Anne slipped out of bed and opened the heavy shutter to reveal the dawn breaking. She hoped the light would chase away the dark demons of the night and of his dreams. She watched as Richard poured himself some wine and walked towards the daybreak, taking deeps breaths of cooling air. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?” She stroked his perspiring brow, noticing even more furrows than had been there before the news of Edward’s death had changed their lives. “You have been working too hard and have so many responsibilities, ’tis no wonder you have nightmares. I will ask the doctor for a physic to help you sleep. We do not want to see the haggard shadow of a king mount the stairs to be anointed at his coronation, now do we?”
Richard attempted a smile, and gave himself up to her comforting arms. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Anne. I do not deserve such devotion.”
“Pish-tush,” Anne scoffed. He wanted to laugh but could not; at that moment he thought he could never laugh again.
After Parliament set the date for the coronation as Sunday, the sixth of July, Richard went about his duties in a daze. He saw himself sign petitions and proclamations with his new signature Ricardus Rex; he assigned roles for the coronation; he conferred the dukedom of Norfolk on Jack Howard, and titled his son, Thomas, earl of Surrey; he bestowed honors on others who had supported him; and spent an hour with his nephews. Through it all, he was numb, barely discerning young Edward’s reserve.
The one ceremony which brought him back to reality was the taking of the royal oath in Westminster Hall. He was fully aware of the enormity of the occasion and forced himself to appear kingly and robed in royal purple. He had witnessed Edward take his oath in 1461, and Richard felt a proud connection to his brother. Solemnly seated on the marble King’s Bench, Richard was now officially named England’s chief justice. After swearing the oath, he addressed the crowded hall:
“To all my judges and lawyers, I command you all to justly and duly administer the law without delay or favor. And to you, my lords,” he addressed the barons present, “I require you, following the coronation, to return to your own estates and counties and make certain they are well governed and the people treated fairly and without extortion. It is my wish that my subjects know I am on the side of the law, and no matter if a man is rich or poor, he will receive justice.”
The murmur of approval softened Richard’s expression a little. So far, he had heard no jeers, and he began to believe he might be acceptable to the people as their king. Then he called Jack Howard to his side. “Go into the sanctuary and summon Sir John Fogge to come to me here,” he commanded. Jack looked askance for it was well known Fogge, a former Lancastrian, was Elizabeth’s closest advisor and had been on young Edward’s council in Ludlow. He had insisted on accompanying the queen into sanctuary within the first week of her fleeing there. “Tell Sir John he need have no fear of me, but that I wish to see him.”
A buzz of curious conversation greeted Jack’s departure and filled the silence while Richard waited. Within ten minutes, the portly Sir John, looking puzzled and wearing a somewhat moth-eaten surcote, shuffled into the hall with Howard at his elbow. He bowed stiffly and gave Richard a haughty stare. “My lord?” he said, refusing to address the king as “Your Grace.”
Jack was attempting to have the old man kneel, but Richard stayed him, rose from the chair and welcomed the Woodville favorite with a, “God’s greeting to you, Sir John.” Turning the astonished knight to face the crowd, he said: “You are free to go to your home and family without fear of reprisal. I would ask, however, that when you bid farewell to my brother’s widow, you will take my promise that should she, too, decide to leave the abbey, she will be welcome at my court.” Richard could no longer address Elizabeth as queen, now that her marriage had been deemed unlawful, but it would be a long time before he would demean her with her old title of Dame Grey. He may never have trusted the woman, but he believed she had been ignorant of the Butler pre-contract. That was all on Edward’s head.
Richard accepted Sir John’s surprised, conciliatory thanks. But immediately he wondered whether God could be appeased as easily? Richard could not say, but he hoped for some atonement.
Francis and Rob praised the Fogge conciliation as a brilliant signal to those dubious about Richard’s election. He was beginning his reign on a generous high note. “I pray some of his tension slackens now,” Francis muttered to Rob. “He has been tied tighter than the gordian knot of late.”
