The Court of the Midnight King: A Dream of Richard III

by Freda Warrington

“Thriving.” Rising to her feet, Eleanor added, “You needn’t go to Middleham. You can stay here.”

  “No, I’ll go.” Kate paused, chewing her lip. A duchess has summoned me; I can’t refuse.” Dropping her sour tone, she laughed. “I won’t be friendless. The girl Clarence sent with me, Ursula, is sweet. And Nan has asked to come too. I should look quite impressive, arriving with two attendants.”

  “And Raphael is there.”

  “Yes, Raphael.” She grinned. “But he’s not the reason, Mama. Of course I’ll serve Anne if she wants me. I must do battle in the world, not hide behind your skirts. You wouldn’t expect less of me, would you?”

  “Hardly. You are my daughter.”

  ###

  Katherine had never been farther north than York. She expected the castle to be a bleak pile set on a high, windswept escarpment, a perfect setting for its warrior ruler, Richard of Gloucester. He’d won a fearsome reputation against the Scots since she last she saw him.

  The Yorkshire Dales, however, were green. They were drenched in endless rain, with massive outcrops of limestone overhanging the muddy tracks, but as lovely as Lytton Dale. The people they met on their way glanced at Clarence’s livery with suspicion, but treated Kate with warmth when they heard her Derbyshire accent, and learned where she was going.

  As they reached Middleham the clouds split and sunlight spilled through. Kate saw a village like an ochre patchwork; and above the village, almost part of it, the castle. No grim fortress, but a modest square structure, golden-grey and elegant. Meadows spread all around, and farther off she saw deep green of forests and the shoulder of the fells, blue and remote. Nan and Ursula exclaimed in pleasure.

  A bird of prey wheeled above the castle. She watched until it dropped out of sight. Her party rode between the straw-coloured cots of the village, with dozens of children and adults collecting along the path to watch and gossip. Up to the curtain wall of the castle they rode, across a wooden bridge, through the open gate and into the castle courtyard.

  Kate looked up at the tall oblong of the keep in front of her. Above, a covered bridge led back to the outer ward of the castle. On the towers fluttered the banner of Gloucester, the white boar against blue and red. The sight made her shiver. The castle looked approachable and graceful, but still majestic enough to intimidate her. Within its blank walls lay her future.

  A groom came for her horse. She dismounted and gave the palfrey over without taking her eyes off the keep.

  “Kate?” said a familiar voice.

  She turned and he was there. A huge black gyrfalcon perched on his wrist and a dazzling smile lit his face. Raphael. Joy leapt into her heart, the first joy she’d felt in months.

  “Kate, at last, thank all the gods,” he cried, starting forward, then stopping as the falcon, disgruntled, unfolded and shook her vast wings. “What took you so long?”

  Inset: Evidence

  My tutor sits enthroned in his office, in a glare of slanted sunlight that illumines every floating dust particle. His desk is the colour of molasses and his grey hair is primped with hair cream (or grease – but I give him the benefit of the doubt) and too long over his collar. He wears a flowery waistcoat, glasses on the end of his nose, and an impatient air.

  “I know it’s not part of my course work,” I say. “It’s only an interest. A hobby.”

  He clears his throat.

  “I don’t have to point out that hobbies are to be kept separate from studies. Your last essay was just about adequate. I know you’re capable of better, August. If you want a pastime, why not join the choral society, or drink yourself silly like other students?”

  “Just one question.” I spread books on the desk. “I’m sorry to bother you, but you’re the only person I know who’s actually qualified to answer.”

  “Oh, flattery, is it?” He pounces on the books, begins to glance at them and toss them aside with sighing disdain.

  “What is it?” I’m annoyed but trying not to show it. “I haven’t asked my question yet.”

  “Then do so. I haven’t got all day.”

  “The image of Richard the Third that everyone knows is of a hunchback who murdered his nephews. But I’ve read book after book that refutes it. There’s no proof he killed them. He had no reason to, since they’d been declared illegitimate. They were no danger to him. Some historians go to great lengths to show that the Duke of Buckingham had a stronger motive, and the opportunity –”

  “Aargh!” My tutor flicks his hands in the air and smacks them down on the books. “Don’t bother with the apologists. Amateurs, half of ’em.”

