And so it was. That was the trouble. The blue-green colour suited Bess, and the gown’s cut made the most of her handsome young figure. Beside her Anne looked drab and washed-out, almost elderly. No, worse: she looked ill. I couldn’t understand why I had not noticed before. She had always been slenderly made, but even in the worst grief after her son’s death she hadn’t been gaunt. Now there was nothing of her, she was skin and bone. Her skin was chalky, and shadows lay deep around her eyes. What I had thought was face-paint highlighting her cheeks was the flush of fever. Even her pretty hair, worn loose for the occasion under her crown, was dull as straw.
I turned to Innogen, a question on my lips, and met a glare that stunned me to silence. Pasting on a smile I reached for my wine cup. It was at that moment that a messenger came to Richard and bent over him, murmuring. Richard’s brows lifted, and his lips thinned to nothingness. The messenger talked for several moments more, then Richard pitched his voice to carry along the high table.
‘Our friend Master Tudor has taken a solemn vow, in Rennes Cathedral, to marry my niece Elizabeth of York when he ‘regains’ the throne of England from the usurper Plantagenet. What have you to say to this, Bess?’ Hot colour surged up her face then ebbed, leaving her sickly pale. Helplessly she shook her head. Richard stared coldly at her. ‘You did not know?’
‘Of course not. How dare he!’
‘Indeed. Lord Stanley, what have you to say of your stepson’s genius?’
Looking honestly shocked Stanley said, ‘Sire, he will do anything to give his pretensions the colour of legitimacy.’
‘And he thinks promising to marry a bastard will help his cause?’
I noticed Bess blush and pale again. Stanley said, ‘I am not privy to his thoughts, Your Grace. I have neither spoken to him nor communicated with him for more than a decade.’
‘Does your wife not confide in you?’
‘No, Your Grace. I believe she has given up ideas of aiding her son.’
‘Do you? Tell her, Lord Stanley, that she had better do so. I will not be lenient again.’ He spoke without emotion, but his tone was enough to set Stanley sweating and pulling at his shirt-band. Richard gave him a glance, and went on, ‘I will not be provoked into taking action against France. The French Regent can welcome Tudor as warmly as she likes; fortunately, the French government is so divided against itself it can give Tudor little help. No doubt he thought Oxford’s escape would help his cause, but he would be well advised not to trust that gentleman too far.’
A couple of months earlier the Earl of Oxford, whom we had fought against at Barnet, had escaped from Hammes Castle where he had been imprisoned since 1474. His gaoler James Blount had gone with him, and for a while it had looked as if Oxford and Tudor would mount an attack on Calais, but it had come to nothing; Richard had replaced the garrison, offered a pardon to Blount’s wife, and put James Tyrell in as Lieutenant. He had also put the Cinque Ports on alert, and issued proclamations against Tudor and his followers, and I knew he had renewed his offers to the Continental rulers to have Tudor captured. Really it was all more of the same, it posed no great threat, but Tudor was like the canker in a sore tooth, nagging away until the tooth is rooted out.
‘What will you do, Sire?’ Stanley asked.
‘Tudor cannot try invasion again until spring at the earliest. I am well prepared. Tudor can make all the high-flown vows he likes. None of it matters.’
~~~
In bed that night, with the bed-curtains drawn and the door shut, I said to my wife, ‘Anne is ill.’
‘Yes.’
That one syllable said everything. I said: ‘Oh no, not Anne! Lord, not Anne! Of course, she hasn’t got over her son’s death yet; she – ’
‘It’s more than that. Has Richard said anything?’
‘Nothing. But he must know?’
‘He knows, I think, but he’s not admitting it. Soon he will have to. We have done everything we can, and Anne has consulted doctors secretly. There is nothing they can do. It’s the lung disease, consumption. She is coughing up blood. We have known for the last month, but this loss of flesh has come suddenly.’
‘So she knows?’
