This Son of York

by Anne Easter Smith

  Richard eyed with interest a youth quietly standing behind Warwick waiting to be presented. Richly garbed, an ostrich feather bobbing from a jewel in his velvet bonnet, his demeanor at once told of a confidence that could only come from his nobility. In truth, as Richard was to discover, the lad was rather shy.

  “My lady, this is Sir Francis Lovell, or more formally Baron Lovell,” Warwick informed his wife, bringing the boy forward. “He will join our household and train for knighthood with the others. The king has graciously given me charge of him.”

  Francis bowed and kissed the countess’s hand. “My lady.”

  “You are right welcome, Francis. These are our daughters, Isabel and Anne.” The countess watched as the dark-haired youth bowed to both girls before adding, “and this is our cousin, Richard…” she broke off amused as Francis eagerly finished the salutation.

  “…of Gloucester. Your brother, His Grace the King, told me to seek you out particularly.”

  The warm smile and enthusiastic greeting made Richard like Francis immediately, and he grasped the boy’s outstretched hand. “My brother was right to advise you thus, my lord. You will find a fine welcome in Yorkshire. The Lady Anne is kindness itself.” He saw the recipient of his compliment smile and demur. “How did you leave my brother?” he asked.

  “Your brother is as headstrong as ever,” Warwick suddenly snapped, startling Francis into silence and causing the countess to wince. “Isabel, Anne, see to making Lord Lovell at home.” He watched as the girls took Francis in hand followed by the long-suffering countess, then he glared at Richard and jerked his head towards the smaller of the two solars in the earl’s apartments. “I would speak with you, my lord.”

  Richard had hoped to escape to his dormitory and did not like Warwick’s formality. What now, he thought, as he dutifully followed his lord into the sparse solar that served as Warwick’s office. The earl frowned as he realized his steward had not readied the room in time for his master’s arrival, but he flung himself in the only chair, used the arm to prop his head on his hand, and left Richard awkwardly standing and fidgeting.

  Richard waited. After a few moments, Warwick raised his head and looked wearily at him. “Your brother has betrayed me yet again. He has made me look a fool and for all his pleasant rhetoric about wanting my counsel, his sops—like putting Lovell in my charge and giving me more estates, shows he cares not a whit for the work I have done to ensure his place on the throne.” He then rose so quickly, Richard took a step back expecting a blow. Instead, the earl brushed past him and went to stare out of the window.

  “Because I value your loyalty to me and because of the friendship you have forged here with my family, I must tell you that I believe your brother is on the wrong course.” Turning to face Richard, he confirmed, “Edward is in danger of becoming a tyrant, of not listening to those who are more experienced. His dismissal—nay, his contemptible treatment—of Louis’s ambassadors was foolhardy. I am so close to a treaty with France because Louis trusts me, but he will now not trust Edward. France is a far more dangerous enemy to England than Burgundy, believe me. Oh, and while I was in France, Duke Philip died, conveniently sealing the tentative plan to have Charles marry your sister. As the new ruler of Burgundy, widower Charles needs a new wife—not to mention a male heir.” He muttered something about fate that Richard did not catch, but then the earl continued with his indictments. “As well, your brother is not dealing with the lawlessness in his kingdom, and ’tis no wonder rebellions are beginning to erupt. God’s bones, but he acts like a boy!” he cried. “All brawn but very little brain.”

  The earl turned back to the window, his hands clenching and unclenching behind his back. He was weighing how much to tell the young Yorkist duke, but he could not reveal his hand yet. He needed this boy on his side if he were to regain control of the king. And if not, well then, he had other plans.

  “Not only did the king undermine my work with Louis by treating with Burgundy, but while I was gone on his business, he also signed a treaty with another of Louis’s enemies, Francis of Brittany. Arrogant folly!” Warwick reached his hands either side of the casement and gripped the frame. When he spoke again, he was shaking with anger. “But most disturbing of all for me and my kin is that he removed my brother George Neville from the chancellorship last month. There was no reason for it, I warrant, and I am certain he only did it to spite me.”

