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

by Freda Warrington

  A hand fell on him, making him start. Raphael looked into the grave, kindly face of the Duke of Norfolk. He was already in armour.

  “Well rested, Sir Raphael? How goes it with the king?”

  “As well as it may, given our circumstances. He hasn’t slept.”

  “I’ll go to him.”

  “Not yet, your Grace,” Raphael said quietly. “He’s speaking with someone.”

  “I’ll wait. But we must make ready, if we’re to win the day. There’s little time.”

  Raphael looked into the grandfatherly face.

  “You will not let him down,” he said, with solid conviction. Tears pricked his eyes. “You, of all people, will not betray him.”

  “You speak the truth there,” John Howard said. “Some worthless curs may be considering betrayal; there are many I’d not trust as Dickon is forced to; but I’ll fight and die beside him. A curse upon all traitors! Go forth with courage, lad, eh?”

  The duke went on his way, and Raphael walked on. Strange instinct guided his feet to the tent of the Earl of Northumberland.

  None of his esquires were there challenge Raphael. The earl, Henry Percy, was in a loose grey robe that gave him look of a wading bird. His head was bent over a scroll of paper and his face was haggard with worry.

  “You will betray him today,” said Raphael.

  “What?” Northumberland’s head jerked up.

  “I’ve seen your fate. You were always jealous of Richard. You pretend to support him but intend to fail him. You hope that Henry, instead, will favour you.”

  “I don’t know who you are, young man, but if you don’t leave–”

  “Sometimes people sense their own future, a path they could have changed but chose not to. You have a hatred of crowds. Riots distress you.”

  The earl’s face turned sickly-white. A lump bobbed in the long, curved throat. “How do you know that?”

  “Anyone can sense their fate if they’re set upon a particular path. If you betray King Richard today, you will think you have a fair future. Henry will restore you to favour. In time, he will set you to collect taxes for him. No one loves a tax collector, any more than they will forget Richard. A furious crowd will pull you from your horse and murder you.”

  Livid eyes glared at him, pale as egg-white and ghastly with fear. He wondered what Percy was seeing; a madman, or an angelic messenger? The earl’s mouth worked.

  “This is sorcery. How do you know this?”

  When Raphael smiled, the earl crossed himself with a trembling hand.

  “I saw it in a dream.”

  ###

  There were fine rugs underfoot laid over canvas, lamps glowing in the grass-scented twilight. Richard stood near an altar on which shone a gold icon of the Virgin, embowered in candlelight. He wore a white shirt and a soft dark robe, his hair shining on his shoulders. His hands were folded in front of him and his face was ghostly but composed. There was something unnerving about him, as if he’d risen from the dead.

  She almost forgot Robin was with her, until he let out a loud gasp.

  He had seen.

  “Katherine?” said Richard. “Why…?”

  She went quickly to him, knelt and kissed his hand. His skin felt as lifeless as her own.

  “Your Grace, may I present my son, Robin of Lytton Dale?” Robin dropped to one knee, apparently overcome that they were actually in the presence of the king. His cheerful curiosity dissolved into awe.

  “We call him Robin,” she added. “His real name is Richard.”

  The king looked more than ever like a ghost. He stared from her to the boy, then went to him, placed his fingers beneath Robin’s chin and lifted his face.

  “Oh, dear Christ,” he said.

  He looked, Kate thought, enraged. She didn’t blame him. Then he gazed at her with plain distress in his face, and she knew that Raphael was been right. She should not have come.

  “Get up, lad, there’s no need to be afraid of me.” Richard’s voice was hoarse, but not unkind. Robin rose trembling to his feet. “How old are you?”

  “F – fifteen, your Grace.”

  “And a well-made, handsome young man; a credit to your mother.” Richard kept staring looking from her son to Kate. She wondered what he saw. A stony-faced witch who’d deceived him?

  “Thank you, sire,” she said.

  “Kate, why have you…” He looked drained, as if this last shock had completely undone him. He paused, struggling. “Robin, were you told that I was your father?”