‘Oh yes. She knows. She was ill through the autumn, but she put it down to grief and thought little of it. She enjoyed the planning for Katherine’s wedding, but once that was over... At first she thought it was just the let-down after the fun of the wedding, but soon she knew. She has been using up her strength trying to pretend there is nothing wrong, trying to keep Richard from worrying. Poor Richard, why must he bear this? His son, then his wife.’ She rolled over and put her arms around me, hugging me tightly. She was trying not to cry. ‘Of course people will say he’s being punished, and they’ll ask what his sin is. People fear to be ruled by an unlucky King, a King under God’s displeasure.’
‘And it will give Tudor and his cronies a fillip.’ Remembering my doubts the year before, I said, ‘Innogen, Anne isn’t –’ Even in the secrecy of our bed I whispered the word into the shell of her ear – ‘it’s not poison?’
‘Can a poison counterfeit the lung disease? No, I think it’s simply the disease. No one would poison her, what is there to gain?’ In the darkness I felt rather than saw her eyes widen. Her lashes brushed my cheek as we both thought of a silly but perhaps callous girl who loved Anne’s husband. Or of that girl’s ambitious mother. ‘No,’ Innogen said, and I agreed.
After a time I said, ‘Jenny, is Anne really so ill? There is no hope?’
‘None.’ She was weeping openly now. I remembered her saying at Coventry in 1471 that she liked Anne; over the years they had become dear friends. Anne’s mother had at first taken a dim view of Richard bringing his mistress to live in his wife’s household, but even she had seen that my marriage to Innogen was as strong as Richard’s to Anne, and that the fact of that old liaison had somehow bound the two women in a fierce female loyalty. ‘There’s no hope. I love her dearly and there is no hope at all. The doctors think she had only a few months to live.’
~~~
Soon everyone knew. Anne dwindled away, and at the end of January she suffered a massive bleeding from the lungs. The doctors spoke now of weeks rather than months. Still Richard never spoke of it, not even to me or Rob.
I made a point of calling on Anne every day. One afternoon in March I was on my way to see her when I saw Richard leave her room. The moment the door closed behind him he slumped back against it as if all his strength had gone. He was nearly as pale as Anne herself, and his whole body shook. I drew back, but as I moved Richard heard someone coming from the other way. He recoiled, looking panic-stricken, and bolted past me into a nearby room. He slammed the door behind him, but not even two-inch oak could keep the sounds of his grief private. I had never heard weeping like it, not even when Anne keened for her dead son, and I knew he should not be alone.
He was huddled on the floor, his head down on his arms. When he heard me he turned on me, snarling like a cornered animal, and swore at me in words culled from army camps. Even so, I crouched down beside him and took him in my arms. He hit me, but I had taken worse than that in his service. I held him, and suddenly he flung his arms round my neck, and soon the worst of it was over.
‘Anne is dying.’
‘I know.’
‘Yes. Everyone knows. I’ve pretended it’s not true. If I didn’t talk about it, it might not be true. I was with her just now and all of a sudden it was as if I really knew and understood. It became a real thing. She is dying. My beloved is dying. And for a moment I felt as if it was her fault, as if she had chosen to leave me, I hated her for leaving me. Don’t say you understand, because however kindly you mean it you don’t understand, you cannot.’
‘No I cannot, but I love her too. She is very much loved.’
‘Oh yes.’ He gulped, snuffling, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘But still people will say she has been done away with. That I poisoned her or something. Because that’s the way people think. Or they’
ll say her death is to punish me. God’s will. People always say that, they say it’s the will of heaven. And perhaps it is, but I wish I understood why. What have I done, what is my sin? I have prayed for understanding, but I get no answer. Do you believe in God, Martin?’
‘I believe in Christ; in His teachings. I don’t believe in much of what we have made of those teachings. I don’t want to believe in the petty, vindictive, irrational God of the Old Testament.’