  For all he was still unversed in the politics of the court, Richard was surprised by this news, but he did not believe his brother had no reason. He remained silent waiting for the earl to involve him in some way. As he gazed at Warwick’s back, he briefly noted the window panes in this lesser-used of the Neville castles were still of polished horn and thus distorting Warwick’s view—not unlike his perspective on Edward, Richard mused. But then, if he were honest, perhaps he did not know his oldest brother very well as yet, and perhaps Warwick did. Was Warwick right about Edward? It did seem to the thoughtful Richard that his brother was deliberately pushing Warwick away. But why, after all the earl had done for his king? For the first time, Richard allowed himself real misgivings about Edward’s character.

  Warwick swung round to face the wary Richard. “I think I have earned your loyalty, have I not? All of your family’s loyalty if the truth be told. You know I want the best for York, don’t you, Richard? Your brother George does,” he inadvertently divulged. “He sees the unrest in the country; he sees the way the hated Woodvilles have usurped my proper place at the king’s side; and he believes in my ability to bring peace to this troubled realm. Talk to George, he will tell you about Edward’s indiscretions and how many other magnates are grumbling at his lack of judgment.”

  By now Richard’s eyes registered his horror. Had he heard wrong? The earl’s words were tantamount to treason. Was he expecting Richard to agree with him? Was the earl lying about George’s support? Surely his brother would not turn on Edward; he might be vain, self-absorbed, and disaffected, but George was family. Richard’s mind thrummed with questions, but his tongue suddenly did not seem to work although his mouth tried to move. Unfortunately, his silence led Warwick to believe Richard was in accord and emboldened the earl. “I want you to think on all of this, and tell me true: Might England be better off without Edward as her king? After all, there are two more-deserving York brothers to take his place—with my help.”

  Now Richard’s knees went weak, and he sank down onto the vacated chair. “Wh…what are y…you su…suggesting?” Dear God, was that feeble squeak mine?

  Warwick decided he had planted the seed deeply enough for one day; he would wait until Richard saw the sense in his argument. He took Richard by the shoulders and said kindly. “’Tis a lot to digest, I know, Richard.” He raised the youth up and said, almost as to a child. “Why don’t you go and find young Francis Lovell and make him welcome in the henchman dormitory. He could not do better than have you as a mentor; you have all the makings of a great leader.”

  Richard was dumbfounded. In a shake of a lamb’s tail, the earl had dared to speak treason and then, as though he had just remarked upon the weather, he had flattered his young charge so deftly as to make Richard disbelieve what he had just heard.

  Richard pulled slowly away from the earl’s grasp, executed a bow and removed himself from Warwick’s presence without a word, revealing none of his feelings, now truly in turmoil. But the jut of the York chin and icy stare as Richard left the room registered the intensity of the young duke’s fury. Treason would not win Richard to Warwick’s side.

  His head spinning, Richard descended the spiral staircase to find Francis Lovell. He almost knocked Anne over in his hurry, who was mounting the stairs to deliver a message from the countess to her father.

  “Why so pale, Richard? Have you seen a ghost?” Anne enquired, smiling. “There is one in this castle, you know.”

  Richard was in no mood to play big brother to Anne Neville and tried to get by with a weary, “Not now, Anne,” but Anne stayed him wi
th her hand.

  “So Father told you, didn’t he?” she whispered, looking for anyone coming up behind her. “He told you, didn’t he, that he and George have appealed to the Pope to help George marry Isabel?”

  Richard froze. “What?”

  Anne dimpled. “And if the Pope says yes, Father says he wants you and me to be married, too.” Her pert smile vanished as she watched Richard’s face fade from pale to furious white. “Are you all right, Richard? I thought you’d be pleased.”

  “For the sake of our friendship, I shall pretend I did not hear what you just said, Anne. Now, pray excuse me.” And shaking off her hand, he brusquely pushed past her and sped down the stairs out into the balmy evening air.