  “That doesn’t mean they’re wrong, or less well-informed,” I say. “Mightn’t it make them more open-minded?”

  “Perhaps. Or it might mean they’re on some misguided crusade to prove a guilty man innocent. What is it with this blasted king?”

  “It’s medieval history, sir.”

  He folded one leg over the other, looked at his pocket watch. “Only if you treat it as impartially as any other period; as indifferently as you clearly treat the twelfth century. How many lectures have you missed?”

  “Only two.” I feel myself flushing. “I will catch up. I just want to know what you think about this, then I won’t mention it again.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. The benefit of my wisdom is this. Don’t get emotionally involved. Deciding what you want the truth to be, then bending the facts to fit, is not the way to study history. Stick to facts, my dear. Bone-dry facts.”

  “But doesn’t caring about something make you delve deeper? Isn’t that what sparks real research?”

  “Well.” He pulls a face. “Fair point, but that depends whether you want to tell yourself a comforting story or get at the truth. It may involve accepting that there is no concrete evidence left to discover. Just a balance of probabilities.”

  “So what do you think is probable?” I persist.

  “Of course the princes were still a danger to him!” He speaks fervently, for a man who told me not to be emotional. “No one believed the illegitimacy story, least of all Richard himself. No one could have gained access to his nephews without him knowing. Ultimate responsibility for them lay with him. Ergo, of course he did it.”

  “Ha,” I say, triumphant, “so you do have an opinion after all.”

  And I see the merest, reluctant twinkle in his eye.

  “Guilty as hell.”

  Chapter Nine. 1477: Anne

  ANNE

  Thou wast the cause and most accursed effect.

  RICHARD

  Your beauty was the cause of that effect–

  Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep

  To undertake the death of all the world,

  So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.

  Richard III Act 1 scene 2

  Katherine hardly noticed the groom who took her horse, while a spindle-legged page relieved her of her small bundle of belongings. She was looking at the mass of people collected in the bailey and on the great covered staircase that led to the upper storey of the keep: peasants, merchants, officials. The courtyard was busy with their murmuring voices, shifting colours. There were horses everywhere, ripening the air with a warm familiar scent of sweat, manure and oiled leather.

  “All these folk!” she said. “Why are they here?”

  “To see the duke,” Raphael answered, smoothing the feathers of the black gyrfalcon. Kate reached out to stroke the bird’s breast with a curled finger. She tolerated Kate’s touch, head raised imperiously, her eyes blind behind the hood.

  “You mean he gives audience to… anyone?”

  Raphael smiled, eyebrows tilted at her question. He looked sun-browned and happy, and he’d begun to pick up the Yorkshire accent. “Well, of course. He is their lord. He considers their petitions, sorts out disputes between neighbours, dispenses justice, generally to everyone’s satisfaction.”

  “I don’t remember Clarence doing that,” she said. “He did many things, but not that.�
��

  “Richard is nothing like his brother,” Raphael said vehemently. “Whatever you’ve learned about dukes from Clarence, prepare to unlearn it. Richard listens to his subjects. You’ll see how many go away content, saying what a good and fair lord he is.”

  “What about the ones who don’t?”

  “They’re only ones who tried to get away with some crime or injustice. They say Richard sees straight through people, and it’s not a pleasant experience.”

  Ice threaded through her. The last time she’d seen him, in the market place at Tewkesbury, was as a cloaked executioner. “No, I should imagine it isn’t.” She looked up at the high walls all around her. She saw Nan and Ursula waiting anxiously for her. “Shouldn’t I tell someone I’ve arrived? The chamberlain, or the steward?”

  “I’ll look after you,” said Raphael. “Come with me, while I see to the falcons; then I’ll show you around. The duchess will be in the nursery; no one will miss you for an hour or two.” His sweet smile disarmed her. What a relief to be greeted by a friend. The sooner Clarence’s men were gone, the better. She waved her companions on their way and they followed the pageboys who had their luggage: Ursula frowning, Nan with a good-natured shrug.

