“Do not think I did not hear you, brother. I did—and I do. But I am certain you are curious about my summons, are you not?” He was pleased to see Richard turn, his expression eased. “Let me be plain. I have called you south on your own to ask what you can tell me about my lord of Warwick’s plans. He removed himself from London so quickly, I suspected he was fomenting a rebellion of his own.” Edward grinned. “I am jesting, in truth. ’Tis not that bad, I trust?” But the lack of an immediate response claimed Edward’s attention. “Is it that bad?”
Richard shook his head. “He is your loyal subject,” he said, fulfilling Warwick’s command. He was relieved that the summons was for nothing that he had done wrong, but he was unsettled that Edward expect him to act as his spy. While he was under Warwick’s patronage, surely Edward knew that Richard owed some loyalty to the earl. What really confounded him was whether he should reveal Warwick’s marriage plans for George and Isabel. What if Anne were wrong? Richard might look foolish to have listened to her; after all she was only eleven. Nay, he would hold his tongue until such time as he could verify the information. “He still believes you are wrong to treat with Burgundy and not with France,” Richard offered.
Edward snorted. “Aye, that is the gist of his letter to me,” he said, slapping the parchment on his lap. “Warwick does not see that he is but a fly in Louis’ web. I refuse to be drawn in, especially when I heard the Spider was entertaining the She-wolf at the same time as the earl was supposed to be doing my business in Normandy. Did he tell you that?” He unfurled his long legs and rose to his feet. “I cannot believe that was a coincidence.”
Richard was shocked. “Warwick and Queen Margaret? You must have it wrong, Your Grace. Warwick may feel slighted but he is still a staunch Yorkist. As is his brother, Northumberland.”
“My lord of Gloucester is right.” Will Hastings had entered the room unannounced, startling Richard. Richard was surprised how free and easy the chamberlain was with his king, although he knew Will was Ned’s confidant. Richard had seen Will several times in the king’s presence, but always in public. This was the first time he was witnessing the camaraderie between king and servant in private. “They are loyal to York, especially Northumberland,” Will continued. “We would have lost much on the northern borders if not for John Neville.”
“And yet another Neville turned his back on me last summer, and I had to remove the Great Seal from him, remember?” Edward snapped back. “That Neville blood is as thick as the heather that covers their damned moors. I have no doubt that if Warwick turns, the others will follow.”
“If I may say again, Your Grace,” Will soothed, pouring his friend some wine, “my lord of Warwick is your loyal councilor; he is a proud man ’tis true, but he will do what is right for England.”
Edward shrugged. “Aye, I believe he is loyal to England. In truth, possibly more loyal than my ambitious brother, George. I am not sure I trust that boy as far as Richard here could throw him.”
Richard started. “George? He may be vain but surely he’s no dissembler,” he offered, feebly. He wanted to be fair, but even if he could forget the many slights and betrayals he had suffered at George’s hands in their childhood, should he betray his brother now? What of the meetings he knew had taken place between the earl and George? And the secret letters between Isabel and George—one he was keeping inside his tunic at that very moment? This was more serious, and he had no proof. The imaginary scales in Richard’s head teetered from one side to the other before he chose to hold his tongue for the second time in the meeting.
“I hope you are right,” Edward mumbled into his well-padded jacket and, disappointed that Richard had no private information to share about Warwick’s plans, he took a swig of wine and changed the subject. “How do you find my baby brother after three years in the Yorkshire dales, Will? Has he not become quite the handsome young man?” His lazy blue eyes smiled at Richard. “Have you discovered the joys of the fairer sex yet? You are not a man until you have, dear boy. Aha,” he said, chuckling. “Look at those rosy cheeks; I warrant you have tasted such joys. Who is she, Richard? Your king wants to know.”
“I thank you for your interest, but your brother does not wish to reveal the lady. ’Tis unchivalrous.”
