“What happened back there?” Rob wondered aloud as he wolfed down a pigeon pie. “Has our former patron committed treason? He has taken up arms against the king.”
Richard shook his head and cradled his cup of ale. “It seems Warwick would rule the king who would still rule the kingdom. He does not see himself as traitor, I’ll warrant. What I need to discover when I reach London is if the council is for Warwick or for Ned. If Jack Howard is there and active, then I cannot believe he sanctioned Warwick’s actions. But we don’t know. We could ride into a trap and end up in the Tower. Then I am of no use to Ned.” He chewed on his lower lip. “I need some time to think—and get a message to Howard.”
Rob was concerned for his friend. Like Richard, Rob had learned to put his faith in the earl of Warwick for many years. Now it seemed the earl was wanting complete control of the government with a puppet for a king. And, worse, the man appeared to also be pulling the strings of Richard’s only other brother. It was a catastrophe, Rob thought, and he doubted Richard knew how or was influential enough to play politics.
And Rob had another concern. He knew Richard could be rash when he lost control of a situation. He had seen it at Middleham when Richard had accused one of his fellow henchmen of letting Traveller loose while Richard was in the tiltyard. The dog had disappeared for hours, and Richard despaired of ever seeing his faithful friend again. The accused youth had been seen near the kennel where the wolfhound was kept, and Richard had flown at him in a fit of rage and given him a black eye. He would not even hear the henchman’s protestations of innocence, he was so distraught. After searching in the village and surrounding fields, Richard eventually returned only to find Anne standing sheepishly with Traveller next to the kennel. She had “borrowed” him to keep her company in her chamber for the afternoon. Master Lacey had censured Richard for his rash behavior and made Richard curry the abused victim’s horse for a week.
Richard was certainly not in control now, so Rob decided to step in. “Who can you trust to help, Richard? You cannot do this on your own.”
Richard shrugged, despondent. “I seem to only have you.”
Rob suddenly snapped his fingers. “I have it! Your mother! Duchess Cecily! That’s where you should go,” he cried, pleased with his solution.
Richard lifted his head and his face brightened. “You are right, my friend,” he answered, slamming down his empty cup. “Few would think to look for me at Berkhamsted. Mother spends her days in prayer and has not been seen at court since Edward’s Mary was christened two years ago. I will send John Parr ahead to warn her of our coming.”
Enjoying feeling like a child again, Richard gave himself up to his mother’s maternal ministrations. He was not surprised that she already knew of Edward’s capture by Warwick. Ever since she had been widowed, Cecily had learned to think and act independently, and using spies was not beneath the duchess to protect her family.
Cecily motioned to her son and his friend to sit. When Richard sat across from her at the table, she smiled. “You cannot imagine how like your father you are to look at, and he always led with that chin, as well. When you walked in just now, I could almost have thought it was my dear lord, may he rest in peace.” She was glad to see Richard’s face light up at the compliment. Her startling blue eyes now roamed over Richard’s tired body and once again settled on the minuscule rise in the right shoulder. Only a mother or a lover would notice the list, and Cecily determined to consult her physician while Richard slept.
“You need rest, Richard, and you too, Sir Robert. You both look as though you could do with a hot bath and soft bed.” She nodded to her young page. “Remove their boots, Harry, and then find my chamberlain.”
Soon the two young men were devouring fresh trout, jugged hare and custard tarts at the table in Cecily’s solar. “I had forgotten how much boys eat,” Cecily said, chuckling. “My ladies and I have the appetites of sparrows, I confess. Comes from growing old, I suppose.”
Richard smiled fondly at his mother. “You don’t look a day older than when you birthed me,” he teased, although he found the widow’s wimple that hid Cecily’s glorious hair too severe. He whispered behind his hand to Rob, “She is nigh on fifty-five, you know.”