  In the falconry beside the stables, Raphael settled the gyrfalcon on her perch and showed Kate his charges with affection and pride. Firehawks like burning coal with red flashes in their tails. Tiercels, small and elegant. Kestrels, sparrowhawks, a type of small eagle called a red griffin, glossy-brown like a chestnut. Their housing was immaculate, the walls painted dusky white, the floor clean and strewn with sweet straw. The raptors perched sleek and content in their niches.

  “This is Richard’s favourite,” Raphael said, caressing the gyrfalcon he’d been flying. “And this one…” he indicated a dainty snow-white merlin, “is Lady Anne’s.”

  The mention of Anne Neville’s name still sent a pang through Kate. She had once pitied Anne, forced to marry Prince Edouard, then widowed, and kept in ignorance of the path of Auset. But now she was Richard’s wife, and Kate only a long-forgotten lover.

  Still, it’s better this way, she thought. It can’t be an easy marriage. I never wish to be subject to a husband.

  “If you’d like a hawk of your own, I’ll find you one, a beauty,” Raphael was saying.

  “You’re so kind.” She touched his arm. He looked at her with glowing eyes; it was all she could do not to kiss him, but she held back and the moment passed. Both awkward, they distracted themselves by admiring Lady Anne’s merlin.

  “No graylix?” Kate asked, her fingers exploring the soft springiness of the wing-feathers.

  “We don’t keep them here.” His voice was low, sad. “Richard said they remind him too much of Marguerite, who used to keep great packs of them, at least until Henry was deposed. Tyrant went into the menagerie at the Tower. He’s well cared-for there.”

  “Despite mistaking his keeper for his supper every day?”

  Raphael’s mouth twisted up at the corner. “No one thinks the pard is ignoble, for being dangerous. I miss him.”

  “You’re so sweet-natured, Raphael, to love such an unlovable beast. And talking of that, how do you find the duke?”

  “Why do you speak unkindly of him?” Raphael was indignant.

  “A jest. The last time he spoke to me, he was less than courteous. I should learn to forgive. I’m sure he’s an excellent master.”

  “He is,” Raphael answered. “As I knew he would be, the first time I saw him. It only happens once in a lifetime, I think, that you cross paths with someone so extraordinary that you have no choice but to follow them.”

  “Just like Christ, then,” she said mischievously.

  “He’s not that.” Raphael looked sideways at her, serious. “You can’t hold a position like his without making hard decisions. Whatever he does, he never acts without good reason. He inspires loyalty. He’s as loyal to his friends as we are to him, and Creator knows, he doesn’t want flatterers around him. I’ve said things to him that would get me thrown in the Tower if I’d said them any other nobleman. He’s as important in the North as Edward is in London. I’m meant to be here, that’s all I know.”

  “I’m glad you’re happy.”

  “Richard likes everyone to be happy. He’s a gentle lord, Kate; you’ve nothing to worry about. We’re all expected to attend chapel, by the way.” Raphael spoke the last words almost nervously.

  Her lips thinned, but she quickly smoothed her expression. Her own beliefs did not deny the Church; it was they who denied hers. Still, she was used to kneeling in churches and focussing upon Mary who – although it could be viewed as heresy – was the Blue Mother, a face of the goddess Auset.

  “Then I’ll attend chapel,” she said. “So, the duke is only fearsome to his enemies?”

  Raphael nodded. “He has more energy than anyone I’ve ever known. He’s off to the borders fighting the Scots, down to London to attend Parliament, and in York almost every week. He never rests.”

  “So he’s often away.” She felt strange relief. Thank Auset he wouldn’t always be there, a disturbing presence constantly haunting her.

  “Which means I am, too. Luckily I can trust the falcons to Will Shaw’s care.”

  “Oh, Raphael, I arrive only for you to tell me you’ll hardly be here?”

  He looked gravely at her. “You sound as if you mind.”

