Mary de Crypt, and from the abbey’s solid golden tower, welcoming my entourage and England’s new king.

  I had great affection for Gloucester, remembering how the town had supported the Yorkist cause before Tewkesbury, when the governor of the town, Sir Richard Beauchamp, barred the gates against Queen Marguerite and her soldiers, even when the Queen threatened to besiege the walls. Gloucester guarded the main route to the bridges over the Severn, so, unable to pass, Marguerite’s forces had been forced to march to Tewkesbury instead—where Ned’s army caught up with them and crushed the hopes of Lancaster forever.

  My accommodation was at the New Inn, enlarged and beautified only a few years ago by the monks of Gloucester Abbey. Pilgrims ofttimes stayed there to visit the tomb of King Edward Two, and the relics of St Kyneburgh and St Oswald, which lay in gilded reliquaries in Lanthony and St Oswald’s priories. The hostelry was large, with an expansive cobbled courtyard and overhanging galleries encased by stout oak beams. Guarding angels gazed sombrely from the finials, watching with rain-washed eyes. I chose the New Inn as my resting place for the night because the local castle had fallen into disrepair and was fit only to be the town’s gaol.

  I had not long eaten, dining with my attending lords on quail in cardamom sauce, when a large company of men burst into the downstairs courtyard, some mounted, some on foot. Almost immediately, the courtyard was full of armed solders; there were shrieks of fear from the serving girls and curses from the ostlers and the innkeeper at this sudden, unexpected intrusion.

  “What in the devil’s name is going on?” I kicked away my chair and stormed to the window, my hand falling to the dagger I always kept hidden within my robes.

  Thomas Stanley, lurking behind me and peering over my shoulder, was fingering that cursed beard of his and trying to hide a smirk. “I see the Stafford Knot, your Grace. I believe it is just my Lord of Buckingham showing his usual unique manner of arrival,” he said in his slow, lazy drawl.

  Relief flooded me as I saw Harry Stafford’s devices were indeed displayed, but creeping annoyance took the place of my initial alarm. Harry should have sent an outrider to Gloucester to announce his arrival; he should have billeted his own men elsewhere, and not expected he had a right to share accommodation with his King.

  With uncustomary amusement, I saw my servants turning most of Harry’s men away, driving them back out of the courtyard with the threat of bats and clubs. My own mirth at seeing his assumptions trodden on surprised me. A mere month ago…Harry was everything, my greatest supporter, my saviour in Northampton, a friend whose rise in my esteem had been like that of a shooting star.

  But shooting stars eventually burn out, fall to earth…

  Heels clattered on the stairs to the gallery. A guard barked a hasty and rather shocked announcement, and into the chamber strode the Duke, his usual elegance lost in the haste of travel, mud spewing from his thigh-high boots as he purposefully made his way towards me. Wind had tangled his hair, stealing its lustre; his nose and cheeks were sunburnt and peeling. Unshaven and hollow-eyed, he almost looked roguish, not the almost dandified lord I was used to.

  “Your Grace.” His bow was slight, perfunctory. “I am here in Gloucester, as you commanded. I would request we talk now.”

  I did not appreciate the sharp tone of his voice, though I understood that he was weary and saddle sore. Whilst I was eager to find out the details of the failed rescue attempt in London, Harry could not continue to behave thus, as if I, the King, were at his permanent disposal.

  Slowly I turned away, putting my back towards him. “Later, my Lord Duke. I was just enjoying a glass of fine Rhenish. I shall continue to do so. Then we might talk.”

  Harry’s eyes blazed but he said nothing. He flung his hat onto the table and snatched up a goblet, shoving the servers away and pouring the drink himself, uncaring that it splattered all over the table. Red trickled between his fingers, like droplets of blood. He gripped the goblet’s stem as he would the hilt of a sword.

  I kept him waiting.

  At length, as the others in the chamber began to filter away for the night, I beckoned the Duke to follow me into my private quarters.

  “Have I offended?” Buckingham’s voice was harsh. “Why are you treating me this way, Your Grace?”

  “Harry, you cannot come barrelling into my presence in the manner you did tonight. Surely you know it is unseemly. Things are not as they were when we met at Northampton. Everything has changed. There must be a certain protocol from now onwards. You know this, surely. But we need not quarrel over it. Now, tell me about the plot in London.”

  A predatory look crossed his features and his eyes sparkled as if pleased by what he was relating. “There were four ringleaders. All caught. I tried them as Constable and gave the only sentence possible—death. By now they should all be dead; beheaded on Tower Hill and their heads set upon London Bridge as a warning. John Howard is still in London dealing with the punishment of lesser men who followed these troublemakers, since he also has the power to try men for treason.”

  “Who are…were the ringleaders?”

  “Robert Russe, a sergeant. William Davy, pardoner of Hounslow. John Smith, a groom of King Edward’s stirrup. Lastly, Stephen Ireland, who was wardrober of the Tower.”

  “Jesu,” I breathed, “within the Tower itself!”

  Harry nodded grimly.

  “The children…they must be moved at once. We have waited too long, and the fault is mine. I should have acted when you told me of the plot at Windsor. I should not have hesitated.”