Rob grunted an assent. “He threw a cup at a lackey yesterday and glared at me when I upbraided him. And he drinks too much.”
“At least he still listens to us,” Francis said. “Instead of widening his circle now that he is more comfortable with the council, it seems he has closed it. I just wish he could see what we see wrong with my lord of Buckingham.”
“Softly, Francis,” Rob murmured. “The pompous fool may hear you, and with his undue influence on Richard, we could be sent home with our tails between our legs.”
In their eyes there was no end to Buckingham’s rise, and they feared Richard was unable to refuse the glory-seeking duke the honor of assembling the coronation procession, which was by heraldic right the duke of Norfolk’s purview. It was a slap in the face to Jack Howard, newly named to that dukedom, but Jack had amiably stepped aside. What other protocols was Richard willing to ignore to satisfy Buckingham’s ambitions?
If there were doubters about Richard’s path to the throne, it did not affect the huge numbers of visitors who poured through the city gates to enjoy the coronation festivities. Inns were even renting out stable stalls, makeshift camps were set up outside the city walls, and arguments broke out in the hundreds of taverns between well-aled customers, who had nothing to do but amuse themselves the days before the event. Richard was glad that the northern army he had sent for in a panic earlier in the month had eventually arrived, with Northumberland at its two-thousand-strong head.
Despite the Londoners’ distrust of anyone north of the Trent, they tolerated the army’s presence in Moorfields that ensured a trouble-free coronation. Who knew if the Woodvilles might attempt to disrupt the ceremony or even take the opportunity to steal into the Tower and abscond with the two boys? For this reason, Richard ordered his nephews be moved from the king’s apartments into the queen’s rooms in the well-guarded Lanthorne Tower and forbade their servants from allowing them to sport in public on the Tower Green. “At least until after London has emptied again,” Richard commanded, “’Tis too risky. Out of sight, out of mind, I can but hope.”
He and Anne went again to see the boys before the coronation, and this time both youths were ill at ease. Their guardian told Richard that the lads had received a few visitors, “including the Lady Stanley, my lord. Lord Edward said she came bearing loving messages from their mother, the queen, but I noticed a change in the lad’s demeanor following her visit. He became angry with one of the gentlemen of the chamber and demanded to be taken back to his former lodgings.”
Richard soon discovered why Edward had reacted so to Margaret Beaufort’s visit. The boy confronted Richard, boldly. “Lady Stanley and my lady mother have heard you plan to send us away. She also warned us you may want to do us harm. Would you do us harm, uncle?”
Richard was appalled. “Do you harm? Why would I want to do that, pray?” Richard asked, gently holding him by the shoulders. “Fate has taken an unfortunate turn for you and Richard, but as soon as your mother leaves sanctuary with your sisters, I will return you to her side. This I promise.”
On the day prior to the crowning, as had every king since the Conqueror before him, Richard journeyed with his court from the Tower to Westminster in a spectacular procession. Somewhere along the road through the city, he was suddenly reminded of the boyish fantasy he had had all those years ago as he rode to Edward’s coronation. No longer a fantasy, it was indeed he who was riding to the great abbey to be crowned, and he reverently crossed himself.
Anne was seated in a litter carried front and back
by two beautiful white palfreys, and all of her and Richard’s henchmen wore scarlet satin with white cloth-of-gold mantles as they rode beside the royal couple. Behind them the cavalcade stretched for half a mile, buoyed by trumpets, shawms, sackbuts and tabors as the crowds thronging the route showered flowers and cheers upon the glittering column of riders.
Instructed by Anne to remember to smile and wave, Richard was complying with effort. A little girl bravely ran out among the horses and reached up to him with a nosegay of meadowsweet and cornflowers. Genuinely touched, he bent down and said: “I thank you kindly, sweeting, but I would like my lady to have them. I pray, will you give them to her?” Flushed with pleasure from getting a word from the king, she scampered back to Anne’s litter with her gift. Anne took the bouquet with a smile, inhaled the sweet scent, and then asked one of the henchmen to lift the little girl into the litter beside her. The spontaneous gesture was greeted with a roar of approval from the Londoners. On turning to see what the fuss was about, Richard once again praised the Virgin and her mother, Saint Anne, for having given him the consummate consort.