  “Of course I do. A little.”

  In the half-light he had the same dark angel look as Richard; a quality that dissolved all her common sense. Raphael was different, though; kind, transparent, an equal. He stared unhappily at her.

  “I don’t always go with him,” he said. “And we always come back. This is his home. Lady Anne hates him to be away for too long.”

  She put her head on one side. “And are you married?”

  Someone coughed, very loudly. The noise rang off the walls, making her jump.

  “Our Raffel, married? You must be joking; plenty of maids in the village queuing up on the off-chance, though. He could’ve married fifteen times over in this past year. Too picky.”

  “Will, for Christ’s sake!”

  A broad man in linen and leather strolled towards them. He had curly hair and a big, grinning face. Raphael turned scarlet.

  “This is Katherine, daughter of Lady Lytton. My lady, this is a rogue by the name of Will Shaw. Will, if you dare say anything coarse, I’ll kick you from here to the Scottish border.”

  Shaw feigned indignation, dropped to one knee and pressed damp lips to the back of Kate’s hand. She sensed no harm in him; mischief and a dash of lechery, but nothing worse.

  “We’ve met before,” she said. “In the friary, after Barnet.”

  “And it was an honour I recall vividly. My lady, I am your servant. Raphael is the rogue, to speak such slander of me.”

  “I’m sure he spoke in affection, as you did of him.”

  “You’re as gracious as the duchess.” Will rose and bowed. “He speaks about you all the time.”

  “All the time?”

  As she and Raphael looked at each other, she felt her face blush as bright as his. With a grin that managed to be both insinuating and harmless, Will Shaw edged past them. “I’ll be about my tasks, then, good lady and lord. Don’t let me interrupt you.”

  “Come on,” said Raphael said. He took her hand, and they went out into bright daylight, laughing. “I’ve more to show you. Don’t mind Will, he’s an idiot but as loyal as they come.”

  On the high tower on the southeast corner of the keep, they stood leaning over the battlements against a hard, cold wind. White boar banners fluttered above their heads and all the green glory of the dale spread below. The distant fells were intensely blue, like dusk. Cloud and sunlight flowed over the landscape in shining tatters. Kate tried to keep her wild hair under her headdress and failed. She laughed in exhilaration. The horror of Clarence was gone, blown away on the clean Wensleydale breeze.

  “The great hall is within
the keep; we’ll dine there later. The duke and duchess always eat with the household. Next to it is the great chamber where the duke receives his petitioners, and his inner chamber. Kitchens and cellars beneath.” Raphael gestured down at the high, pointed roof of a construction attached to the keep. “There’s the chapel. The priests and their clerks live in the chambers underneath.”

  “Good, now I know the place to avoid.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t say such things to anyone but me.” His hand described three of the four walls that framed the bailey. “There’s a range of living chambers inside each wall. Almost every room has its own latrine, piped water and a fireplace, and is very finely furnished. It’s outrageously comfortable here. I hope you can bear the luxury.”

  “I lived at Warwick; I’m sure I’ll bear it.”

  He indicated a high, covered bridge that led from the keep to the outer walls. “The hautpace there leads to the duchess’s chambers beside the round tower. On the other side of the tower is the nursery. Her ladies live in those chambers.”

  “And where is your chamber, sir?” she asked, winking.

  He pulled a face, and pointed across the high wooden roofs of the keep. “Over on the other side, above the stables, near the auditor’s chamber. I share with other knights, who aren’t the best of sleeping companions.”

  “Still, better than bedding down in the cellars with the servants?” she asked sardonically.

  “I’m not so sure.” He was smiling. “Do you think you can be happy here?”

  “I hope so.”

  “You belong here, Katherine. This was meant to be.”

  They were close, shoulders almost touching. Again she thought he might kiss her, but it was too soon. Instead she tipped back her head, welcoming the vibrant wind. A vast elemental moved within the air, a near-invisible, massive presence. She dipped her head in greeting and respect. And then she saw, down in a meadow between emerald clusters of trees, four priests at work.