  Gathering courage, Robin answered clearly. “No, sire. She said I would not believe it unless I saw you. She was right. She told me only that you were a great man, a Plantagenet.”

  “That was a kind description of me. Have you had a happy life, a good education?”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “He was brought up in my mother’s household,” said Kate. “He’s lacked for nothing.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” Richard went on asking him questions in the same ravaged yet warm tone. As he did so he rummaged in a large bound chest that stood to one side of the tent. Robin gave dignified answers. He spoke of his hawk, his duties on the estate. Kate was relieved that he, at least, was one achievement she could be proud of.

  Then Richard came to him with a purse of black leather. He dropped into it several large gold coins, followed by a badge; a white boar of pearl and silver, with sapphire eyes.

  Kate wanted to refuse, but said nothing. She let Robin receive the gift. Richard touched one hand to the boy’s forehead, and sighed.

  “Lad, I’m going into battle. If I win, come back to me and you’ll receive everything that a son should receive of his father. However, if I lose…” He put his hand on Robin’s shoulder, gazing closely at him. “If I lose, my enemy will hunt down and destroy every blood-relation of mine. Being my son will put you in terrible danger. If that happens, flee as far from here as you can and never reveal your identity to anyone.”

  Starkly, Kate saw the grave in the ruined church. Rustling green leaves and desolation. The man that lay there had lived a peaceful life to a great old age. Was that such a terrible fate?

  “If I fight with you, you won’t lose,” said Robin, with more bravado than conviction.

  Richard laughed. “Ever fought a battle? No. Go with the priests and clerks and watch from a safe distance. Be my eye-witness. Will you do that?”

  “Of course, sire, if it please you.”

  “Good. Go now; Geoffrey and Raphael will take care of you. I wish to have words with your mother.”

  Robin bowed again and left, his eyes swimming with joy and tears. Kate watched him go. She was past caring what the king said to her now. She’d done what she came to do.

  She looked down at the rugs. Suddenly Richard was in front of her, so close he made her jump.

  “Why bring him to me now?” His voice was low, rough with anguish.

  “To give you something to live for!”

  “Or to undo me completely. I marvel that Lady Beaufort didn’t think of such a scheme herself.”

  Kate stood dumb, chewing the edge of her tongue. She hadn’t expected Richard to react so passionately; but what had she expected?

  “The last thing I wanted was to distress you on the eve of battle.”

  “Well, we often achieve what we did not intend.”

  A chill ran through her. Perhaps, in Raphael’s other-world, it was this that had distracted Richard so much that he’d lost…

  She said stiffly, “I thought this would give you joy, not grief.”

  “How could you not tell me?” He opened his arms and the sleeves of his black robe billowed. “How could you never, in all these years, tell me?”

  Her throat closed. “Pride.”

  “You know I would have helped you.”

  “I wanted no help! No payment. What would have been the point? Robin just another noble bastard, and I a cast-off, to be kept away and yet controlled in how I may or may not order my child’s life? W
e did not want him taken away from us!”

  “All the chances you have had to tell me… you kept him secret.” He groaned. “I have to admire your fortitude. You are a well of secrets, indeed. Did anyone know?”

  “Only my beloved and long-suffering mother. Oh, and the Countess of Warwick.”

  “Anne’s mother knew? How?”

  “She saw us often enough to learn of my plight. She advised my mother on how best to deal with it. Robin was brought up as the natural child of a serving woman. By the time I told him he was mine, he’d already guessed.”

  “He must have been distressed.”

  “At the deceit?”

  “Yes.”

  “No. He’s a bright boy. He understood, and was pleased.”

  “As sanguine as he was to learn that I fathered him? He seemed less surprised than I would have expected.” Richard’s tone was gentler. “A composed boy.”

  “Perhaps it wasn’t a great surprise. I suppose any child who doesn’t know its parent likes to imagine that they are the son of a king, or the lost daughter of a queen. How better to make a sweet romance of your own life?”