‘Perhaps that is the only one there is. Perhaps there’s no benevolent Creator. Or perhaps St Augustine was right when he said that the Divinity is either benevolent or omnipotent, because events prove He cannot be both. For why must I within two years lose my brother, whom I did love despite everything, and my son and my wife? What have I done to deserve it? What has Anne done to deserve the death of her son? I took the Crown because it was mine for the taking. No doubt many people believe I concocted that pre-contract story because I knew that if Edward’s children were bastards I would be offered the Crown – but I didn’t. I had no idea, I never suspected. If I had done what people say and put Edward’s sons to death then I would deserve retribution. But I didn’t. So why must I be punished? What is my sin? If I could understand I could bear it, but all the priests can say is that God’s will is not for us to understand, He is inscrutable and we should not seek to know. But why must I lose my wife?’
‘I don’t know. Richard, I have nothing to say. There’s no comfort. I don’t know.’
I doubt he heard me, for he went on, ‘If taking the Crown was a fault or a sin, what else was I to do? Allow a bastard to reign? Well, I suppose it would not have been the first time. Or someone else, Lincoln for instance? But he didn’t want it, and everyone wanted me, they wanted the soldier, the man who had kept the Scots out of England, the man who ruled the north justly and sensibly. They wanted a strong, adult King. It had to be me. So was my sin in wanting it? Because I did, Martin, as soon as Bishop Stillington told us about the Eleanor Butler pre-contract I knew the Crown was mine for the asking, and I wanted it. I thought I could be a good king. Partly it was because I would not see England torn apart by the Woodvilles and the Lancastrians. But all I’ve done is strengthen Tudor’s pretensions. When I thought I could be a good king!’
This was close to hysteria, but I answered him sensibly. ‘And you have been a good king, and the people know it. Richard, think! Calm down and think: Peace with Scotland; good terms with France, with Brittany, with Portugal, with Burgundy; and perhaps good lasting peace treaties yet to come. And all the legislation of your Parliament – good laws and justice for the common people, their rights protected in law; women’s rights protected, traitors’ wives protected. The Court of Common Pleas; the College of Heralds; all your gifts to charities, to universities, to hospitals; trade looked after; the building you have done. No one rose for Tudor or Buckingham. There will always be malcontents and people pushing old claims; that went on all through your brother’s reign and the ones before him. It will always go on but it means nothing. The people love and trust you, the nobles are mostly content. You have been a good king. Even if you had waded to the throne through the blood of every Lancastrian in England it would have been worth it for the good you’ve done.’
Weary now, he heard me out, a faint smile on his lips. ‘Yes, I’ve done some good things. I knew I could. But I doubt it would have been worth it at the cost you speak of. But I know what you mean. Oh, God, perhaps I should have been a good deal more tyrannical. Ruthless. Perhaps I will have to be in the future.’
‘Perhaps, yes,’ I said, thinking that he should have sent Morton and Lady Margaret Beaufort – to name only two – to the block when he had the chance. He had been ruthless only with William Hastings and with Buckingham, who had been his friends and betrayed that friendship.
‘I will, perhaps.’ He fished for his handkerchief and ingloriously blew his nose. ‘Leniency and mercy don’t pay, perhaps. Justice, always. But not leniency. People take it for weakness. I thought I could only act according to my beliefs. But even honour is a luxury for a king. Now I can see why Edward put George to death. Well, I am luckier, I don’t have to face putting my brother to death – but now I can see why he did it.’ He blew his nose again. ‘They’ll make me re-marry, won’t they?’
‘Yes. I’m afraid so. It is necessary, Richard.’
