The Dragon Waiting

by John M. Ford

  "Tell the Ludlow men," Richard told Tyrell, "they have the Protector's dismissal with thanks. And that they'll be paid as if they'd marched to London, in advance celebration of the new King's accession."

  "Sir."

  "Those men are my guards," Edward said, quite frightened now.

  "We have two thousand men to guard you," Richard said, in a soothing tone. "And more importantly, we have removed the present danger."

  Dimitrios said "My lord Richard—"

  "Yes?"

  "About Doctor Peredur and Doctor Ricci, my lord—the danger to them may be very great now."

  "Of course you're right. Harry, I think this is a matter for you. You must have them found: start with Ludlow."

  "Under the Protector's authority, Richard?"

  "For now. Rivers can't be deprived of the Justiciar's office without proper process."

  "Surely... you're aware, Captain Ducas, that there is a chance—"

  "I know it, my lord Duke," Dimitrios said. His eyes hurt. He kept thinking: Peredur promised he would not let her die. And Hywel can't be dead; I'd have seen the sky split.

  "I meant to say that Wales is a very good place to hide."

  "I'll hunt them myself," Dimi said, too quickly, thinking of the last time he had made such an offer.

  "I can't spare you, brother," Richard said. "Tyrell and Ratcliffe will be taking our friends somewhere for safekeeping... Pontefract, I think, James; it's rather above the woods line. No questioning, but not too much comfort, either. Dimitrios, you'll come with us to London."

  "Is there no one," Edward said bravely, "who will come and go at the King's command?"

  Richard knelt before his nephew, putting himself a little lower than eye to eye. The others went on their knees as well.

  "I was no older than you when my father was killed," Richard said. "I didn't understand then what was going on over my head, either, and I was hurt a lot of times before I did. I do not ask you to love us for what we do; but I do ask you not to hate us, not until you have learned a little more about the world."

  Edward said "Very well, Uncle Gloucester.. .you may rise."

  The King's pony was brought. Richard said quietly to Tyrell, "Ride ahead, and get Rivers out of the house before we arrive."

  "Yes, sir. Do I take him to Pontefiract?"

  Dimi saw Richard darken. "Yes, you do, and healthy, blast it." The King said "My lord Protector." They all turned. In a voice as hard and cold and clear as something carved from ice, Edward said "Once I have learned properly to hate, Uncle, then will I truly be King?"

  Chapter Eleven

  TRANSGRESSIONS

  YEARS ago, during one of the German-Danish wars, Gregory von Bayern rode as Gunner-und-Sprengsfachritcer in a minor court's minor army. The Count fancied black livery for all his men (and women, because he also maintained a company from the Rheintal order of Valkyries). Fortunately, the garb was comfortable and sturdy, not usually the case with vanity uniforms. And the Count's army was recognized where it went.

  One clear winter day the Schwarzheer was winding in column through a village in Saxony, the population turning out to cheer and wave banners or clothing or towels or anything they had that was black.

  When Gregory rode by, at the rear leading his guns jacketed in black leather, the waving and the shouting stopped. Suddenly. If there had been any direction to run, he would have spurred his horse and gone; he began to hope that the village had someone who knew how properly to kill vampires. There were towns that had become fascinated by a victim who could be displayed in agony for so long, in so many unique ways.

  But nothing of the kind happened; the column simply marched on, trailing dust and silence.

  "Look at yourself in the glass," the Count said that evening, and Gregory did. He saw a bone-white face looking out from a black hood, with two dark circles of glass instead of eyes. The Count was greatly amused, and asked Gregory thereafter to ride up front. Gregory did so a few times, until one night he shot a villager who had entered his room, intending to kill Death and save the world. Then he left the Count's service.

  Eventually, he heard, the expense of black horses ruined the Count, but it was widely said that he had failed as a true artist, and also that he now sought someone to infect him with vampirism.

  Now it was another blue December day, and Gregory was riding among five hundred soldiers all in black: the entourage of King Edward V, at the gates of London. They were, said Richard of Gloucester, in mourning still for Edward IV, whose funeral they had missed. The King was dead, as the saying went, long live the King.