Will and Edward laughed heartily but wisely chose not to embarrass the lad further. When Richard’s mouth was set in a line with his creased chin jutting out farther than usual, it was pointless to persist. “Stubborn,” Edward had told his queen more than once, “Richard of Gloucester is stubborn.” But Edward liked what he saw in the fifteen-year-old youth. He was growing into a man. The gray eyes were intelligent, steady and looked at him almost with adoration; the nose had grown with the man and was unremarkable; the mouth was a little thin and straight, giving its owner a sober mien; his hair had lost its childish blond and was now a rich brown, curling below his ears. He is passably good looking, Edward decided, especially when he smiles. He would never stand as high as he, Edward, or as Edmund, but he might surpass George. He felt at ease in Richard’s presence, and he felt that he could trust this youngest York. In truth, the king was pleased to have his brother home. Edward would win him over into keeping an eye on Warwick, he was certain.
“Speaking of George, where is he?” Richard asked. “I thought he would be with you.”
“He is probably consoling Meg at Greenwich. She is desolate that she cannot marry Anthony Woodville.” Edward chuckled at Richard’s startled, “Oh!” “She seems to have developed an infatuation for my striking, book-loving brother-in-law, who is, fortunately for England, married. She will have to marry Charles of Burgundy and seal that important alliance, and there is an end to it.” He winked at Will and said behind his hand, “’Tis rumored Charles likes soldiering more than wenching. Spends nights in tents with his men. Poor Meggie.”
Sir John Howard was announced, and Edward rose and went to greet the older man, an experienced soldier, king’s councilor and one of Edward’s knights of the body. He clapped Howard on the shoulder, a startling gesture for a king but Edward had won people to his side with it. “Sir John, I give you God’s greeting. What brings you from your new wife’s bed?”
Richard was embarrassed for the man, but Sir John merely chuckled.
“You sent for me, Your Grace,” the stocky Howard reminded the king.
Edward pulled Richard forward. “So I did. Richard, do you know Sir John? He’s too modest to say, but he is a distant cousin of ours (albeit on the bastard side).” Edward guffawed, and the councilor’s mustachioed face broke into a grin of its own. “He tends to enjoy his Suffolk estates more than I would like, but when he is with me, he is one of my most trusted advisors, and you could do worse than be mentored by him.”
Richard was puzzled; was he not already mentored by a far more powerful noble?
Jack Howard bowed low over Richard’s hand. “It gives me great pleasure to meet you, my lord duke,” he said. “Your brother thinks highly of you.”
If Richard’s cheeks had been rosy earlier, they grew fiery now. “I am flattered, Sir John,” he answered. “I shall heed his grace’s advice and learn what I can from you.”
Anticipating his sovereign’s every wish, Will handed Edward a goblet of wine just as the king said, “Christ’s bones, but I need a drink. Come Jack, sit with us. I would ask that you take young Richard under your wing while he is in the south and see that he gets into no mischief. Then I will send him north again to see which way the wind blows, if you get my meaning.”
Jack acknowledged with a nod. “With pleasure, Your Grace. I will be leaving Stepney—my London residence,” he informed Richard, “for Suffolk on the morrow. Perhaps it would amuse Lord Richard to accompany Lady Howard and me. We could do some hunting.”
Like it or not, Richard had to obey the king. He had hoped to spend time with George and Meg. Instead, applying diplomacy of his own, he smiled. “I should like it of all things, sir.”
And so, the very next day, Richard set o
ut with Rob and the Howards on a journey to Stoke by Nayland in the bucolic, wooded county of Suffolk, ostensibly to enjoy the hunt with his host. It would prove to be one of the most significant journeys of his life so far.
Compared with the formality of the Warwick household, Jack and Margaret Howard entertained the royal guest and his friend comfortably and with the friendliness of a host and hostess who treated the youths as they would their own sons. On the third day of Richard and Rob’s visit, the boys were left to their own devices while Jack Howard went to Ipswich on business.
After enquiring of Lady Margaret if they might hunt, they set out early that morning, making for the extensive forest to the north of the Howard’s residence of Tendring Hall, with their two grooms and several hare hounds from the Howard kennels. Richard stroked Phoenix’s lustrous plumage as they bade Margaret farewell.
“We shall bring back something for the larder, madam, I promise. Wish us good hunting,” Richard called, waving.
