I, Richard Plantagenet: Book One: Tante le Desiree

by J. P. Reedman

  His lips twitched; he shook his head and I though he would deny me.

  “I ask just one boon of you, my Lord King,” I said in desperation. “If you have any love for me, tell me the truth of our brother’s end!”

  Edward leaned over, huge shoulders slouching; he almost looked as if he were in pain. “Listen and listen well, Richard, for I will not speak of this again. I asked George how he wished to die. I wanted it done as painlessly and quickly as possible; I would have found the best swordsman in the land and done it privately, out of the sight of men’s eyes. But George, defiant to the last, said he would prefer to die as he lived, with a goblet in his hand. So a great barrel of malmsey was brought to the Tower—that is what the gossips whisper about!—and a cup filled from it. But it was no ordinary draught. The wine was laced with poison. Monkshood. George drank it bravely, as I would expect from a son of York. And he died bravely, and swift.”

  “And now? What will happen to his corpse?”

  “His body will be sent with many lords to Tewkesbury, to rest beside his lady-wife Isabel Neville. I will make sure prayers are said unceasingly for his soul. It was such a troubled soul.”

  “Aye, it was.” I hung my head. “Thank you for the truth, Your Grace. I apologise for my abrupt entry this morn, but his death has eaten at me, like a canker.”

  “Don’t look so pained, Richard.” Edward sounded snappish again. “George was nigh as bad for you as he was for me. Although under attainder, I’ll see his children will want for naught. You can be Great Chamberlain again, have your old position back, which was filched from you by George! Richmond castle is once again yours. And your son, my little nephew Edward, he shall have the earldom of Salisbury.”

  I bowed slightly, unable to meet his eyes. “You are too generous, my Lord King.”

  “Why do I feel that you speak with mockery?” he said. “But it matters not. Go; just go, as it pleases you.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: DUTY AND DESIRE

  I did go…but not before I had obtained licenses to found colleges at Middleham and Barnard. For years, I had longed to establish colleges there, and hoped the work involved would take my mind off the rift that had formed in the House of York.

  No sooner had Anne and I returned to Middleham than I began working on the statutes and other preparations for the two colleges. George’s execution hung over me, a dark cloud, but a certain sense of peace filled me at the thought of masses said for his soul in perpetuity, within my own foundation.

  Swiftly words took shape on parchment, outlining what would be done: “To all Christian people to whom these presents shall come, greetings in Our Lord Everlasting! Know ye that where it has pleased Almighty God, Creator and Redeemer of all mankind, of his most bounteous and manifold graces to enable and exalt me, His most simple creature, nakedly born into this wretched world, destitute of possessions and inheritance, to the great estate, honour and dignity to be named, known and called Richard, Duke of Gloucester. I, daily and hourly according to my duty, and in recognition that all goodness comes of Him, am finally determined, into the loving and thanking of His Deity, and in honour of his Blessed Mother, Mary, succor of all repentant sinners, and in honour of the holy virgin Saint Alkelda—a part of such goods as he has sent me, to found a college within my town of Middleham at the parish church …to pray for the King our Sovereign lord, the Queen, for my lady mother the Duchess of York, of me, my wife, my son of Salisbury, and any other issue as shall please God to send me, whilst I live; and for the souls of the King, the Queen, and of me, my wife, and my issue after our decease, and specially for the souls of my Lord and father, Richard Duke of York, of my brothers and sisters, of my progenitors and successors, and all Christian souls, in part of satisfaction of such things as at the dreadful Day of Doom I might answer for…’

  I watched the ink dry with pleasure, and Kendall continued to write my words down: ‘The name my College is to be called and named forever, the college of Richard Duke of Gloucester….’ I sealed the finished document, the red wax running.