‘I know. There have been a few hints already. No more than hints, nothing to offend. Though even the idea offends. But I must, to protect my country.’ All this time we had been crouched together on the floor. Now he stood up, trying to tidy his clothes. ‘The doctors told me yesterday I mustn’t share Anne’s bed any longer. Of course we haven’t been able to make love for a long time, but being together has been some comfort. We’ve slept together ever since we married. Thirteen years. It’s nearly our wedding anniversary. But now I am forbidden. The doctors fear I might take the disease. The King must be protected. Today, when I saw Anne, I had to tell her. Well, she already knew, of course, the doctors had told her. She tried to make it easier by saying she’s so uncomfortable at night now that she would rather sleep alone – if she does ever sleep. And perhaps that’s true. But just her presence is a comfort to me, and mine to hers. Gone, now. And no doubt my subjects will occupy themselves wondering who is sharing my bed now.’ Since that was true, there was nothing I could say. He gave me a wry smile and put his hands on my shoulders and kissed me. ‘You’ve comforted me today, Martin. You’re good at that. You’ve a gift for friendship, and that is all I have left. I will need it, to get through this.’ He kissed me again, and abruptly went out.
I sat there for a while, staring at the closed door, then quietly I wept for Anne and for Richard, my friends.
~~~
I didn’t go to Anne that day, but the following day I paid my usual visit. She was nothing but a skeleton in a pretty gown – heartbreakingly, she still took stubborn pride in holding the indignities of disease at bay with lovely clothes and scent. They had cut her hair recently, for she could no longer bear the weight of the hip-length fall and having it dressed tired her too much. The short little curls clustering round her face made her look like an adolescent boy. I told her so to amuse her, and she giggled and said it was not an idea that would appeal to Richard. Even the light little laugh made her cough, and I saw the blood on the handkerchief she pressed to her mouth.
‘It won’t be long now.’
I looked up with the usual reassuring phrases on my lips, and saw that things had gone beyond that. ‘I know, hinny.’
‘I’m not afraid. Interesting, isn’t it? Because however much we believe, we still fear death, although it comes so commonly. And mine is the easier part, I couldn’t bear it if Richard died and I was left without him. I’ve faced that so many times over the years, ever since I first knew I loved him.’
‘Which was in 1469. That Christmas feast.’
‘Yes. He says that’s when he fell in love with me too, but I doubt it.’
‘It’s certainly when he first noticed you had become a woman, and a beautiful one. So perhaps it’s when he fell in love with you – but one has to notice one’s in love. And that happened in ’71, when William Stanley brought you into Coventry. Remember?’
‘Yes. Richard suddenly appeared from nowhere – ’
‘Actually his bedroom, we were watching – and he stormed down into that yard and read Stanley his fortune.’
‘Yes.’ She laughed again, and broke off, her hand pressed to her side. ‘Hurts. Martin, tell Richard not to trust the Stanleys. Not to trust Margaret Beaufort. I think he can trust the Woodvilles now. He doesn’t know about Bess.’ She saw the question in my face. ‘Oh yes, I know all about Bess mooning love-struck after Richard. Who’d understand that better than I? Though I never made sheep’s eyes, I hope! And Martin, my dear friend, look after Richard for me?’
‘Always.’
‘Make him face his duty and marry again and have sons. I failed him there, didn’t I? Make sure he does
it. The moment the King of England is back on the marriage market every foreign country will rush to offer him their Infantas and duchesses; he must marry as soon as possible or else he might as well abdicate and give the throne to Lincoln, or restore Edward’s son. In a year there could be a new heir to England. A king can’t afford the luxury of private grief. Make him understand that, Martin, and do it. And look after him.’ She was running out of strength. It was time for me to go.
I was bending to kiss her when the bells began to ring – the Westminster Abbey bells, the Passing Bells. Anne’s eyes stared horrified into mine. She screamed.
‘Anne! No! Ssh, it’s all right!’
‘No! It’s the Passing Bells! For a Queen! For me! They’re saying I’m dead! They are saying I am dead!’
I clutched her, trying to soothe her, to keep her in the bed, but she fought me with frenzied strength. I could hear the breath whistling in her tortured lungs, and her brittle bones felt as if they would break in my hands. She was screaming for Richard, screaming protests as those bells rang on. I thought she had lost her mind with terror, and all I could do was hold her and try to make her hear my futile reassurances. Innogen and Joyce and her other ladies had come at the first sound, but none of us could do anything. She broke from my grip and ran to the door, screaming Richard’s name like a woman demented.
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