“Go north and keep to the main path, or you might get lost,” Lady Margaret warned them, pushing a wayward strand of hair under her coif. How happy Jack had made her when he had taken her to wife after two miserable marriages, and now she was expecting his child. “Why do you not take Jack’s groom, Wat, with you? He knows the forest.” But being as headstrong and fearless as young men were, they waved off her offer, grinned at her motherly advice, and cantered up the drive. It would come as no surprise to Lady Margaret that by early afternoon, they had strayed from the path and lost their way.
At first Richard was unaware of their wandering for several miles, because the game was so bountiful. Rob felled a deer with his crossbow, a weapon he had become renowned for at Middleham, and Phoenix had delighted Richard by taking a hare the first time the bird was sent aloft, and an hour later the raptor had surprised an unlucky quail.
The huntsmen had ridden through several copses and crossed several clearings following another deer, but it was when they entered a particularly dense grove of trees that the two friends had to admit they were lost.
“’Tis Suffolk, not the wilds of Scotland,” Rob said cheerily, “I shall go this way and find a path, never fear. You stay here and listen for my horn.” A hare skittered out of the underbrush and, without thinking, Richard snatched the hood from Phoenix’s head. Immediately seeing its prey, Phoenix began bating, impatient to be off Richard’s wrist. Untying the jesses and flinging the bird aloft, Richard watched the elegant bird soar high above the tree tops, the telltale tinkling bell dangling from its leg.
“Christ’s nails! What a fool,” he muttered to himself. Had he not been taught that one should only release a hawk out in the open?
“Ho, Rob! Where are you?” he shouted. A wail from Rob’s horn gave Richard a clue, and the dogs began barking and running in its direction. Twenty yards farther, Richard bent over his horse’s neck to avoid a low branch and found himself in a clearing, unaware Rob and his groom were already there staring at a young woman attempting to hide behind her flaxen-colored horse.
Intent on reclaiming his falcon, Richard had eyes only for Phoenix, who had snared and dispatched the hare in its powerful talons, daring the dogs to come a beak’s length closer. Richard whistled the bird back onto his wrist, hooded him and praised him before realizing he was not alone.
“There you are,” he said, nudging his mount to join Rob.
It was then he saw her.
“Who is this?” Rob preempted Richard’s own question and moved his horse closer, forcing the lovely young woman to back up into the woods, pulling her horse with her.
Richard sidled his mount between Rob and the anxious girl and assured her they would not harm her. Huge amber eyes gazed up at him with an intriguing mixture of fear and defiance, and he felt a strange jolt of recognition. Or was it something else? It was similar to the pleasurable rush of blood he used to experience when he looked at Isabel, but this seemed to take the wind from him. He drank in the wild mass of bronze hair, the freckles on her straight nose, the generous mouth, and the long fingers clutching her jennet’s leading rein, and he was entranced. He had thought Isabel beautiful, but she was but a spring windflower to this summer rose.
He found his voice again, telling Rob, “Leave her be. Maybe she knows the road to Stoke.”
It seemed Richard’s calm reply quelled her fear for she suddenly smiled at him. Again a flash of recognition allowed him to smile in return. “Do I know you, mistress? I am…” He was about to give his formal title when something made him hesitate. Would it make her uneasy or, worse, run away? He wanted to stay and take in the beauty of her for ever. However, sensing Rob was about to reveal his identity, he quickly introduced himself as Dickon, “and this is my friend Rob. I confess we are lost. Perhaps you can help us.”
He was right; plain “Dickon” unbound her tongue.
“I am called Kate. Katherine Haute, an it please you, sirs.” More at ease now with the two young men, she chattered on about being new to the county, having recently arrived from Kent with her husband.
Husband? The word took Richard aback. Kate looked only about a year older than he was—about Isabel’s age, he thought, although her figure was more fully formed. It also meant she was spoken for. Spoken for? What am I thinking? Judging by her clothes and her lack of escort even by a groom, she was obviously beneath him socially, so why should her status matter? His mind was sorting out these details until Kate mentioned a name he recognized.