Cecily feigned a reprimand. “Enough of your flattery, young man. Certes, wheedling a meal from your old mother is not the reason for your sudden arrival. You need my advice, I warrant, and I shall freely give it.” She frowned. “Edward was not one to take it, but then you are not Edward.”
“Nor charming George,” Richard added quietly, “and now not-so-charming George.”
“George will wave in whichever direction the strongest wind blows, my dear Richard. If there is one thing I have learned in my dotage, it is that we all spoiled that boy. But he is the least of your worries at present. He will do whatever Warwick tells him; thus it is my nephew of whom you must beware.”
As if I did not know that already, Richard thought, but he held his peace. Was he wasting precious time being cosseted at Berkhamsted? But then Cecily allayed his doubts and demonstrated why her husband had so often counted on her common sense and intelligent insight in times of crisis.
“Warwick may have the respect of the common people, but he does not have that of their leaders—the nobles, if you will. He has not wooed them to his side the way your brother has these ten years. They see Warwick as power-hungry, arrogant, and a turncoat, and wonder where it will all end. He is a fool if he thinks he can rule through Edward, and he is a fool if he thinks that he can murder him, win the hearts and minds of Englishmen and then put George on the throne.” She paused and requested wine. “It is curious the man does not seem to want the crown for himself, is it not? But it is as clear as a day in May to me he wants it for his daughter.”
Richard gave a low whistle and replenished Cecily’s cup. “Isabel. Of course. So he believes, if he disposes of Ned, he can rule through his daughter and thus through her husband—George.” It suddenly occurred to Richard that Warwick had been planning this coup for a long time. “How blind Ned was—I was,” he admitted. “I have known about the plan to have George wed Isabel for more than a year. I kept turning a blind eye.” True to his nature, Richard took the blame. “I should have warned Ned sooner, but I trusted the earl.”
Cecily patted his hand. “Your loyalty to your lord was admirable, Richard. But ’tis good that you now know where those loyalties lie. Your father would be proud,” she told him, “as am I, my dear boy. But for the present, I shall send you both to your bed. Sir Robert…Rob, I bid you a goodnight. I would have a last word in private with my son.”
Richard cocked an eyebrow. “What is it, Mother?” he asked as Rob took his leave.
Cecily came around to where he sat slouched on the bench. She gently put her hand exactly on the rib protrusion, and he froze. “Since when have you had this affliction? I am your mother; did you think I would not see?”
Richard moved away from her touch, ashamed, but he knew her concern was genuine. He rose and walked to the window. It would be a relief to talk about it, perhaps. Kate knew, but she had not questioned him. When he was with her he forgot about it. Now, he took a deep breath: “For a year or more I have felt something was amiss. Rob noticed one day after our exercise, but it was when I needed harness before last yuletide that I became concerned. The armorer told me it would have to be bespoke due to the slight curve.” He turned, stricken. “I fear God has forsaken me, Mother,” he admitted suddenly. “I have tried to be righteous, I have attended to my prayers and the scriptures, but there is no doubt that I am crooked. Is the Devil in me?”
He was unprepared for his mother’s fierce embrace and gave in to its remembered comfort.
“Never use Lucifer’s name in this, Richard, I beg of you,” Cecily said when she eventually loosed him. “It is a dangerous thing to say, and if you have enemies in life, they will surely use it to bring you down. You will see Doctor Cooke in the morning who is sure to be able to fit you with some sort
of brace that will help.” She did not mention the other remedies Constance had described many years ago, including a contraption like the rack that had sometimes been employed for spinal ailments she had seen while studying in Padua. “We must not question why God has chosen to afflict us,” Cecily soothed. “You are the very model of a good man and must put guilty thoughts aside.”
Cecily’s mind raced back to the hour of this son’s difficult birth, but with Constance and her favorite midwife at Fotheringhay present, Richard had been born healthy, if a little small. She thought of all the times George had knocked him down as a boy, wrestled too hard, tied him to a tree as a “prisoner” in the games he played with the older boys. Then there was the time Richard had fallen off a hay wagon and landed hard on his backside. He had complained of pain for a week or so but was soon running and climbing as before. Surely these were normal incidents in a family of boys, she reasoned, and not to blame for Richard’s crookedness.