  The college would be a grand establishment, honouring the saints I was most devoted to, St George, Saint Ninian and Saint Cuthbert. There would be a dean, six priests, four clerks, and choristers. As a lover of music, I stipulated that one of the clerks would be a man learned in the practice of singing, and that he would teach the choristers the art of plainsong, counterpoint and descant. The boys themselves would be chosen with care; all were to have young pure voices that had not yet broken. Once their voices deepened with impending manhood, they would have to leave the choir, but would be remembered with gratitude.

  I also wrote down laws the college members would abide by. If one spoke slanderous words, he would have two pennies taken from his wage. If he should grow violent and draw a knife, he should pay out four pennies, and if he should draw blood with his dagger, the Dean would devise a suitable figure for him to pay in reparation to the College and to God.

  When I was not at home, busy with the tenets of the college, I attended to business in York, making good a promise given to the citizens in autumn of the previous year. In great distress, the townsfolk had written me a fishgarth in Goldale-garth, which blocked the river Aire. The common man took umbrage at the building of such fishgarths in the river; one could not safely manoeuvre a craft around them while they were in place, and poor men despised them because they took fish from his table that he might catch in the usual manner. The abbeys were the main perpetrators of the hated fishgarths, for they needed the most fish for the table. I understood the monks’ requirements, but man must eat and a poor man did not have the recourse that a rich Abbot might.

  So I had written back from London that I would deal with the problem at Goldale-garth as soon as I returned to Middleham.

  I made good my word at once. Sending for Henry Percy, we collected a band of men to investigate not just Goldale-garth, but other weirs within the local rivers—the Wharfe, the Aire, and the Ouse. William Redeman and Ralph Hastings were my prime investigators, and Percy brought two men of his own, and along with the Mayor of York and a delegation of twenty-four locals, we cleared the blocked waterways as best we could. It was a temporary solution; the illegal garths would appear again in time, when my back was turned, but it was a start, and I could give stern warning to repeat offenders henceforth.

  Troubles often broke out on the borders, and this called me away from Wensleydale throughout the months of later summer. Scots had surged into England in many areas, so I rode into the farthest flung northern reaches of the country to garrison and repair the lonely fortresses that guarded the crossings—grim blocks of stone like upturned pots with few comforts for the hard-bitten, weary-eyed men who manned them.

  Once those castles were made secure, I turned south again, staying for a while at Pontefract to deal with duties there, then traveling to my castle at Sheriff Hutton. My reasons for visiting the latter were not only for business but also for my own pleasure.

  As I had promised their respective mothers, I had now taken my two natural children into the nursery I built at Sheriff Hutton, where they would be given the best education and training for future life. One day, illegitimate though they were, my children would have a shining future, with John taking high position, under my guidance, and Katherine marrying well.

  Odd as it may seem for a man used to giving orders to sword-wielding men twice his size, I was wracked with anxiety as I climbed the staircase in the west tower and hurried down the corridor towards the nursery. I had only seen John and Katherine a few times over the past five or six years, being so busy with keeping peace in the north and with the other duties of high office. I had no idea how they would respond to me. Although it was normal amongst noble families to send children away, and they were luckier than many bastards, having been acknowledged and given my name, I suspected they might miss their old homes and their mothers, and might have little to no recollection of a distant father.

  As I entered the nursery, the smell of
rose-water and herbs struck my nostrils. Sunlight streamed through wide-open shutters. Toys were neatly stacked in a corner and the two beds had silk and linen hangings, John’s painted with a row of cavorting boars and Katherine’s with garlands of white roses.

  Two stern-faced nurses stood to attention, flanking a pair of small, upright figures, pushing them forward as I entered.

  “Bow to his Grace the Duke, your father, John!” one nurse reprimanded. “And Katherine, forget not your best curtsey.”

  Immediately the two children came forward, sliding on the freshly scrubbed floors, bobbing up and down before me with great gravity. They had grown so much! Gone were the plump babies that I, barely more than a boy when I had begotten them, had wondered at…wondered that I had created such marvelous, alive and perfect beings, even if in an act of sin. I knew fornication was wrong outside marriage, but those sins of conception I could not truly regret when I beheld the result.