  In a meadow outside the city, they were met by a group of men in scarlet: the Mayor and his aldermen. After them came a party of bailiffs, with scarlet pennons on their spears, leading four wagons covered with cloth. Then another tide of color flowed from the gates: citizens, tradesmen, and guildsmen, dressed in deep violet that still seemed bright against the black the King's party wore.

  Surrounding them all were the commons, come to look and cheer the King and the Protector of the Realm and days of celebration in general. Gregory saw a footman mobbed: he escaped half-stripped but apparently unhurt, and then the crowd ripped up his black clothing for keepsakes.

  Gregory moved toward the center of the procession. It was all as bad as Saxony; worse.

  Much worse. The sun made his head ache, the crowd-within- the-mob confined him doubly, and he was hungry, too soon and much too fiercely.

  Another man was riding toward them now, and the scarlet and violet parted for blue and gold. He was wearing a half-armor, and a large sword with an elaborate hilt; he was quite a splendid figure.

  "The King's Chamberlain," Gregory heard one of the serjeants say. "Lord Hastings."

  The writer of letters, Gregory thought, and moved nearer.

  "See what we have found," Hastings said, to the Dukes and the King but pitched for the crowd. He gestured, and the bailiffs pulled the coverings from the wagons.

  There was the dull gleam of browned steel: pikes and bills, swords and axes and maces, heaped up like bones outside a butcher's. Hastings walked his horse to the nearest wagon, reached in with a gauntleted hand, pulled out a long-bladed sword. He carried it back to the King.

  "Do you see, Your Grace," Hastings said, presumably addressing Edward, "the device upon the hilt? It is a Woodville badge," he said, loud enough to be heard in Windsor.

  He was certainly heard across the meadow. Murmurs rose like a wind. Gregory could hear the beginnings of a chant: "Down Woodville! Up Edward! Down Woodville!" Mostly it was distant, fragmented, from small knots of the commons, but shortly some of the men in black and violet took it up, and Gregory could see a red- gowned alderman nodding in time.

  Richard said, "We thank you, Hastings, for your vigilance. And we assure you—we assure you all—the King's person is safe." He raised his hand, and the chanting fell. "And now, by our brother's authority as Protector of his heir and this realm, we request all lords of England now in the city to gather with us at the Pantheon, to take or reaffirm oaths of his surety."

  They entered the gates in triumph.

  Dimitrios went first into the Tower apartment; he checked behind the draperies and the arras, took a sip of the wine on the sideboard, opened the cabinet of a floor clock, and held a light within, knowing how small an infernal device could be made.

  Then Hastings and Gloucester came in. Buckingham had gone to attend to the King's settlement in his rooms.

  Richard said "What in the Dog's name was that business of the arms, Will? I couldn't think where you might have gotten all that old junk, until I remembered the stockpiles everyone built up for fear of Scotsmen." "There are people who call you a Scotsman, Richard," Hastings said. "In truth, that's a compliment beside some of the things said in council. They were looking at the country as ravens see a carcass. It was necessary that they be disarmed... in one fashion, or another."

  Richard nodded slowly. "Well. After seeing what Rivers had in his mind, I ca
n't say you were wrong Surely you didn't know—"

  "Of course not. Rivers still grudges my holding the Captaincy of Calais over him, but a man can be ambitious without being a regicide.

  "I knew something was wrong when the council proposed he bring all the men he could muster: there would have been six thousand— ten, possibly." Hastings scowled. "I had to threaten to go to Calais, taking every ship and document I could find. I'm not certain I could have done it, with Edward Woodville still Admiral; Dorset had a secret look, and I think wanted me to go and be sunk." He went to the sideboard, poured two cups of wine. "It has not been easy, Richard."

  "That's the last thing I'd have supposed it would be." Richard took a cup. "How did Edward die, Will?"

  Hastings chewed his lower lip. "Very quick, Richard. He didn't suffer, thanks be."

  "But he died naturally?"

  "I'm certain of it. The doctors... it was just so damnably quick."

