Treason

by Meredith Whitford

  Looking stunned Warwick said, ‘I am afraid I don’t agree, Ned.’

  ‘No? He’s had four years with you. What he hasn’t learnt in that time he never will. Time he gets some Court polish and sees the workings of government for himself. Should anything happen to George, which heaven forfend – ’ a glint in his eye, he crossed himself – ‘Richard would be my Heir Male.’

  ‘Yes but – ’

  ‘You’re not saying he has not learnt enough?’

  ‘No,’ said Warwick sadly, ‘he is one of the best I have ever had.’

  ‘Well, then! But it is time now for him to learn other things. He can return to London with me tomorrow. Martin too, of course, and any other particular friends, they can be his Squires of the Body, he’ll need his own Household.’

  Besides any covert ambitions, Warwick was genuinely fond of Richard. ‘It is a sudden change, Ned. Give him another year. What’s a boy his age to do with himself at Court?’

  Edward smiled into Warwick’s angry eyes. ‘All the usual things, I daresay; all the usual things.’

  Four

  1469

  And so to London. From Margate, Edward had to gallop straight off to the west to deal with the troubles there. ‘So your first official duty,’ he told Richard, ‘will be to escort the Queen to London. George will be with you.’

  ‘Enchanté,’ Richard said blandly, and Edward gave him a doubtful look.

  The Queen preferred to travel in a litter rather than on horseback, so other than providing a gracious presence whenever we halted, our duties were not onerous. Soon we fell back and rode with George. He was very quiet, almost worryingly so, but after some miles’ silent riding the reason came out. He missed Margaret.

  They had always been very close. Margaret loved her brothers, but where Richard had had me, George was rather odd man out in the family. He hadn’t much knack for making friends, and Margaret had from an early age taken him under her wing. I think that because her marriage came so late – she was twenty-two – George had let himself believe it would never happen, that he would always have her.

  ‘Do you think Duke Charles will treat her well?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course.’ Richard leaned over to grip his brother’s hand. ‘I’ll miss her too.’

  ‘Yes, well, but you’ve been up in the north for so long, you’ve hardly seen her, it’s different for you. You know what Mother’s like, she refuses to listen to gossip, says what cannot be cured must be endured, loyalty to Edward comes first... Meg always listened, she understood.’

  Listened, perhaps, but didn’t always agree: almost her last words to Richard had been, ruefully, ‘Try to keep George out of trouble.’

  ‘I’m glad you will be at Court now, Dickon,’ George went on. ‘I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but you’re my brother. It’s awfully lonely, you see.’

  ‘Lonely?’

  ‘Yes. You’ll see. Edward never has time for one.’ I thought to myself: Edward might if one were a little more conciliatory.

  ‘All he cares about is the Queen’s family and their cronies, that woman has Edward right under her thumb, he’s as hen-pecked as any simple-minded peasant.’

  We were riding amidst George’s own people, but just the same I said, ‘Your Grace, have a care!’

  ‘What? Oh, there’s no danger, my people know what I think. Not that I would dare say anything like this where a Woodville could hear me. You’ll see. It is all the Woodvilles and their cronies, all these new people, Edward never has time for anyone of the old blood.’ He went on like this for some time, and I recognised many of the phrases Warwick used. Did George ever think for himself? ‘And don’t think, Richard, that if it comes to a choice between you and one of her crowd that you can rely on Edward. You’ll see. Not that he is even faithful to her!’

  There was real repugnance in his voice, and behind his back Richard and I exchanged a glance of mingled amusement and respect. George was fickle, gullible, selfish and as slippery as an eel, but he had his mother’s devoutness and in sexual matters he was strait-laced. At fifteen he had given his heart to Isabel Neville and he was true to her. Edward’s philandering honestly disgusted him, and I wondered if this was a card Warwick had skilfully played with George.

  When we reached London – and crossing the bridge still gave me childish pleasure – George peeled off towards his own house, Coldharbour, just west of the bridge. He made a graceful farewell to the Queen, then gave Richard a kiss. ‘Watch yourself at Court,’ he murmured. ‘Guard your tongue and trust no one. I’ll come to see you soon.’