  Sweet Jesu, Warwick is seeking dispensation in secret against Edward’s barring of the marriage, he thought. Should I believe Anne? Surely the earl would not get away with such a flagrant defiance of the king’s command. The trusting boy in him did not want his hero to fall, and he was not yet mature enough to know that powerful nobles like Warwick would hold on to power regardless of cost. Richard had never yet experienced real power, and thus had not yet been seduced by it. Inevitably, all men of his high birth would at some time in their life feel its pull, and Richard would be no exception.

  But for now, as he went towards the tiltyard to find young Lovell and, more importantly, Rob Percy, Richard’s young heart felt as though a briar had wrapped its thorny vine around it. He faced a terrible choice. He had sworn fealty to Warwick as his lord until his apprenticeship ended, but he had also sworn an eternal oath of loyalty to his brother, the king.

  For the first time since he had come north, Richard wished himself far away from it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Autumn 1467

  Richard’s wish was answered as though he had a direct line to God. Edward summoned him to London in September, and Rob Percy was given leave by Warwick to accompany Richard.

  Warwick’s parting words to Richard were curt. “Convey God’s greetings to my cousin. Tell the king that I keep the north safe for him, but there are many disloyal to His Grace, as he well knows, including those Percies. Here is a letter I would have you deliver.” He lowered his voice that now had a bitter edge. “I pray your brother heeds my warnings that by dealing with Burgundy and treating with Brittany, he may have trouble from Louis. He did not listen to me earlier this year, but perhaps he summons you to discover what the way of it is with me. Tell him the truth: I am his loyal subject.” He paused and gripped Richard’s arm. “And remember, you are mine.”

  “Your servant, my lord,” Richard replied, bowing. “I will be honored to do your bidding.” His face gave away nothing, but the unpleasant knot of conflict gripped his heart once more. Taking the letter, he stowed it in his saddlebag next to one Isabel had begged him to give to George.

  Petite Anne stood holding the leading rein of Richard’s horse, and as soon as her father mounted the steps to the hall, she braved: “You will be missed, Richard. When will you be back?”

  “I know not, little mouse,” he said kindly. “In truth, I do not know what my mission is with Edward. But when the king commands, I must go.”

  “I understand. And I suppose you must take Traveller, too.” Anne stroked the dog’s head, and Richard was amused that she stood not much higher than the seated wolfhound. He still saw a little girl, although Anne, who would never eclipse Isabel’s beauty, was losing her baby face and becoming passably pretty. He bent and kissed her cheek. “I shall be back, never fear.”

  Besides Traveller, the only luxury Richard took with him was safely hooded and enclosed in a cage carried behind his groom. He hoped he could show George how well he had trained his hawk Phoenix when they had time to hunt outside London; besting George at something was a priority.

  Once again, on the long road south, Richard observed with compassion the lot of the common folk. Villages with mud or wooden hovels disgorged ragged barefoot children eager for a glimpse of the finely arrayed horsemen bearing the ragged-staff badge of Warwick. Richard and Rob depleted their small coins before they were halfway to London, watching sadly as grubby fingers groveled in the dirt to find the treasure.

  Richard could not help but wonder whether Edward was governing his people any better than good and saintly Henry, who had been removed from the throne because he had failed. It was the very same reason Richard’s father had chosen to lay claim to the throne. “We did not depose a mad king to put a profligate on the throne,” Warwick had said in a recent conversation, and Richard could not shake that thought from his head: his profligate brother. How could Edward not want to help his unfortunate subjects, Richard questioned. If I were king, I would want all my subjects to have food, shelter and good laws. I would want them to know I cared for them.

  As they rode through St. Albans, the scene of two bloody battles in what was now being dubbed the “cousins’ war,” a woman—a merchant’s wife, by the cut of her clothes—threw herself in front of Richard’s horse, causing the animal to shy.

  “Gently, Strider,” Richard soothed his palfrey before calling out, “What does this mean, mistress? Are you hurt?”

  “Nay, sir,” the woman said, but she did not move.

  One of the escorts dismounted and roughly pulled the frightened goodwife to her feet. “Be off with you,” he hissed. “This is His Grace, the duke of Gloucester, now let us pass.”