Putting one bare foot in front of the other, Richard trod the cold, ancient flagstones of Westminster Abbey almost in a trance. Flanked by two bishops, he could see the archbishop of Canterbury and other clerics awaiting him and Anne at the end of a long tunnel of dazzlingly arrayed guests. Unlike the poor showing of nobles at Edward’s coronation, Richard’s was attended by every one in the realm, with the exception of those few who were minors. He heard the sublime voices of the choir raised in the Te Deum as if indeed they were far away in heaven, but the only thoughts crowding his brain were of how much he did not deserve this supreme honor. Aye, despite the many times he had bared his soul to his confessor and done penance for it, nothing could take away his dread of hellfire for committing a mortal sin; the guilt of Henry’s death would always suffocate him.
But there was no turning back. So he kept his eye on Bourchier and somehow reached the high altar, upon which were laid the ampulla filled with anointing oil and its accompanying spoon. As soon as Anne’s procession reached the steps, she joined her husband in kneeling on cushions, where they bowed their heads in private prayers. Anne managed to entwine her fingers in his as Cardinal Bourchier addressed the congregation.
“Sirs, I here present unto you King Richard your undoubted king: Wherefore all you who are come this day to do your homage and service, Are you willing to do the same?” Richard was startled by the shout of “God save the king” from a thousand throats. He rose to acknowledge his people’s affirmation and take the coronation oath, which, at his insistence, was in English for the first time.
It was not until he was seated in St. Edward’s beautifully gilded throne with the heavy crown placed on his head that Richard truly appreciated the sanctity of his new role. “Dear God, save the king,” he pleaded, watching Anne being anointed beside him. “I pray You protect my family, and I promise to wear this crown with all honor and do my duty.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
July 1483
July was stifling in London, and the city was stifling Richard.
The first thing he did after the coronation and its following feast was to pack up his household and move down the Thames to Greenwich, away from any threat of plague. The Palace of Placentia was indeed a pleasant place to live with lawns running down to the widening river. It had been Elizabeth’s favorite residence.
As the oarsmen expertly guided the royal barge to the familiar wharf, Richard recalled his time there fondly while he had waited for King Edward to send him to Middleham. He also remembered it was the last time the three youngest York siblings had been together. They had all been so young and innocent in those first months of Edward’s reign. Now George was dead and Meg, the dowager duchess of Burgundy, was far away in Flanders. Richard suddenly wondered if the news of Rivers’ execution had reached his sister, rumored to have had a dalliance with the handsome earl. Another person to hate him, he mused with resignation. The longer he was king, the more that number would grow. He sighed.
For the first time in a week, Richard sat down to eat in the privacy of his own small hall with Anne and Harry as his sole companions. Still showing favoritism to Harry, Richard had given him the added titles of great chamberlain and constable of England and promised him the enormous earldom of Hereford, making Buckingham, in all but name, king of Wales. Ironically, he did not fully trust Harry, but he needed him. Besides, Harry knew how to get things done.
With Howard now duke of Norfolk, Richard felt East Anglia was his, Stanley was strong in the midlands, and Northumberland could be counted on in the north. It was only in the south and southwest where Richard lacked a following, and he hoped by good governance to bring those provinces around as well.
Anne was complimenting the garrulous Harry for carrying off the coronation arrangements with aplomb, and they gossiped about some of the lords and ladies present at the festivities. Richard retreated into himself as he twirled the goblet carefully in his fingers watching the burgundy liquid spin. He was remembering a sweet moment during the presentations at the feast when he had come face to face with Kate again. He had indulged his daughter’s request that her mother sit with her to watch the crowning, and she was presented to him afterwards.
Anne suddenly reached out and touched his left hand that was resting on the spotless linen cloth, and he looked up guiltily, as he did whenever thoughts of Kate trespassed on his mind. “Working on another problem, my love?” she asked, gently. “Come, why don’t you leave those headaches for tomorrow. Harry is our guest and deserves some of your attention. He is tired of my appraisals of everyone’s gowns, are you not, Harry?”