Cecily turned him around. “With a little more padding in your pourpoint here,” and she smoothed the quilted back of the jacket, “the bulge will not be noticeable. And I promise I shall tell no one, except the doctor.”
Richard nodded his thanks. “And pray for me, Mother. I ask that you pray for me.”
“Aye, I shall. Remember, Richard, God tests the faith of those he loves the most. Take heart.”
The doctor’s plump fingers probed Richard’s back for several minutes, tut-tutting as he went. They were behind a screen in Cecily’s solar with the duchess plying Dr. Cooke with a myriad of questions, the most embarrassing of which was “Will he be able to sire children?” He wanted to cry out: “I already have, Mother!” but he thought it wise to keep his mother in the dark about his romantic life—he was certain it would elicit outrage in his prim parent.
“I am afraid the…ah…the affliction,” the doctor settled on a less ugly word, “is too far grown for a brace to make any difference, Your Grace,” he explained to Cecily, as though Richard were not there. “I can try, but I do not guarantee it will lessen the….ah…the outgrowth.” He stared with medical curiosity at the upthrusted ribs attempting to burst through the skin on the underside of the scapula and forcing the right shoulder higher than the left. “I can concoct a potion to slow the growth of your bones, my lord, but it will affect all of them.”
Richard paused before deciding. “I am low enough to the ground already compared with my brothers, so I will decline your offer, Doctor Cooke. But I thank you for your expertise.” The doctor had said nothing to advance the layman’s prognosis Richard and Rob had discussed in private. Richard vouchsafed to keep his secret to a few trusted souls and shoulder the burden of hiding this defect solely on himself. He would put one of the Middleham armorers, an Italian, on his personal payroll and employ an unmarried tailor who would keep his counsel and not tattle to a wife. He hated to believe it, but women were more likely to gossip. The fewer people who knew the better.
Armed with his mother’s love and a letter from her to the steward at Baynard’s, giving Richard permission to muster men from its garrison on Edward’s behalf, Richard set out for London. He had no clear idea what he was supposed to accomplish, but the knowledge that his brother was being held against his will at Warwick’s pleasure and was counting on him was enough to plunge the young man into the first really important political enterprise of his seventeen years.
In the autumn of 1469, the kingdom was once again in crisis, and loyal Richard could not bring himself to blame it on his beloved brother although he feared it was so. History would later support him: through bad governance, Edward had lost what, a decade earlier, he, his father and his family had achieved in claiming the throne for York.
Cecily had been right. Despite his bravura performance at Olney, Warwick was unable to win the nobles or council to his side, and Edward’s seeming willingness to play the captive lulled the earl into believing the king was complacent and in his power. But suspicious of the earl’s intent and his lack of a plan, the common people, having grumbled enough at the king’s lack of governance to cause previous rebellions, now found themselves wishing for the stable authority the king had nevertheless brought to the realm. Having chosen to try and rule from the north, Warwick lost control of London and the south. Indeed chaos now ruled in the capital.
Unable to subjugate Edward—or his subjects—Warwick was forced to admit he had lost the advantage and allowed Edward to address the city elders in York and then ride on to Pontefract. It was a mistake. On that bright morning in September, as Edward rode up to the fearsome fortress, its ten tall towers and double bailey wall straddling a craggy hill, the small Warwick party was confronted by a sizable force led by William, Lord Hastings and Richard, duke of Gloucester.