  Richard heard the whispers of “’Tis the king’s brother,” and was dismayed by the scowls his name evoked. He was not exactly afraid, but his hand crept to the hilt of his shortsword as he addressed the soldier. “Leave her, sirrah!” More gently to the woman, he said. “We wish you no harm, mistress. I pray you, allow us to pass.”

  Seizing her chance, the goodwife ran to Richard’s side and kissed his foot. “Help me, my lord,” she begged, “please help me.”

  Richard frowned. He was not sure how to proceed; this was the first of such encounters for him. Protective Rob urged his horse forward. “Petition your own lord, mistress. His Grace is on the king’s urgent business and cannot help you.” He jerked his head to Richard to walk on, but Richard did not move. He looked down into the sorrowful face of the petitioner and was moved.

  “What is your trouble? Has someone robbed you?”

  The woman let go of Richard’s foot and wrung her hands in her dirty apron. “My husband is awaiting trial for cheating a customer,” she blurted. “He is in gaol and I am alone. My neighbors came and stole everything from us. There was nothing I could do. It was their right because my husband is accused.”

  Richard blinked. “It is their right to steal what is yours? I don’t understand.” He looked around at the now gathering crowd. “Where is your bailiff or alderman? Who is in charge here?”

  A stocky, bald man with an enormous nose stepped forward and effected an awkward bow. “I be the constable, my lord. What Goody Wainwright says is true. If a man is accused but not yet indicted, his goods can be forfeit because there is no bail.”

  Richard glared at the man. “Do you know who took them?”

  The constable shrugged, “Aye, but ’twere their right. ’Tis the law. Nowt I could do.”

  “Let us leave, Richard,” Rob pleaded, noting the surly expressions on the restless villagers. “There’s nothing we can do here. You heard the man, ’tis the law.”

  Observing Rob was right, Richard sighed. “Very well, but I shall look into this.” He fingered a rose noble in the pouch at his waist, leaned over and surreptitiously pressed it into the woman’s hand. “Hide this well, mistress. ’Tis all I can do…for the time being.”

  “G…God bless you, young lord,” the woman stammered as the coin disappeared somewhere into the folds of her voluminous skirts. “I shall never forget this day. May the sweet Virgin watch over you, Richard of Gloucester.” She backed away not taking her eyes off Richard as he clicked his tongue and Strider took his cue.

  It was then Richard caught sight of a young man bent almost double over a crutc
h. His back was misshapen and his face twisted in pain. Richard noticed he was shunned by the rest of the villagers, and understanding that the Devil must have somehow touched the poor cripple, he crossed himself. He shifted in his saddle, his own back acknowledging the same dull ache that was becoming his constant companion. He vowed to double his prayers every night so that whatever was causing his discomfort never reached the level of this poor fellow’s malady. He threw the man a coin and spurred on his horse.

  “I am too busy putting down rebellions to worry about changing laws for the peasantry.” Edward was condescending, dismissing Richard’s plea and stinging the youth. “Mayhap you do not realize that my arse is not yet safe upon the throne, little brother. When I know my enemies are truly vanquished, I can look at the law.” He took up his cup and swallowed the tawny contents.

  Taciturn, Richard bowed his head and went to stare out of the window at the boatmen ferrying passengers back and forth across the Thames. He had been so full of righteous indignation when he arrived and sure that Edward would ease his people’s lot, he could not now conceal his disappointment that his brother had not been moved by his example of injustice and sworn to act then and there. He would not dare suggest to this imposing king—brother or no—that perhaps it was precisely because Edward’s subjects were unjustly treated by the law that they were rebelling. Could Edward not see that correlation for himself? But Richard was not king, and, young as he was, he could not imagine the weight of responsibility that hung on Edward’s shoulders, however brawny.

  The king fingered one of the pea-sized pearl buttons on his jacket and contemplated his young brother’s back. Such an enigma, he thought, and though he had brushed aside Richard’s ardent plea, he did admire that ardor. He coaxed the dejected Richard to face him.