  My beautiful bastards, so strong and hale…unlike my poor Edward.

  John was a big boy, promising to be tall as I was not. The nurses had dressed him in velvet, and waves of fair hair framed his clear, open face. In contrast to his fairness, Katherine was dark, her hair seeming almost black until the sunlight stroked it, when it glowed a deep, hot, copper-red. Her locks curled strongly, falling over her milk-white brow. She was delicate and small-boned, clad in a green and white silk gown with little seed pearls sewn upon the bodice. Although each child looked different from the other, they both had my eyes, alike in shape and colour, though Katherine’s were a few shades deeper, holding a hint of violet.

  One day I will buy her a violet gown to go with her eyes, I thought distractedly.

  The children were looking at me with expectation and an air of anxiousness. I turned to the hovering nurses. “You may go. Leave us.”

  The more elderly of the nurses fixed a stern gaze on her young charges. “Remember your manners when speaking to your Lord Father the Duke!”

  Closing the door silently behind them, the women left. I sat down on a window seat, my children standing before me, as I continued to marvel at their perfection, and by the fact that now, passed beyond babyhood, I could see myself in them, see the people they would become.

  “I…how are you liking it at Sheriff Hutton?” I groped for something to say. It was a silly thing to inquire, as they had no choice in the matter.

  “It is a most pleasant place, my Lord Father,” John answered slowly. “It is not as noisy as Pontefract and I can sleep more. But my tutor rapped my knuckles the other day during lessons. I did not like that!”

  “Did you deserve it?”

  “No…”

  “Yes, he did!” Katherine piped up. “John had a frog hidden in his pocket! It made noises!”

  “Kytte!” John hissed at his half-sister. “Don’t tell our Lord Father such gossip! He might beat us both till our buttocks go red as fire! Me for having the frog and you for being a shrewish tittle-tattle!”

  As delicate and dainty as she appeared, Katherine swung a balled fist at her half-brother. She missed.

  I laughed at her feistiness, slapping my gloved hand on to my thigh. It would pain me to ever beat either of them, even though the Bible tells us not to spare the rod.

  The children’s initial sobriety and wariness of me faded like the morning mist when they heard my laughter. Suddenly they were at my side, daring to touch the dagged ends of my doublet, tugging on my sleeve with tentative fingers

  “Kytte would like you to see her dance, Lord Father,” declared John. “She has been learning the steps for weeks. But she is too shy to ask you herself.”

  “Of course she may dance for me. I would like to see her skills.”

  Gracefully Katherine moved across the flagstones, performing the steps to the dance Grene Gynger…rather difficult, since the dance was intended to be performed with a partner. Playing the gallant for my daughter, I stood and took her small hand, guiding her through the rest of the pavane, in which the dancers formed the shape of a heart at the end.

  When the dance was done, I sat down again and lifted her onto my knee. John came and stood nearby, looking like he wanted to climb on my knee too but he was a well-grown boy and those days were past.

  Questions came thick and fast as arrowfire, now that the children’s initial awe of me was fading:

  “Are we to meet the Lady Anne soon? Is she very beautiful?”

  “Yes, soon I hope. And yes, she is beautiful.”

  “And our half brother, Lord Edward? Can we meet him too?”

  “Yes, but he is small and often sick, so he does not travel much as yet. But some day.”

  “I’ve heard he is already an Earl…it is funny to be so titled so young!”

  “I will find a position for you too, one day, John, I promise you.”

  “You are littler than I remember,” said Katherine in all innocence. “You are shorter than nurse Tibby! I thought you would be a giant.”

  “You are right, my honey sweet, I am only small. It is your uncle, the King, who is a giant! You should hear him roar when he is angry.”

  “Did he not kill wicked Uncle George who was after his crown!” cried John, his eyes sparkling with excitement, like most little boys intrigued by executions and the like. “Drowned him in a tub of wine!”

  Frowning, I bit my lip. “We do not speak here of the death of your uncle George, do you understand?” I said with quiet authority. “Not until you are both grown and have learned the true facts of what happened.”

