This Son of York

by Anne Easter Smith

  Harry shrugged. “Why don’t you leave it to me to arrange. You have enough to occupy you before you set off.”

  Richard nodded absently. “I would be very grateful.”

  On his way to Windsor, where the court would gather before setting off on the progress, Richard took a detour to Chertsey Abbey. Shooing away the shoeless pilgrims from the modest tomb Edward had given King Henry in 1471, the abbot groveled his way in front of Richard when he was told who the plainly dressed man was riding up with several escorts. Richard gave the monk a weighty purse for the upkeep of Henry’s grave and begged to be left alone with the former king’s remains. He was not surprised by the number of pilgrims gathered there, as the abbey had become a shrine to the pious monarch, with even a miracle or two credited to Henry.

  Waiting until the church was emptied, Richard prostrated himself in front of the cold, gray, stone tomb. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” he began aloud, but fearing eavesdroppers, he fell silent. Forgive me my dreadful sin, he begged the king. A day does not pass that I do not think of what I did. You are with the angels and have left me with hell on earth and worse to follow in Lucifer’s domain. I pray that you will intercede with Almighty God for mercy, for I cannot believe He has forgiven me.

  An hour later, he emerged into the July sunshine and the queue of pilgrims fell on their knees in deference. As he went to retrieve his horse, he heard a man say to his neighbor: “A bit of a short-arse for a king, ain’t he. And crooked into the bargain.”

  Richard winced, but kept walking.

  The noisy, colorful cavalcade stretched along the roads and lanes of England for miles, following the new king as he showed himself to his subjects. Leaving Windsor on the twentieth of July with an impressive array of bishops and nobles, Richard was buoyed by the welcome he received as they passed through hamlets and villages and on to towns like Reading and Oxford. Having watched how Edward used pomp and ostentation to his advantage, Richard spared no expense on his jewels and clothing nor on his generosity to the towns he lodged in. In Woodstock, where, discovering that Edward had annexed a large tract of public parkland for his own hunting enjoyment, Richard returned the land for the use of the people once again. It was one pleasure of kingship, he thought, that he could redress some wrongs.

  On those first days of his travels, he could truthfully say he was happy for the first time since consenting to be king. The delight and enjoyment of others who feasted at the many banquets he funded or who benefited from his gifts to the cities enhanced his own good humor. The king’s party was entertained by Francis at his luxurious ancestral home, Minster Lovell Hall, alongside the pretty River Windrush. It was Francis who rode alongside him most days, Buckingham having taken leave to remain in London until the progress reached Gloucester. On the night Richard rested at the hall, he created Francis viscount as well as chamberlain of the king’s household and chief butler of England.

  “I am greatly honored, your grace,” Francis publicly declared, but later in private he admitted to Richard, “I am overwhelmed.”

  Richard grinned. “It is the least I can do for one who has never let me down, Francis. I should be thanking you. As soon as Rob joins us, I will tell him he is to be my comptroller of the household and thus keeper of the privy seal. I think he will be pleased. I need my friends close.” He helped himself to wine and stretched out his aching body in a high-backed arm chair. “I confess I am bone weary already. This progress is more exhausting than doing battle. But I am pleased with our visits so far. What do you think—and I pray you be honest with me.”

  “Then I shall be frank, Richard. When you are without Buckingham, you are easier to be with and, if I may say, you make better decisions. I still wonder why he chose to remain behind as he does enjoy showing himself off, you have to admit.”

  Richard was startled but attentive. “He is doing my business,” Richard said, but gave no explanation. “So, he irks you that much, Francis? Do others feel as you do? I did not realize I indulged him or behaved any differently around him. I have to admit that I benefit from his influence with council, you must see that, but I will consider your advice about my judgment. Bad judgment makes a bad king, and I aim to be a good king. I hope you believe that.”

