A Rose for the Crown: A Novel

by Anne Easter Smith

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  THE ROYAL ARRIVAL was far grander than Kate could have imagined. The king was determined to show his subjects he was still the all-powerful ruler, despite the rumors of rebellions in the north. East Anglia was an area of the country he could depend on, he knew. After all, many here—Brandons, Wingfields, Hautes and Darcys—could claim kinship with the queen.

  The beggars had been hustled away, and now cheering pilgrims lined the route and Edward waved and smiled broadly at them. His subjects gawked at the gorgeous figure on the great white horse, and Edward was well aware of the impression he made. Behind him, on his black mount, Richard also smiled and waved, basking in his brother’s popularity. He rode alongside Edward’s father-in-law, Earl Rivers, and two of the earl’s sons, Lord Scales and Sir John Woodville. Following at a respectful distance were other prominent members of the retinue, including Jack Howard. Kate and Margaret cheered along with the rest of the crowd outside the massive abbey door. Edward took off his hat and wheeled his horse around to acknowledge the spectators.

  “God’s greetings, good people!” he cried. A hush settled over the square. “I am here, as you are, an unworthy pilgrim. I seek God’s help in my quest to rule you well. And ’tis thus, a penitent, that I enter to worship at the shrine of St. Edmund. Later I shall also seek the blessings of Our Lady of Walsingham. Perhaps we shall meet again there.”

  A squire ran forward to hold his mount. Edward climbed out of his saddle and knelt humbly on the cobblestones in front of the abbey. The great doors swung open as if by magic, and he walked out of the sunlight and into the shrine’s darkness. The other nobles dismounted quickly and followed their king to the saint’s tomb. The Benedictines were sensible of the honor done their house by the king’s visit and had cleared the shrine of other worshippers before Edward’s entry.

  Kate followed Margaret to a side door, and when Margaret revealed her identity, they were allowed inside by one of the monks. Once Kate’s eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she saw all of the king’s company lying prostrate on the flagstones, their arms outstretched towards the martyr’s tomb. It sat on a high pedestal in a gated chapel, the stained-glass windows behind allowing an eerie light to play upon it. Kate was immediately moved to kneel next to Margaret and cross herself reverently. Then, as if a gentle hand from above were guiding her, she sank down on the stone floor in the same position as the others. She felt small and insignificant. She began to recite the paternoster; the familiar words comforted her. In the background, monks chanted and one of them circled the prostrate group carrying a golden incense burner, sending clouds of sweet smoke into the air. The beauty of the moment unleashed a stream of tears from her onto the floor, and Kate felt a cleansing of her soul.

  “Forgive me, Lord. I have sinned against my husband and against You. But my love for Richard is pure and true, and I know he loves me alone as well. I pray to St. Edmund for a miracle that will free me from George and let Richard be mine.”

  She knew she was begging, but if only the first part were granted, she would be happy.

  “Do not look unkindly on my daughter, Lord. She has no fault in this. She is the innocent child of our great love. I shall bring her up to worship You and follow Your laws better than I.”

  Edward was being helped to his feet, and Margaret resumed a kneeling position, waiting for Jack. Edward, surrounded by his nobles, was talking to the abbot, but Richard was still prone. Kate knew she was out of place in the royal party and slipped quietly outside.

  “I AM HAPPY to see you here, Kate,” Richard said in the sanctuary of the cloister garden an hour later. “Jack Howard is true to his word. I have made arrangements for you to travel with us to Norfolk and thence to Walsingham.” He took her hand. “Where is Katherine?”

  “She is safe at Tendring. I have found a wet nurse, and Katherine seems not to notice the change.” She glanced around, noting others walking in the quiet garden. “Are we able to be alone?”

  “Meet me by the Northgate with your horse at half past the hour. I will make my excuses to Edward.” He kissed her hand and was gone.

  They soon left the crowded town behind and urged their horses into a gallop across a meadow, scattering sheep and laughing at the silly creatures’ indecision. Kate pulled off her headdress and let her hair fly loose in the wind. Richard was reminded of their first meeting in the wood. Yes, Rob, you were right. I shall follow her to the ends of the earth, he thought happily. Today he would not think about his station and its duty. Today he would just be a young man in love on a sweet summer’s day. The horses slowed as they neared a river. Its crystal-clear water bent the grasses in the current. Richard helped Kate out of her cumbersome saddle and she slid into his arms. He tilted her head and kissed her tenderly at first but then, responding to her desire, more passionately. They stood intertwined under the whispering poplars, reveling in each other’s touch. Each time Richard tried to catch his breath, Kate would pull his head back to her and continue the kiss. She thought she would drown in the intoxicating sensation. Richard finally took a breath and held her at arm’s length. He shook his head, laughing. “Why, Kate. ’Tis my belief you have missed me? I thought you would devour me with your kisses.”

  Kate tossed her head and taunted him. “And you, my lord duke? Tell me you have not longed for me. Sweet Jesu, but I am hot. Can we not bathe in this heavenly water?”

  Before Richard could answer, she pulled her gown over her head and stood there in her chemise. Richard’s cautiousness made him look anxiously up and down the riverbank, and Kate laughed at him. “Come, sir. You are a milksop! Who is there to see us but some cows. The trees will shade us from prying eyes in the fields, I daresay.” Without further ado, she removed her petticoat and ran naked to a natural pool carved out of the riverbank.