  At Westminster the Queen’s own servants and a horde of household officials came out to conduct her indoors. Dismounting, we gave our horses to a groom, then waited. And waited. At last Richard snaffled a passing page and asked to be shown to our rooms. But the page had to find someone more senior, who had to find the man who held the lists... After nearly an hour we were taken upstairs to a suite of rooms in the western part of the palace, a long way from the King’s quarters.

  Fine, gracious rooms – a small outer chamber that would do for Richard’s secretaries, another for our eventual attendants. Between them, a lavatorium and a stool-room with a modern double commode. Then, three chambers opening into one another. But all the rooms were completely empty. Bare. Disused for years, it seemed.

  ‘I’m sure Edward gave orders,’ Richard said. ‘I’m sure it is just some mistake.’ Quivering in the air were the words, ‘I don’t know what to do.’ We had always lived under orders, taking it for granted that our creature comforts would be seen to. I felt responsible. If I had not talked to Edward as I did, Richard would have arrived at Court very differently. Also, I remembered George’s warning.

  ‘Richard,’ I said, ‘you are the king’s brother. We’re no longer insignificant boys at Middleham. You’ve been insulted. Don’t lie down under it.’

  He looked at me, his blue eyes taking on the cool slatey tinge that reminded me of his father. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Always am.’

  He aimed a friendly buffet at me. I parried it neatly. It was a basic self-defence move we had learnt at Middleham, but it earned us a very odd look from the servant who came in, without knocking, to deposit our meagre baggage.

  ‘In future,’ Richard said, staring bleakly at the man, ‘please remember that I expect anyone entering my apartments to knock. And take a message to the Comptroller of the Household. Say that the Duke of Gloucester presents his compliments and wishes to know why he has been shown to unacceptable accommodation. Tell him that while I wait for him I will be in the royal nurseries.’

  When the man had grovelled away I asked, ‘Why the nurseries?’

  ‘Why not? See my nieces. And I’m damned if I’m hanging about here till it suits some official to remember he has a job to do. Come on.’

  An only child, my sole experience of a nursery was when Richard’s younger sister Ursula was born. I’d been three, and almost my first clear memory is of standing with Richard, Margaret’s arms around us, gazing down at the tiny swaddled creature in the ancient York cradle. I had taken a great interest in Ursula because she had been born on my own birthday, the twentieth day of July. Poor child, she didn’t live long; her short life bracketed by my third birthday and Richard’s. I know I wept when we were told she had gone to the Blessed Virgin, but I was too young to mourn for long. I had forgotten Ursula until now, when a senior nurse welcomed us into the Westminster nurseries.

  The lime-wash of the walls had been mixed with red oxide to give it a fetching pink shade. A frieze of birds and flowers was painted along the top of the walls, the motif being repeated in the hangings. Fur rugs covered the floor. Two lovebirds twittered in a cage near the windows. There was a child-sized table and chairs, and piles of cushions. And toys. Every conceivable kind of game and toy: a miniature castle, the front of which opened to show several rooms all fitted out with furniture; wheeled wooden animals of a size to be ridden on; toys to pull along; cunningly sewn
toys to be cuddled; dolls in sumptuous clothes and with real hair; painted wooden bricks.

  At the far side of the room a small blonde girl was riding a rocking horse, flogging it on as if towards the end of a race. Reining in, she said, ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Madam, I am your Uncle Richard – Gloucester – your papa’s brother. This is our cousin Martin Robsart.’

  Royal children learn manners early. Not two and half, this moppet said, ‘Good day to you, gentlemen. I am the Lady Eliv’bef of York,’ and held out an imperious hand. Bowing, Richard kissed it. I followed suit. She inspected us with eyes that blended her father’s grey with her mother’s brown. Apparently we passed muster, for she said, ‘You may call me Bess. Lift me down.’ Richard swung her neatly to the floor, and she seized our hands to tug us over to the table. ‘You can see my animals. That’s my sister Mary but she’s just a baby.’ Mary was much less like Edward, more Woodville in her silvery colouring, although she had the Neville blue eyes. She used my sleeve to haul herself to her feet. She didn’t seem too steady on her pins, and shyly I put my arm around her. She seemed to like that, and clambered happily onto my lap. Teething, she dribbled too much for the good of my best jerkin, but I liked her confiding way and the feel of her warm little plump body; surprised, I discovered that I liked children.