  Francis nodded. “I do, Your Grace. But there are times when I—and certainly Jack Howard—have felt pushed aside, not by you, but by Harry. I would just ask you to be cautious in your favor with him, ’tis all. Your position now is strong, but…”

  “…there are those who call me usurper, I know, I know,” Richard finished for him. “I need Harry to hold Wales strong for me, so giving him the Bohun Hereford estates seemed like a good idea. But I will take your words to heart, Francis, and watch myself with Harry. I thank you for your honesty.” He lifted his cup in salute. “Here’s to Gloucester on the morrow. I have proudly carried the name for all these years, and I hope the citizens will welcome me, despite my absences of late.”

  “You should have no fear of failure there, Your Grace,” Francis assured him, “Gloucester will welcome you with an open heart.”

  Gloucester was to mark the end of the honeymoon of Richard’s three-week reign.

  The day began benignly enough with a walk along Ebridge Street to the market place where trumpets sounded his arrival and the mayor and aldermen knelt to their duke, now king. After several florid speeches of welcome, Richard addressed the crowd at the High Cross in his pleasant tenor.

  “I would not be standing here today if your mayor and aldermen had not barred the gates to Queen Margaret’s army a dozen years ago. Loyal to me as your duke, they obeyed my desperate request that she not be allowed access to the city. That action allowed my brother, the late King Edward, to array his troops at Tewkesbury instead of the more difficult and destructive military maneuver of besieging this city. For this I must thank you all, and in gratitude, I have granted your city a charter of liberties.” A roar of approval met this statement, for the people knew that the arbitrary taxation and fines carried out by kings before Richard would no longer apply to Gloucester if it had its own charter. He also offered the mayor money to distribute among the citizenry, at which the mayor, consulting with his aldermen, declared: “We will not accept the money, your grace, for we would rather have your love than your treasure.”

  When Richard asked: “Is this true?” he was gratified by the unanimous shouts of “Aye!” from a thousand throats. “Then you have my undying love always,” he declared.

  It was an hour after the feast when the duke of Buckingham was announced, surprising Richard, who had withdrawn to his private office in the castle. Richard rose to greet his cousin with a smile and a slap on the back. “I am right glad to see you, Harry. I was not expecting you. I hope all is well or has London Bridge fallen down?” he joked, but seeing how flushed Buckingham was and that he was clearly withholding some news, Richard asked, “What is it?” and sat back down in his chair. This time it was Harry who took to pacing.

  “You remember our conversation about removing your nephews from a possible rescue?”

  Richard nodded. “We talked about sending them north, and you were going to speak with Brackenbury. I trust you communicated this plan to Sir Robert, and that he has a solution?”

  Harry lowered his voice to an excited whisper. “Better than that, your grace, you need never again worry for your crown. I have taken care of the boys. They pose no threat to you anymore. They are with God.”

  They are with God.

  As the awful truth sank into Richard’s brain, the smile vanished from his face and, as the bile rose, it turned his color to a green-gray and his eyes to blazing orbs of fury. “Are you mad!” he cried in a hoarse whisper. “Did the Devil himself spawn you? The boys cannot be dead. They were under my protection,” Richard rose and menaced his cousin, who stared at Richard aghast. Richard grasped Harry’s arm and jerked him as far from the door—and unwanted ears—as he could.

  The bigger man, Harry threw off Richard’s hand and felt for
his dagger. “I did it for you, Richard. I did this for you! I thought ’twas what you wanted,” he cried. “You said you could not kill your own flesh and blood, and that you wanted me to kill them. You told me to take care of them. Good Christ, I thought you would be pleased.” Sweet Jesu, he could see from the murderous look in Richard’s eyes that he had read his cousin wrong. He desperately tried to think of something clever to say, but his silver tongue betrayed him into a babbling of excuses and blame. “It was Brackenbury’s idea,” he finally lied in desperation.

  Outraged, Richard propelled the bulky Harry into the garderobe out of anyone’s earshot. “Sit down,” Richard commanded, and pushed Harry onto the wooden seat. “Do not lie to me,” Richard threatened. “Brackenbury would never risk his eternal soul by sanctioning or committing such an act. But it seems you would, my lord. Now tell me exactly what you have done.”