  “Still, I’m only flesh and blood, Creator knows, and more riddled with wickedness than most of my peers, according to the rumours. I can think of nothing to say, Kate. I stand on the eve of the destruction of my kingdom, thinking that the universe has been so thoroughly wrenched inside out that nothing more can happen; and you slip in and change the world again. How could you not say anything?”

  “But what was I to do?” she snapped. “I couldn’t speak while your wife lived. Distressed and hurt Anne to no good end?”

  “She was a gentle and tolerant soul. It wouldn’t be first sin of mine she’s forgiven.”

  “So she had enough to tolerate, without me adding to her woes,” Kate said under her breath. “I had no wish to be another youthful indiscretion, a mishap to be paid for her trouble, hustled away to a nunnery or quickly married off to some squire who didn’t mind damaged goods. Damn that for a way to exist!”

  “Iesu.” He stepped back, pinning her with unblinking, astonished eyes. “Yes. I understand. I prefer to think I would not have treated you in that way, but…”

  “But you would. So there it is. You have a handsome, healthy son you didn’t know about. I hope that when you’ve stopped railing at me, you will be pleased.”

  He cupped his elbows, lowered his head. His dark hair fell forward. A thought fleeted through her that she would never touch his hair again; and even knowing that, she didn’t dare try. An invisible barrier stood around the king like a column of flame.

  “Kate, dearest friend, pleased is not the word. I cannot speak. I should be overjoyed. I am. Or I would be, if it were not on this night of all nights. If I weren’t so aware of Anne and my Edward already out there in the dark, waiting for me to join them. Perhaps the joy is sharper for that. It cuts me instead of soothing me. And I can’t afford to weep before battle. Afterwards, that’s the time; but not now.”

  “I was afraid to wait until afterwards.” Her voice nearly failed.

  “So little faith in me?”

  “No, but I travelled far enough with Raphael to share his fear.”

  “Don’t fear anything, Kate.” He spoke gently, looking straight at her. “Whatever happens is the Almighty’s will.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “I needn’t to remind you, I hope, of your promise not to use sorcery on my behalf?”

  “I won’t break my promise unless you release me from it, sire,” she said tightly. “I only hope that your enemy has extracted a similar promise from any sorcerers on his side.”

  “Sharp as ever.”

  “Of course, there are none of my sisterhood among Tudor’s supporters. One of his first acts will be to destroy us. I’m sure he can’t wait. You may not approve of us, but you have protected us. You are our only hope of survival. Yet you won’t let us aid you in return?” She moved as close to him as she dared. Although Richard stood with folded arms making a barrier, all his attention was on her. “If Tudor wins, it will be the end of us, the sisterhood who tend the land. He has the support of churchmen who’ve been trying to destroy us for years. Henry the Sixth encouraged them; your brother Edward was kinder, but too lazy to forbid their attacks. I misread you. I thought you’d be on the bishops’ side, yet you have curtailed them. I don’t know why, but I’m grateful. But now they can’t wait for Henry Tudor to unleash them again.”

  His eyes were deep, dark slots. “Kate, you have no need to lecture your king on this matter.”

  “I’m not saying it for selfish reasons. I’m sorry there isn’t time to make you understand. Auset the Dark Mother is the land’s spirit, the heart of the earth that gives us food, life, everything…”

  His eyes widened as if he did, after all, understand.

  “The sweating sickness.”

  “Sickness, discontent, betrayal. All symptoms of the disease. If we withdraw from her, she withdraws from us. Everything that afflicts your kingdom is the struggle of the Earth to be heard. If she isn’t nurtured, if she’s ignored, she’ll wither away.”

  He turned from her. He swayed, but caught himself on the back of a chair. “If it’s blood sacrifice she wants, no doubt there will be many before the sun is high. Is that it – a sacrificed king, so that the land can heal?”

  Her eyes blurred.

  “That’s not what I said.”