  "I need you to be certain, Will. Edward made you, and he made you very well. Of all the men and women in London, you stand to lose most by his loss, so it's you I'm asking. Was Edward murdered?"

  "No, Richard. It was a sudden apoplexy, and natural, as I have cause to know. But—don't ask how I'm certain, please, Richard." His voice was level.

  "Of course I'll ask," Richard said, sounding puzzled and a little irritated. "And I expect that you'll tell me."

  "Very well, Richard." Hastings had ten years and a handsbreadth of height over Richard, and now he took the full effect of both. "It happens that Edward and I were together in chambers that night, with Elizabeth—"

  "With the Queen?"

  "With Mistress Shore," Hastings said, unshaken. "'Jane,' as some call her."

  "I see," Richard said. His face was set in an odd expression, but he did not seem taken aback or chastened. He turned a ring on bis left hand. "Well. I suppose it is as kingly a death as any, and one couldn't ask for one more natural.... Where is my brother's concubine now, Will?"

  "In my house."

  Richard nodded. "I suppose that's safe. And warm, too." He drank his wine. "Well. Shall we speak with the Queen?"

  "The Queen sends her regrets... but offers that if Your Grace wishes to send any message by myself, she will give it her earliest attention."

  The messenger was an Italian diplomat, Dominic Mancini. He wore a fawn-colored gown with restrained gold embroidery, and half-eyeglasses. His English was extremely precise, his manner one of courtly embarrassment.

  "Where is she?" Richard said.

  "I am instructed not to reveal that."

  "And why is that?"

  "I am to offer the example of the Earl Rivers."

  "Does the Queen know that Rivers has planned murderous treason against the persons of the King and his Protector?"

  "She states that Parliament has not created a Protector, so there can be no such treason, and she puts no belief in tales of treason against the King... committed by Earl Rivers."

  "Do you come equipped with an answer for everything?"

  "No, Your Grace."

  "Well," Richard said, slightly amused. "You may tender Elizabeth our respects, and all honor due her station, and tell her that we hope to give the same in person upon our confirmation as Protector. Do you note that word, Mister Mancini—confirmation?"

  "I note it well, Your Grace."

  "Tell her that until such time, I have no requests. Has she any?"

  "She does, my lord of Gloucester. She asks that the doctor brought for the King be allowed to see him."

  Richard turned to Lord Hastings. "Rivers mentioned a doctor. An Italian. Who is he?"

  "The Queen insisted the King's special physician be an Italian," Hastings said. "But Rivers did not bring him, nor the Queen select him. I did. He arrived a few days ago; his name is Argentine, John Argentine."

  Richard looked relieved. He said to Mancini, "Tell the Queen that the King's health is of as much concern to us as to Her Grace. The King shall of course have his physician.

  "That will be all today, Mister Mancini."

  Mancini bowed to leave.

  Richard said to Hastings, "Why that little whistling bird?"

  "Why? As you said to me, it's a matter of what's to gain and what's to lose: Mancini can hardly have his eye on a peerage, let alone the throne; there are cheaper men to bribe, and he'd have a hard time hiding himself in Kent. Besides, we read all his mail back to Genova."

  Dimitrios said "Your pardon, lord, but you say he is from Genova?"

  "Yes, the University there. That's where Doctor Argentine is from as well."

  Richard said "Is something wrong, Dimitrios?"

  "No, sir. Just the opposite. Genova is not a Byzantine province."

  "Well, that's one less worry," Richard said. "Not that it was ever too large, eh?"

  "I suppose not," Dimi said.

  "It is the vote and ordinance of this council, therefore, that the Duke of Gloucester shall be called Protector of the Realm, and have in his charge the safety and education of King Edward the Fifth, until the same King Edward shall enter into his majority and become King in his own right "

  As the meeting dissolved, Buckingham said to Richard "It's pleasant to know that the Lords can do something with alacrity."

  Hastings said impatiently, "Do you think this was casually done, or lightly won? You've been here for a few days, and invisible for half that time. I've called in twenty years' worth of favors, and made such concessions—We're sworn not to prosecute Rivers and his company for treason, real or discovered, before this moment, and not to make any attempt, by act or decree, to violate the Queen's sanctuary. Richard is Protector as long as he doesn't protect against Woodvilles. Which brings to mind, have you seen your wife lately, Harry?"