“Martin Haute? Is he not a retainer of Sir John Howard?”
Kate nodded eagerly, happy to have recognition from this kind, good-looking youth. Richard’s first instincts had been correct; he had encountered Kate Haute before somewhere, but he could not call it to mind. Kate, on the other hand could; she remembered he was not plain Dickon, but Richard, duke of Gloucester, who had heard her sing the night of King Edward’s coronation. She was not, however, about to spoil the excitement and confess. Agreeing to lead them back to her husband’s home in Chelsworth a mile from where they were standing, she assured the two young men her mother-in-law would put them on the right road to Stoke.
Richard was elated. The ride to Chelsworth would give him more time to observe this enticing creature, and, transferring Phoenix to his groom’s glove, he dismounted to help Kate back onto her horse. Before he could remount his own palfrey, Kate wheeled hers round, and plunged back into the woods.
It was all Richard and Rob could do to keep up with her, as she galloped across meadows, her mane of hair streaming behind her, until a modest manor house on the edge of a village emerged in the distance.
“I’d follow her anywhere, wouldn’t you Richard?” Rob said breathlessly, a gleam in his eye.
His friend nodded silently, and, as though in a daze, he muttered, “and I must.”
Although he did not yet know it, fifteen-year-old Richard Plantagenet had fallen in love.
Before dispatching Richard north again, Edward had signed a treaty of perpetual peace and league with Burgundy, lifting the trade restrictions on Burgundian goods coming to England, and signing Margaret of York’s marriage alliance with Charles the Bold. It was the most overt slap in the face to the mighty earl of Warwick Edward had yet dealt, and Richard did not relish facing his patron with this news.
Edward’s actions may have pleased Burgundy, but they incensed the London merchants. And when Duke Charles failed to revoke his father’s edict against the importation of English cloth, as Edward promised them Charles would, their faith in their king was lost.
Thus, it was an even more hostile countryside that Richard and Rob had to face on the road home. He was glad of the armed guard Edward had sent to accompany them.
Riding north through the gold and brown of autumn, Richard put the politics of London behind him and could not help but see Kate Haute in everything he observed. He likened her hair color to the bright auburn clouds of robin’s pincushions, her eyes to the amber beechnuts, her merry laughter to the many babbling brooks the riders f
orded, and her singing voice to the larks which rose high above the meadows. And he hadn’t, until then, even cared for poetry.
Rob was, at first, amused by his companion’s infatuation, but then he became weary of hearing the paragon’s name. “Aye, she is a beauty. Aye, she has a pleasant manner—although methinks she talks too much—and aye, I think she was taken with you, too, but I pray you, stop prattling on about her or I will continue north home to Scotton and leave you to ride to Sheriff Hutton alone. You cannot pursue her, so what is the point?” Seeing the expression of dejection, Rob, as he was always able to do, made Richard laugh then by recalling the moment when, back at Chelsworth Manor, they had eventually revealed their true identities to Philippa Haute, Kate’s mother-in-law. “Did you see her eyes? They were as big as communion plates,” Rob said, chuckling. Then poker-faced, he declared: “It was hearing that you were a duke and the king’s brother that made Kate turn her attention from me to you.”
Richard launched a glove at his friend, whose groom scrambled off his horse to retrieve it from the dirt. “Liar! She only had eyes for me from the first moment,” he retorted. “But I promise to stop talking about her—at least for five minutes.”
They shared a laugh and urged their mounts into a faster canter. The long ride was getting tedious, and they longed for strong Yorkshire ale, some deliciously smelly cheese, and a soft bed. Hardy northerners were wont to sleep under hedgerows when on the road, using their saddlebags for pillows, and although Richard now looked on himself as a man of the north, tomorrow night, God willing, they would find themselves in the luxury of Sheriff Hutton castle.
“What do you think Warwick is hatching?” Rob asked later, when they had slowed to climb a steep hill, jarring Richard out of his reverie about Kate. “I heard it said at Westminster that he had had audience with exiled Queen Margaret in Rouen. Is it true, do you know?”
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