  Although Kate denied it, dread rolled through her. Perhaps that was exactly what the Dark Mother wanted. The spilled blood of a king, in payment for the desecration that was to come. Was that all Richard was, a sacrifice to hungry powers? She felt the Earth tilting beneath her, leaning towards an unwelcome dawn.

  “I should be glad to debate this with you, Kate, if we were sitting in the garden of some palace on a summer’s evening, with nothing to disturb our peace. But I’m standing on the edge of an abyss and it makes me a poor philosopher. All I wish you to understand is that this battle must be decided fairly. That is, by my own strength or weakness, not yours.”

  “I understand.” She swallowed the ocean of words that wanted to flow out. He was a warrior. In the face of battle, she would have no time for this, either. “I never intended to interfere, and I won’t.”

  “I know your intentions are good.” The hint of a smile on his mouth was like light falling on her. “You’ve been the kindest of friends to me, although I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

  “I never gave you a chance to deserve it. I’ve been a thorn in your side.”

  “The sort that only hurts if you tear it out.” He turned towards the tent flap. “Thank you for bringing Robin to me. I’m glad I saw him, if only once. If I win, bring him to me in Leicester. If not… keep him safe.”

  His stance altered subtly, directing her to leave. He was saying goodbye. She stiffened, feeling desperate; hating to leave him, but knowing she must. He was a king steeling himself for a life or death battle and couldn’t afford sentiment. Even that small acknowledgement of friendship was more than she’d hoped for.

  “All the blessings of the Dark Mother be with you,” she said. “Creator bless you and guard you.”

  He nodded silent thanks. His whole life was in the strained pallor of his face. He stood on the lip of the abyss, calmly ready to leap in. He looked deathly yet radiant, like an immortal.

  “Raphael told me something strange,” he said. “Even if my enemy wins the day, I’ll be avenged. My name will never be forgotten. I suppose even infamy is preferable to obscurity. I pray you remember me kindly, Kate; for few others will.”

  She passed out of the tent and let the flap fall, cutting off her last sight of him. The night seemed immense; its cold breath filled her. She stood dry-eyed but breathing hard, as if the whole sky had crammed itself into her chest.

  Inset. Into the Dark

  The steel curtain slams down. Richard is gone from us.

  The end is coming and I’m afraid. I don’t w
ant to live through it but I must. The image of that last battle-charge, that final rash gamble, his death-plunge. One night it actually wakes me up with a jerk, like that falling sensation just as you’re dozing off. I’m gasping in denial. No, no, don’t do it…

  It’s over. Yet I can draw him back, into my mind, my dreams, my writing. Into my bedroom where he visits me with a dark, hot fever, but never with any answers.

  Fin and I sit on her bed together, drinking. I am dreamy, idly describing the spiral paths of my parallel world. Fin is sharply analytical.

  “Why am I so fascinated by him?” I ask. “It’s because of that streak of uncertainty. Because he’s not a saint.”

  “Would you still love him if he were definitely guilty?”

  I half-choke on my merlot. “Love?”

  “Whatever you want to call it. Answer me. Do you, and do his adherents, need him to be innocent of child-murder so that you can love him with a clear conscience?”

  “Well…”

  “Which came first, the discovery of a terrible injustice followed by devotion? I put it to you that it was the other way round. Fascination first, and the quest to prove innocence after the fact.”

  “Not guilty!” I say. “No, Fin, I’ve never tried to prove anything. Why should have been a saint, when none of his family was? Perhaps he was innocent, perhaps he made one terrible mistake. I don’t think I should tie myself in knots trying to exonerate him; just accept who he was. Only we don’t know who he was, really.”

  “And that’s the attraction,” Fin agrees. “The mystery, the darkness. And why not?”

  We clink our glasses in a toast.

  In the next breath she says, “I know exactly who he is.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’re quite right in saying you can’t touch the real Richard. Your nocturnal visitor isn’t the real Richard. He is the other half of you.”

  My mouth falls open. Light dawns. “Ah. My… animus?”