  "I won't take that from you, Hastings," Buckingham said, rather pleasantly. "The Queen's family didn't force you to marry their leavings. Bring my wife into this and I'll bring in your mistress: isn't Jane Shore the spiciest of scraps from a royal table?"

  Richard said "Stop it, both of you. Rivers is still well out of mischief, and we never did mean to force Elizabeth out of hiding ... though that little Italian is starting to make my teeth hurt. As for your women, I can't say much for either of your tastes, but that's something only fists can settle."

  A man was approaching. He was bearded, with heavy black eyebrows, and he wore a padded red doublet embroidered with straight gold wire. There was an elaborate silver collar around his neck, and he carried a stoneware crock closed with lead seals and wire.

  "My lord wizard," Richard said, manner cool.

  "My lord Protector. I have a gift for the King... by your leave, of course?" He held out the jar. "Strawberries from my garden. Picked this morning. The King's physician suggested that fruit would be healthy for him."

  Dimitrios looked out a window, at the leaden clouds of early January.

  "That's... kind, sir," Richard said. He motioned, and Dimitrios took the jar. "Do you, then, know Doctor Argentine?"

  "We have a friend in common. Messer Mancini."

  Richard said "Well.... Thank you, my lord wizard. I'm sure the King will enjoy them."

  The wizard laughed. "My berries have a better reputation than that! I only hope he does not develop a rash."

  "If he does," Buckingham said sardonically, "you can expect an arrest for black sorcery."

  The man in red and gold laughed again. "Oh, not after all this time, surely," he said, bowed slightly, and departed.

  Dimitrios said "Can these actually be.. . strawberries? In January?"

  Hastings said "Doctor Morton's gardens are most remarkable." Richard said "Doctor Morton's most remarkable. He's been on councils since Henry the Idiot's time; doesn't look over sixty, does he? Talk about strawberries in January, there's a hardy perennial for you. No matter the climate at court, he springs up, like a weed."

  "You do not like him, my lord," Dimitrios said.

  "I don't like anyone who had the confidence of—well." He eyed th
e jar. "Wouldn't surprise me if he watered them with blood. Well. Let's take Edward his treat."

  An ancient Tower porter, wearing a gown and tabard that looked three or four reigns out of date, brought Richard and Dimitrios to the King's apartments in the White Tower, announced them in a voice that could hardly have carried across the room.

  The King said "Thank you, Master Giles; do admit them," with singular gravity. The porter stood there, stubbly chin moving. Edward repeated himself, with less dignity and more volume, and Giles turned and gestured Richard and Dimi within. He closed the door behind them.

  "Uncle; Captain Ducas. What do you have there?"

  "First some news, Your Grace; the council has seen fit to confirm your father's wish that I be your Protector and guardian."

  "This must be a great honor for you, Uncle," Edward said. Dimitrios saw an extraordinary weariness in Edward's look, fear in his eyes. "You will be pleased to hear that we do not hate you."

  Richard bowed slightly. "Now, Sire, a gift, from Doctor Morton of Holborn."

  "The strawberries he promised?" Doctor Argentine entered from a side chamber. He was tall and slender and quick, with delicate features and hands. Dimitrios felt a shudder go through his arms, and tightened his grip on the pottery jar. He was thinking of Cynthia, of course, though the resemblance was only one of circumstances.

  There was another peculiar circumstance, here, now, and he thought about speaking—but it was the Duke of Buckingham's habit to state the painfully obvious, and he merely put the jar on a table and took out his knife to cut the seals.

  "I'll do—" Argentine began to say, and Richard said over him, "Morton said something about rashes."

  "I don't get a rash from strawberries," Edward said, ten years old again. "I love strawberries."

  "We'll begin with a few, to be certain," Argentine said, "and gradually increase the dose. That's always good practice with any item of diet; nothing to excess."

  Dimitrios felt a small relief to hear him say that.