  Both children froze, fearing they had offended me and would be punished by either me or by their nurses. John’s fingers reached out, clasped with Katherine’s; for all they had different mothers, a bond had evidently grown up between them.

  “I have gifts for you,” I said, and their fear melted again. It was smiles and eagerness once more.

  “What have you brought, papa?” asked Katherine. (I noted with a thin smile that it was ‘papa’ now rather than Lord Father!)

  I placed a little black box in her small hands. “A poppet for my poppet. I had it sent over from Burgundy for you.”

  She opened it and pulled out a wooden baby dressed in fine white linen robes. The doll had jointed limbs that moved as Katherine toyed with them. The eyes were painted cornflower blue, the lips fire-red. “I shall call her Pollekin, Polly for short!” Katherine exclaimed.

  John was looking at me with expectance, so I reached into my belt pouch and brought forth a handful of lead figures of knights. “These are to play with for now,” I told him, “but very soon I will see that training is begun for you, so that you can be a knight like this one day.”

  “This one is on a horse!” said John, making one of the figures canter across the floor. “May I have a horse some day, father?”

  “Some day, but first you will have a pony to learn upon. Have you ridden before?”

  “A little…but only on a nag.”

  “Anything is a start. I will have a pony sent to Sheriff Hutton within the next few weeks. You are well past the age to start learning horsemanship.”

  John went whooping around the room like a mad thing; I wondered what the nurses, whose ears were probably pressed to the door, were making of it.

  Katherine looked a little crestfallen that her brother had received two gifts. “Do not fear, my little sweeting, I have not forgotten you.”

  “Do I get a pony too, papa?”

  “I thought of something even better for you, both friend and protector. How would you like a brachet, Katherine?”

  “A dog! You’re going to get me a puppy?”

  “Aye, if you would like one.”

  Her arms tightened round my neck and squeezed, telling me everything I needed to know.

  Katherine soon had her new puppy, brought in from the stables, where an old bitch called Rooter had a litter of puppies. She named him Nosewise, for he always had his long snout thrust where he shouldn’t, when he was not running about the castle chewing o
n the furniture and nipping at the hemlines of the nurses.

  I would have loved to stay longer but duty called me; it seemed never ending. Saying my farewells to the children, I rode towards Middleham. For the first time since George’s execution, my heart felt a little lighter. Maybe his death was for the best, as harsh as such a thought seemed (not that I would ever forgive the Woodvilles for any part they had in it, and I was convinced they did). Maybe we would now live the rests of our lives in peace, with no shadow of war or betrayal upon us.

  Even as I thought of such a world, where a man could grow old on his own lands and die in his bed, a cloud scudded over the sun, sent shadows capering over the dale-sides. A cold wind blew.

  A voice was whispering in my head, like that of some wayward spirit such as the countryfolk feared: “That life is not for you, Richard Plantagenet. Not and never will be”

  Shivering, I struck my spurs into the flanks of my steed and galloped on.

  A year flew by, so swift one month blurred to the next. John had his pony, bought from the monks of Jervaulx who were known for producing excellent beasts; so too, at last, did little Ned, who took to riding in a way that made me proud. He had grown in the last summer, longer and leggier though still thin, and I was glad to see his cheeks red and his eyes bright.

  I spent much time in York, overseeing local elections and arbitrating on disputes and making certain the fishgarths I had removed did not reappear in the rivers. My friendship with Mayor Wrangwysh was further consolidated; he always seemed grateful for my presence and bestowed upon me gifts of wine, pike and demain bread.

  However, not all men felt such love for the Duke of Gloucester—far from it. I had my opponents in York, as elsewhere; no man can be loved by all, no matter how diligent and efficient he may be. One local sneeringly accused me of interfering with the process of the local election; I had not done so, just let my preferred choice of candidate be known. My man won; hence sourness on the malcontent’s behalf. But men trusted my judgment.