  “It is done, Richard.” Harry’s voice was abrupt, oddly flat. “It is done.”

  I was taken aback. I had not truly expected such swiftness, especially when it had not been at my command. I had told Harry that nothing would be done until my return to London. He had defied me in this most important matter, and yet, it was for the good, surely? “Where …where are they, Harry?”

  Buckingham hesitated; a shadow swept over his face. Christ on the Cross, what was wrong with him? Did he not know? Or was he reluctant to tell me?

  “Thornbury!” he suddenly barked. “My manor at Thornbury!”

  “Near Bristol? Not so far. I will send for them and have them brought…”

  “No! They will not be there by the time a messenger could reach the castle.”

  “What? What are you telling me, Harry? Where will they be if not Thornbury?”

  “My castle at Kimbolton, and then Tonbridge, and then onwards to other manors and castles in my possession. I am moving them around the country in secrecy, as you admitted would be a wise plan!”

  “I meant for them to be in my castles, not yours!” A nagging worry assailed me; I could not put a name to it, dared not. But he was defying me, Harry was defying me…and now he held a trump card over me…

  “Richard, it would be unwise for you to take them back under your wing, at least so soon. Everywhere you go, you will be central to the gaze of all, surrounded by crowds—you are the King! Disloyal men would easily find the bastards if they dwelt near you, and we would soon face another onslaught of rescue attempts. It is far less likely anyone would suspect they are in my possession, although I too am their uncle. Believe me, my servants would not dare speak out; they know what penalties would befall them”

  “I am not pleased with this action,” I said darkly. “I want them back under my control as soon as possible.”

  “At least wait until your prog
ress is done, Richard! Isn’t that want you said to me before? You’d deal with them after the progress?” Harry’s face was flaming, his own ire raised. “Otherwise, in the midst of all the banquets and celebrations, I have no doubt they will be snatched away and used to foment rebellion. Look, I tell you, already there is evidence of another plot.”

  “What?” My face drained.

  Harry swaggered around the room, looking pleased as he realised that his agents seemed to have dug up more pressing news than mine. “Yes. Suspicion has fallen on John Welles, half-brother to Margaret Beaufort. Certain untrustworthy people have been seen coming and going from his Manor at Maxey in Northamptonshire. There is not enough proof to arrest him yet…but I have no doubt there will be soon. No doubt at all.”

  “Margaret Beaufort,” I murmured, thinking on the shrewd-eyed little woman, watching the world rat-like from beneath her sombre headdress, waiting for the opportunity to bring her exiled son home. To live peaceably on his own lands she claimed; Edward new differently and so did I.

  Agitated, I began to pace the chamber. “And what would Margaret do if she and her kinsfolk got hold of them, Harry? Do you believe she would restore Edward V to the throne? Hoping perhaps that he would be kindly disposed to her because of her aid in his restoration, and allow her son to return from Brittany?”

  Harry laughed; an uncomfortable sound. “Lady Margaret may be pious and spend most of her time on her knees but I believe she would do anything to advance the cause of her son. Anything, Richard—although she is but a woman her mind is sharp and devious, as much so as any man, the unnatural bitch.”

  “This is worrying. What is the right way to proceed? Christ, so soon, and already things go against me.” I wiped a hand across my forehead; I was sweating, hot then cold.

  “Let me go on as I have begun, with the bastards in my custody. As it stands now, none save my chosen servants at the Tower know they are gone, since the children already were close-quartered and their original household was dismissed when the plot became evident—just in case any of them were sympathisers. My henchmen took them secretly onto a barge on the river after dark. A draught slipped in their drinks and they did not even stir as they were carried to the boat. Once your progress is over and you have returned to London, I will bring them to you and you can decide where best to house them for future safety.”

  “I will send them away…to my sister Margaret and then beyond,” I murmured. “They will have to be separated. The elder will go maybe to Italy…or Portugal. Edward Brampton was Portuguese and had contacts in that land; maybe he could take him to Portugal.”

  “The Jew?” Harry’s lip curled. “The adventuring Jew? Duarte whathisname?”

  “Duarte no longer, but Edward after the King. A convert to Christianity who has always loyally served the House of York.” My lips thinned to a line. What on God’s earth was wrong with Harry? He was like a bowstring drawn too tight, ready to snap. He brimmed with hitherto unseen hostility. “The youngest might stay on one of Margaret’s estates; being young and not having been brought up with great expectation, he will be the less dangerous of the two. Both must receive new identities, and it must be impressed strongly upon them that they if they dare ever enter England, they will be in peril of their lives.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Buckingham, “as long as they have real fear in their hearts and do not believe your threats are just words.”

  “If one day I had to defend what is mine, it would not be just words,” I said coldly. “Are you finished, My Lord Duke? The hour is growing late.”

  “I am not quite finished, Richard.” Harry seemed even more restive that before, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “There is something I wish to ask you. Important to us both” He suddenly smiled, trying to evoke that George-like charm that had so struck me upon our first meeting. With his heavy stubble and dark-ringed eyes, this time it did not work so well; he merely looked like some uncouth mummer, play-acting to please me. “We are friends, and kin; I stand with you as Warwick once stood behind Edward.”