“Well met, brother! And Will!” Edward called, spurring his horse towards them. “I am right glad to see you—and you too, Jack Howard,” he cried, spotting the portly Howard grinning from under his raised visor. He shouted more loudly for the benefit of a disconcerted Warwick, “It seems I am prisoner no more,” and as a few cheers rose from those crowding the battlements above, he smiled and waved. Then he turned and bowed to his captor. “I thank you for your hospitality, cousin,” he joked, “but I am for London with my trusty youngest brother and Lord Hastings. I must undo the mess you have wrought in my forced absence, my lord, and bring law and order back to my kingdom.”
What now? Richard thought. Would London make Edward welcome again? After seeing the city in such disarray in the few short weeks when he was gathering support, Richard was not sure. Ned needs to change his ways. Pray God he has learned his lesson these past months. And, he wondered, what would be Warwick’s punishment?
Once safely on the road south, he asked. Edward’s answer was unexpected.
“We shall reconcile with Warwick once we have regained control of the government,” the king told him. “Warwick has taken his revenge on his enemies, so I have heard, so it will not be an easy task, but I am determined to be a better governor, and he and I shall be reconciled.”
Richard was astonished. “After he took revenge and executed Elizabeth’s father and son?” Something stopped him from remarking that a vengeful queen would not be eager to talk reconciliation. Besides, look where your last attempt got you, Ned, he thought.
Hastings, doubtful that Edward would succeed yet admiring him for trying, asked: “And what of Clarence, my liege? Will you make your peace with him as well? If I may say, he deserves to be horsewhipped at the very least.”
Edward sighed. “George is my brother and still young, Will, so I must forgive him. Nay, it is Warwick who’s to blame, in truth.” He neatly slapped a fly on his hand and it fell, squashed, to the ground. Will muttered that he would have dealt with the arrogant, traitorous earl of Warwick in the same way, but Richard thought George should be the fly. “My cousin now knows where he stands, I trust” Edward continued. “It is by my side as loyal councilor, or else he will be stripped of any power and isolated. But I am determined upon reconciliation. After all, we all desire the same thing: a peaceable kingdom with a York upon the throne.”
“Not just any York, Ned,” Richard rejoined. “You are the only rightful king.”
Edward grinned at his brother and eased his horse closer. “I have had time to think while idling at Middleham. I discovered you certainly made your mark, Richard. Young Anne dotes on you as do half the servants, so as soon as we are back at Westminster, I am naming you constable of England. Since my father-in-law’s untimely demise, the position lies vacant.”
Richard almost fell off his horse. “Me, Your Grace? But what have I done to deserve the honor?” A flush of excitement colored his cheeks.
“The more I heard of you at Middleham and the more I have watched you these many troubled months, the more I could trust you. Loyalty must be rewarded, and this is your just due.”
“I know not what to say, Ned, except that,” and he put his hand to his heart, “I am your very true and loyal servant
.”
By November, the king was in command of London once more, and he would spend the winter months regaining the trust of his nobles. Astonishingly, not only did the earl of Warwick meekly agree to reconcile along with Clarence, but Edward did not even punish him.
“A mistake, if I may say so,” Jack Howard confided to Richard as they sipped wine by Jack’s fireside at Tendring. “You can see the bitterness in Warwick’s face. I would not trust him with any task that sent him even a mile from where I sat. He likes not his new minion status after tasting the power of the crown.”
Although Richard had doubts about his old mentor, he knew the earl was, at heart, a decent man. Certainly his actions in the summer were not those of a trustworthy one, however. And George… He shook his head. “I pray to God daily that my brother George has learned his lesson. Why he believed Parliament and the people would have accepted him as king with Ned still alive, I cannot imagine. I would love to know how Warwick had planned to bring that about?” He looked at Jack in horror. “By murdering Edward? Surely not?”
Jack chuckled. “My lord of Warwick may now look a fool, but he is not that foolish, Richard.” He now chose his words carefully. “Have you ever heard any untoward rumors about your brother Edward’s legitimacy?”
Richard was aghast. “His legitimacy? You mean his legitimate birth or his kingship?”
This Son of York Page 27