“Your taste is impeccable, my dear Anne, and so matches my own,” he boasted. He turned to Richard. “Is there aught I can help you with, Cousin? I have spoken with Lawyer Lyneham about Jane Shore’s punishment, and her penance will be carried out next Sunday.”
Anne gave a little gasp. “Penance? Punishment? What kind of punishment? And for what? You told me there is no evidence of witchcraft.”
“Aye, that appears to be the case,” Richard said, his face darkening. “But she must pay for her harlotry. Not only did she lead my brother a merry dance, but she went straightways to Hastings’ bed as soon as Edward was in the ground.”
Anne winced at Richard’s crassness, but she knew how much he blamed both Hastings and Jane Shore for Edward’s demise. “What is her penance then?”
At Richard’s hesitation, Harry gleefully enlightened her. “She will walk the streets barefoot around St. Paul’s in naught but her shift and carrying a large taper. All of London will bear witness to her shame.”
Anne said nothing. She stared at Richard, her eyes revealing her disappointment in him. She rose. “Goodnight, Harry. I hope you find your chambers comfortable,” she said and excused herself.
Richard’s gaze followed her from the room, knowing there would be more to say later. For now he changed the subject. “What do you know of Morton? I hope you have a good guard on him at Brecknock? I do not want him to have any chance to communicate with the Beaufort woman.”
Harry smirked. “Fear not, Richard. His lordship of Ely is well guarded and, isolated as my castle is in the Welsh hills, he can have no contact with Lady Stanley. By the bye, it was a brilliant idea of yours to allow her to carry Anne’s train at the coronation. If anyone believed that you suspected she was involved in the Woodville plot with Hastings, showing her such favor would have surely dispelled those ideas. It was a signal honor, and her husband was mightily pleased.”
“Have I ever told you that I would not trust Thomas Stanley to take off my boots?” Richard replied, pouring himself more wine. “We must watch him and his wife carefully. Remember, she is the mother of the so-called claimant to the throne, albeit my brother was astute enough to exile the brat to Brittany.” Richard sipped the ruby claret, savoring its sun-drenched bouquet.
“Henry of Richmond is no threat
to you, Cousin. The Beauforts, by decree, cannot inherit the crown. You have more to fear from your brothers’ sons than that Tudor spawn.”
Richard stopped mid-drink and put down his cup. “My nephews? Why should I fear them? I am king because they cannot be. What nonsense is this, Harry?” Richard pushed his cousin to know why he would even mention the boys.
Harry poured more wine. “I know Stillington swore they are bastards, but suppose Dorset succeeds in securing them and whips up sympathy for their cause. There are still those who believe you were seeking the crown from the moment you took Edward at Stony Stratford and that Stillington was paid to lie.”
“Christ’s nails!” Richard exclaimed, rising from his chair. “I thought we were long past those rumors. You do believe Stillington, don’t you? You were there when he came. I believe him, because Edward’s lust makes that pre-contract with the Butler woman plausible. Did you know, by the way, that Elizabeth held him at knife’s length before she got his promise to wed? If it weren’t so tragic, ’twould be funny.”
“I do believe Stillington, Richard, but there are enough who do not. Those boys are your blood and thus your greatest threat.”
“Well, my lord Buckingham,” Richard snapped, tired of the subject, “what do you expect me to do? Maybe you could, but I can’t murder my own flesh and blood!” Hadn’t Henry shared his blood? Christ, it always returns to Henry, he thought. He gripped the silver goblet hard and focused on the present. “Should I send them away—somewhere secret until my reign is more established? I do not want England to face yet another civil conflict.” He looked directly at Harry. “Aye, mayhap that is what I should do. When Anne and I are well on our progress, and London is quiet again, it would be easy enough to send them somewhere remote. Now that Brackenbury is constable of the Tower, he must know a safe place north of the Tees to house them.”
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