  “Yes? Out with it, Harry.” I was not pleased with his words or actions; I wanted to show how unhappy I was. Dismissing the bastards’ household without express permission; moving them to his own castles! What was he thinking of, the fool? “You desire something; I have seen that look in your eyes before. You are the second most powerful man in the land, by my hand; you have your precious Bohun inheritance…what more?”

  He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Both of us are descendants of a King, of Edward third of that name, and all those great rulers that came before. We are cousins and we are allies. Would it not be meet that we become closer still?”

  “I am at a loss as to what you infer.”

  “Did not Warwick once suggest that his daughter Isabel marry your brother George, and you the Lady Anne?”

  “Yes, and Edward forbade it at the time. What of it?”

  “I have a healthy daughter, Elizabeth, fair to look upon and biddable. Why should our houses not join, Richard? Elizabeth is only four but no matter; a betrothal could still be made! One day your son and my daughter could sit upon the throne! How better to celebrate our friendship and to keep the royal line untainted by unworthy outsiders!”

  Awed by Harry’s overweening effrontery, by the grandiose plans that had formed unprovoked in his head, I stared at him in wide-eyed amazement. Half of me felt like striking his flushed, eager face, the other half-wanted to laugh aloud; neither was appropriate. What had become of the man who had so kindly offered me a thousand men, who may have saved my life on the road to Stony Stratford?

  “Harry,” I said in a low voice, “this idea of yours…”

  “Yes?” His sun-reddened face lit with hope.

  “It is impossible.”

  He made a sound like a hissing snake, and rounded on me, black-browed, flashing fire. “Why do you scorn me and mock me?”

  “I do not. But my son Edward must make a marriage alliance with a foreign princess. England needs allies from outside. I am considering a princess of Spain, to make an ally of Queen Isabella, whose country has been cold to ours for many years. Look…” I tried to assuage his disappointment. “If I have more children, you and yours will not be forgotten.”

  “More children? That doesn’t seem very likely, does it?” he sneered.

  My temper erupted. “You have said enough, Henry Stafford! Why your humour is so bad, I know not. You have barged in here like an ill-bred oaf, you have disobeyed orders, and now you insult the Queen and me. Your Queen! As much I am grateful to you for past deeds in my service, I will not brook this insolence. I raised you high, I can bring you low if I so choose.”

  Harry’s lips worked as if he longed to spew out a string of obscenities. He managed to control himself however, and went down on his knees, knowing he had gravely offended. Knowing he had gone too far in presumption.

  I left him there, for fifteen minutes or so, while I called for some wine. I needed it.

  Then I gestured for him to rise. “You know I am your friend, Harry…but you must never forget I am also your King.”

  “Your Grace, grant me one boon if you can give me nothing else.”

  “What is it?”

  “Give me permission to leave the progress and go to my castle in Brecknock.”

  I was surprised, and slightly angry, but there was no reason to deny him and I had no wish to deal with his newfound petulance over the weeks to come. It might do well that he keep an eye on Bishop Morton, who had been imprisoned there for his part in Hastings’ treachery. Morton was a slippery serpent and a survivor. “I you wish it truly, I will grant that, Harry.”

  “Your Grace.” He bowed so low and with such a flourish, I wondered if he was mocking me.

  But I had no more time to ponder for he was clattering out of the chamber and down into the courtyard. I heard his voce rise in a wrathful shout at some errant groom, and than I heard a flurry of horse’s hooves striking the cobbles.

 
; He was gone.

  I forced myself to down the last drops of my wine, seeking to steady my temper after this encounter. Harry Stafford was gone, and with a strange sinking feeling, I realised that I did not truly know where my brother’s sons were.

  After my argument with Buckingham, it was a joy to see the happiness of the people of Gloucester the next day, when I stood beside the town’s high cross, granted the town a charter and as a gift presented the Mayor with the Sword of Mourning.

  The Mayor then tried to present me with a purse of money, as was customary to ease the expenses accumulated on a royal progress—but I refused outright to take such a payment. “Keep that, lord Mayor,” I told him, “and use it for the maintenance of the town and for succour for the poor. I do not want the coin of my people—I would prefer to have their love.”

  The accolades of the crowds gathered round the cross were as sweet as the music of angels to my ears.

  Leaving Gloucester the next morning, the progress hastened on to Tewkesbury. Silent and serious, deep in thought, I surveyed the familiar landscape as the cavalcade followed the well-remembered road along the banks of the deep flowing River Severn.

  Once we had arrived in the town, I walked the now-peaceful fields around the Abbey with Francis Lovell, who had accompanied me hence from Minster Lovell. Green fields now, where once they had run red with blood.

  It was with certain heartfelt sadness I remembered the glory of the House of York that day, when Edward’s power blazed like the Sunne that was his symbol. Could I ever match his valour, his popularity with people? I did not know. But if Edward was a King who made men love him for his prowess, and women for his face and easy manner, I would be a King who made his people love him through the powers of justice and the law. Loyalty Bindeth Me.