  Bess was piling toys onto the table, thrusting them into our arms. She introduced us to every last one of the things by name; I remember dolls, a rabbit, one of those cunningly jointed wooden monkeys that spin around a stick, about a dozen cats and dogs, and a rather engaging duck that flapped its wings when you pulled it along.

  ‘I’d like a real puppy and a pussycat, but Papa says I’m too young. Do you have a dog?’

  ‘Yes, two, but they haven’t – ’

  ‘What’s their names?’

  ‘ – come down from the north yet. Kenilworth and Corfe.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I named them after – ’

  ‘What’s this called?’

  ‘ – after castles. It’s an elephant.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, it just is. There was a real one in the Tower menagerie once.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Someone sent it to your papa as a present.’

  ‘Did you bring me a present?’

  ‘Now, Lady Elizabeth,’ the nurse reproved, ‘we do not ask for presents.’ Bess obviously thought we did.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t,’ Richard said humbly. ‘Next time.’

  ‘Papa always brings me presents. He’s gone away again. He fights bad people. When will he come back?’

  ‘I’m not sure, Bess. Soon, I think.’

  ‘Good. He has to go away a lot because he’s a king. He’s got a crown. So’s Mama, ’cause she’s a queen.’

  ‘Excuse me, Your Grace,’ one of the maids interrupted, ‘but the Household Comptroller wishes a moment of your time, at your convenience.’

  We stood up, and I handed Mary to the nurse. ‘Lady Bess,’ Richard said with a bow, ‘will you excuse us?’

  ‘Will you come and see me again?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘Good.’ She flung her arms around us and smacked a sticky kiss on our cheeks. Then, remembering her manners, she said gravely, ‘You have good leave to go.’

  ‘Madam, we thank you.’

  We left her climbing back onto her rocking horse.

  Outside in the corridor the Comptroller was giving a talented imitation of a blancmanger. ‘Your Grace, I had your message – is there some difficulty with your apartments?’

  ‘Well, we had expected a little more in the way of appointments. Nothing elaborate. The merest bed, perhaps.’

  I thought the poor man would have an apoplexy. ‘But Your Grace, I gave the strictest orders! Everything to be ready; all of the best! The king was most emphatic.’

  ‘Then perhaps we were taken to the wrong suite.’

  ‘If Your Grace and Master Robsart would be so kind as to come with me?’

  Back we trailed through half that rabbit warren of a palace, back to those same rooms. The Comptroller stared around, anger making him quite human. ‘Can no one obey the simplest order! Is everyone too busy delegating and jockeying for position... Your Grace, I apologise most humbly, but with so many different departments, such a large staff... But if you will give me a mere half hour?’

  He was as good as his word. We found a pack of cards in our baggage and were still playing the first hand when the Comptroller returned. Behind him came a train of menservants shouldering rolls of carpet and tapestry, lugging furniture and feather beds, dragging hampers of linen and plate. Last came a giggle of maids with dusters and brooms.

  Quickly the tenterhooks were nailed up around the tops of the walls and the arrases of our choice hung (‘Achilles – I think not. An irritating fellow.’) Dust vanished. Bedsteads were assembled, the featherbeds smoothed. Bed curtains and counterpanes (blue, with a floral pattern, for His Grace; green stripes for me) went up. Fine linen sheets and good woollen blankets were spread. Plate was rubbed up and arranged fetchingly on the dresser. The secretaries’ room was fitted out with desks and tables, even paper, ink and wax placed just so. The room for our eventual attendants was made up with truckle beds and armour-coffers. More clothes chests were brought, and firedogs and book stands and chairs, a jet and mother-of-pearl chess table, a wine service of silver and Venetian crystal. The rooms smelt pleasantly of the pepper and herbs used to store the woollen goods against moth, and of the good wax candles.