  Little by little Richard coerced from the nervous duke the details of how he had so easily taken possession of the boys, being that he was the mighty duke of Buckingham and was acting on the king’s orders. Thus who would not have believed him? Richard listened in horror as Harry described duping the boys with a story that he was sent by the king to rescue them from people who wanted to harm them, and that their Uncle Richard would protect them. Richard gasped at the lie. His nephews went to their deaths believing he had ordered this atrocity. Dear God, how much more could he take? But for his nephews’ sake, he would hear the whole sorry story. He grasped the neck of Harry’s doublet. “After you lied to them about me, what then?” he demanded.

  Harry forced Richard’s hand away. “I had to lie to get them to come. Besides, ’twas not a lie,” he retorted. “You were going to send them away.”

  “Not without a proper, carefully devised plan sanctioned by the council,” Richard snapped. “You acted alone, my lord.”

  Harry tried again to turn the tables. “It was a misunderstanding, cousin; I thought I was acting on your orders.”

  Richard snorted. “Enough of your excuses. Continue with your execrable story.”

  Harry stared at the floor as he related how he had hurried the boys away in the middle of the night in a small boat and rowed them to a wooded place upstream from Westminster. “I knew those woods were thick and no one would hear or find them. I urged them to rest under a tree as we had a long journey the next day…”

  So outraged, Richard had to interrupt. “Those poor children. They must have been terrified. What kind of a monster are you? And you a father yourself! Go on, give me the rest of it. God help me, I am listening.”

  “I swear they were not afraid. Edward believed I was taking them to Wales—to safety—and he calmed his brother. Said it was an adventure. When they were asleep, I…er,” and he was barely audible now, “…I smothered them, took off their rich clothing, covered them up with ferns and branches, and rowed back to the city.”

  Richard slid down the wall to a sitting position, his head in his hands. For the first time since taking the reins of state, he felt powerless and utterly alone. Appalling images flooded his mind of the boys enduring the same terror and blind panic he had known with George and the cushion, and seeing the abandoned bodies of his brother’s children either decaying or being eaten by animals. In disbelief he asked, “You did not even bury them? How cruel and how stupid. Someone will discover them, and you will be found out.”

  A gleam of hope made Harry lift accusing eyes to Richard and he rose from the debasing seat. “But I will tell them I was acting on your orders, Your Grace. That I was merely your instrument. Do you know how many who already think you usurped the crown will believe me? I warrant a lot.” He was not prepared for how swiftly Richard could move until the fist hit him square in the face, and he fell back onto the seat clutching a bloody nose.

  For once Richard knew Harry was right. What was he to do? He alone was responsible for raising up his cousin to lofty heights. All had witnessed that the two were hand-in-glove from the moment they arrived in London from Stony Stratford with young Edward. Harry had been a comforting voice and right-hand man since then, and he had welcomed his only royal cousin to his side. So who would believe that Harry had acted on his own? No one. And if he did accuse Harry, very few people would believe the two of them had not planned this heinous act together. Why else would Buckingham have stayed behind in London and not taken his place on the progress? He could hear the accusations now: “They have murdered innocents,” and he put his fingers in his ears. It would be his word against Harry’s, for surely Harry would swear Richard had been complicit. Had he really led Harry to believe he had intended such a monstrous act and would have issued such an order? Nay, surely God knew he had never had such an evil thought.

  He stood over his cousin staring at him with new eyes, knowing now he had been wrong to trust Harry so blindly. The image of little Richard wriggling in his sleep to catch a breath as Harry held his hand over the pert nose and cherubic mouth sickened him so painfully that he had to puke. He shoved Harry off the garderobe seat and vomited down the chute.