  At last the Comptroller looked about with the air of one wishing he dared mop his brow, and asked if there was anything else.

  ‘I think not. Martin?’

  ‘No, everything is very satisfactory. His Grace’s other squires and his pages will be travelling down from the north as we speak, but meanwhile we will need the usual chamber servants – and I daresay the King has appointed secretaries, all that kind of thing?’

  ‘Just so, sir. And chamber servants – I will send up a selection for you to choose from.’ As if in a shop. Perhaps one purchased them by the ell. Or pound. ‘And once again I beg Your Grace’s pardon for the error.’

  Richard gave him the reassurance he wanted. ‘Mistakes happen, especially in a household this size. Consider it forgotten. The King will be glad to know how satisfied I am.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Grace,’ the man said with real gratitude, and bowed himself away.

  ‘Instructive,’ said Richard, sitting down and folding his arms behind his head.

  ‘Very. An exercise in power.’ Pouring wine I asked, ‘Do you think it was simply a mistake, or a deliberate slight?’

  ‘Remembering what George said? No, a mistake, I reckon.’ But we looked speculatively at each other. ‘No, you’d be a fool to insult the king’s brother on his first day. Still, it was fun throwing my weight around; though it would be a mistake to make a habit of it. Martin, my friend, I think we can enjoy ourselves here at Court. Good rooms, good wine... Edward said he was sending for Rob and Tom and John Milwater, so we’ll have good friends – yes, we can have good times here.’

  ‘Girls?’ Warwick had kept a tight rein on us in that respect.

  ‘Why not? It’s time we grew up. But let’s start with some clothes, eh?’

  ~~~

  We studied fashions and summoned tailors and mercers, hatters and furriers, shoemakers and shirtmakers. At sixteen I was close to my adult height of five feet and ten inches, whip-thin and strongly muscled from hard training. From both my parents I had inherited thick black hair, from my father green eyes and high cheekbones, and I was in fact damned handsome, as many girls and a few men (you’d be surprised) had let me know. So was Richard. (Later he had a couple of portraits painted, and neither did him justice, though in the better you can see the resemblance to Edward. The other, and unfortunately the official one, taken at a time of great grief, made him look like a Welsh nun
with piles.)

  With Edward meeting our bills we saw no reason not to have the richest materials: cramoisy velvet; scarlet, gold and silver tissue; silk; jewels; thigh boots of leather as soft as butter; shoes with the fashionable long pikes; embroidery; shirts of linen fine enough to read through. Fortunately, for the fashion then was for very short jerkins above skin-tight hose, we both had excellent legs; doubly fortunate in Richard’s case, for on ceremonial occasions he wore the jewelled blue Garter of the Order, and it looks damn stupid clasped around a fat or bandy or spindle-shaped leg.

  So there we were, handsome, likely, well dressed and randy.

  Finding girls was no problem. I did none too badly for myself, but the brother of a king can have any woman he likes for the snapping of his fingers, especially at a Court like Edward’s. Later it became licentious and went rotten, but in the ’60s it was gay, luxurious, rich; and the pleasure was – mostly – innocent.

  However, there were less pleasant aspects to our new life. For one thing, Edward seemed almost to regret bringing us to Court. I do not mean that he slighted or ignored us, but he gave Richard little private time, and that in a dutiful, off-hand way, as if his secretary had entered it in his day’s list of appointments. Occasionally he would challenge us to a game of tennis, but there was no brotherly intimacy, no confidences asked or offered. Nor did he give Richard any new official duties, or any part in government.

  Looking back, I think it was a deliberate policy of letting Richard find his feet in his own way. Because any overt favour, even brother to brother, would have made enemies for Richard.

  George had not exaggerated. Court was riven with factions. There were the queen’s family and their adherents, and the rest. Oh – perhaps that is putting it too strongly, for of course there were moderates, the people who managed to be on good terms with both parties; to put it another way, those who were loyal to the King and had the sense to keep their tongues behind their teeth about anything they disliked. But Warwick and George were far from the only ones who so despised the Woodvilles and their sycophants that they were prepared to do anything to unseat them.