  Buckingham crawled out of the confined space and was attempting to stand, when Richard once more pinned him against the wall. “Christ’s nails,” he spat in Harry’s bloody face, “I trusted you, and you have betrayed me.” He grasped his cousin’s elegant jacket and pulled him closer. “Hear me well, my lord, for this is what you will do. You will leave immediately and finish what you started, you monstrous murderer of children. Do not return until you have properly disposed of the bodies, do you hear?” Harry nodded obediently, and Richard released his grip and walked past him into the office. “God damn you, Harry,” he lamented, “you have made both of us complicit, and thus you have consigned both our souls to hell. God knows I shall never rest again.” He pointed to the door. “Now, go! Get out of my sight!”

  Nobleman that he was, Harry held a kerchief over his nose and left the room in a dignified manner, but he seethed. Hadn’t Richard secretly desired the boys’ deaths? Harry had not enjoyed the act of killing them; in fact it had been repugnant. But he was an ambitious man, and if the two brats were a threat to Richard’s crown, then they were a threat to Harry. Richard should be grateful to him for taking on the task, not insulting him. He was a royal duke after all and did not deserve such treatment. As his self-esteem fell, his resentment mounted, and once out of the city gates, Harry did not hesitate. He urged his horse into a gallop and took the road west to Wales and home, ignoring the royal order to return east to bury the boys. “Let them rot,” he said into the wind.

  Inside, Richard was slumped in a chair weighing the enormity of the crime his cousin had committed in my name, he bemoaned. The murder of innocents was the most heinous of sins, so the scriptures taught. Even worse than regicide, he never needed to remind himself. He imagined his own little Ned being so callously smothered, and he groaned. He rose and locked the chamber door, not wanting to be disturbed while he knelt and prayed for the souls of his brother’s sons.

  He remembered young Edward’s telling words from their last meeting, asking, “Would you do us harm, uncle?” Richard shook his head violently at the memory. Nay, Edward, I swear I never meant you harm, so help me God. But no comfort came, and he knew he did not deserve any. God had truly forsaken him. His chest heaved with dry sobs as he begged his brother’s forgiveness. They were gone; Edward and Elizabeth’s beautiful young sons were gone.

  Francis was glad when Rob Percy joined the progress as they approached the great abbey at Tewkesbury, where Richard had a mass said for the souls of George and Isabel, buried together in the Clarence vault. Contemplating George’s ugly death did not lighten Richard’s black mood, but he thought how fortunate George was that he had died before Edward left England in such scandalous turmoil. And now I have Edward’s sons’ souls to atone for, Richard reflected somberly.

  “How long has he been like this?” Rob asked Francis as they waited outside for Richard to emerge. They stared south across the fields where, a dozen years befo
re the decisive battle took place that vanquished Lancaster once and for all, or so they had thought then. The prince of Wales, Edouard, had been killed fleeing that field and was buried somewhere inside the majestic church. It was said George of Clarence had killed the prince himself, and if so, then there was irony in both men lying side by side in death.

  “It began the day Buckingham arrived in Gloucester then just as swiftly departed. Richard locked himself in his room for several hours, and I was told the duke had ridden off in a fury.” Francis shook his head. “Richard has not made mention of Harry since. It is passing strange.”

  Rob chuckled. “Good riddance, I say. How long have we wished the clown would be humbled? Perhaps Richard finally saw through his guise. He knows our opinion of the duke, and mayhap he spares himself an ‘I told you so’ from us. ’Tis as well we go to Warwick next. I have seen to it that the queen is comfortable there, and she awaits Richard eagerly.”

  “Anne will buoy his spirits, I have no doubt,” Francis agreed. “And Richard will be even happier when Ned is reunited with them, although I wish it were sooner than a month hence.”

  When they asked, a few days later, if Buckingham would catch up to them, Richard gave a terse response.

  “Perhaps,” he said and mounted his horse.

  Richard had never been happier to see Anne, and she was elated to have such a positive effect on her husband. The first night of feasting at her father’s favorite castle was boisterous, full of music and laughter, helping Richard to relax and his two friends to breathe more easily.