  Richard was mesmerized. The sun shimmered on her russet hair, and her body was white as alabaster against the sparkling river. She gingerly put a toe in the water and finding it pleasantly refreshing, immersed herself in the shallow pool. Her hair floated like a red-gold cloud around her, and in the limpid waters, Richard could see her form clearly beneath the surface. Throwing caution—and his clothes—to the winds, he joined her in the cooling water. Like two children on a spree, they splashed each other, pushed each other under and spouted fountains from their mouths. Kate even clambered onto Richard’s shoulders and fell backwards into the stream with a squeal of delight. He turned and she stood facing him, droplets of water like crystal earrings suspended from her nipples, which were hardened by the cool stream. He reached out and playfully flicked the drop away from her right breast and took the enticing nipple between his teeth.

  “Have a care, my lord,” Kate teased him. “Be gentle.”

  His tongue warmed her cold skin and she shivered with delight. Reaching down, she fondled his prick, chuckling. “My tit is not the only hard thing between us, in truth.”

  “You talk too much, my love,” he muttered, and pulling her towards him, lifted her easily onto his hips.

  The sensation in the water was delicious, Kate thought, as they were gently buoyed up and down by the river. There was no rush, just a wondrous feeling of being suspended in time. When Richard was close to climax, Kate took his face in her hands and kissed him, eyes wide open. Watching his expression, she experienced his ecstasy in a deeper way than ever before, and her own rush was exquisite.

  “I wonder what the fish think,” Kate laughed later, with her legs still wrapped around his waist. She absentmindedly fingered the French coin that he still wore next to his heart. “I wager they wish they were human instead of only able to lay eggs.”

  Richard gave a shout of laughter. He held on to her tightly and staggered to shore, where she slithered down his hips and legs to the ground.

  “God’s mercy, but you are no lightweight, Kate.” He pretended exhaustion and sank down beside her. They lay on the mossy bank, the sun warming their now shivering limbs.

  “Beg pardon, sir. Mistress.” The ma
n came from nowhere. “Be this your horse?”

  Kate screamed and sat up, hugging her knees and attempted to pull strands of wet hair around her. Richard quickly turned over on his stomach and gazed up at the gray-bearded peasant standing over them holding Cornflower’s bridle. The man seemed unperturbed by the scene. Without the benefit of clothes, Richard assumed the fellow had no way of knowing he was addressing a royal duke. A naked royal duke, he thought, amused.

  “Aye, my good man. She is indeed ours. I thank you.” Richard got up and walked over to his clothes with as much dignity as a naked royal duke could muster. His undershirt covered him adequately. Retrieving Kate’s chemise, he returned it to her, and she gratefully covered herself. He picked up his purse and gave the old man a coin from it, taking hold of Cornflower’s reins.

  “Good day to you, man, and God speed,” Richard dismissed the peasant pleasantly.

  “Thank’ee kindly, sir. And, if I may be bold, ’tis no wonder you forgot the horse when you have a filly like that to ride!” The old man showed his blackened teeth in a lecherous grin. “Tee-hee, tee-hee,” he tittered as he ambled off back to the fields. Richard was too stunned by the fellow’s impudence to take him to task and simply stared after him until he heard Kate’s unbridled laughter from within the folds of her petticoat.

  “I AM MORTIFIED you bestow your favours on Richard and not me,” Rob Percy whispered to Kate in mock indignation one evening after supper. The company was being entertained in Norwich by the dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk, although the king was housed in the bishop’s palace adjacent to the cathedral. The rich wool merchants of the city had served a splendid feast at the guildhall on the marketplace. The chequered flint building had not seen such a gathering since it had been built in the days of the fifth Henry. After London and York, Norwich was the most populous and important city in England, and its citizens were happy to welcome their king and show him their hospitality. Edward was quite happy to be there, surrounded by his most faithful supporters. Only John de Vere, earl of Oxford, was a constant thorn in Edward’s side here, but after the brief imprisonment of the previous winter, even he seemed to have accepted Edward as his liege lord.

  Richard had forewarned Kate that he had let their secret out to Rob, and she was happy she was important enough to him to confide in his best friend.

  “Oh, Rob, do not be such a tease. If you had not been so uncivil in your remarks about Kent—”

  “Me, uncivil? You placed me no higher than the beasts, I seem to remember, madam!” Laughing, he took her arm and walked her to a window embrasure, where they were out of earshot of those engrossed in a mummers’ play. “’Tis of no import, Kate. I am pleased for Richard. He has not had much happiness in his life so far, for all he is brother to the king. He has softened since he has known you. There is more to his life now than jousting and book-learning. Why, I have seen him read poetry of late instead of books about the law or warfare. He is a serious man, in truth, Kate, but you have brought out a side of him we have not seen before.”

  “I am pleased we have your approbation, Rob.” More seriously, she said, “He talks much of you and your friendship. ’Tis difficult to know, when you are the king’s brother, if a friend is truly a friend or is one seeking to elevate himself.” She paused. “Now soft, for the subject of our discussion approaches.”

  Richard’s eyebrow was raised as he made his way over to them. Kate admired his burgundy jacket threaded with silver to form huge roses and the heavy gold collar studded with rubies. She did not care for the high hat he was wearing and was about to tell him so when a familiar figure came between them.

  “George!” she exclaimed. “Why are you here?”

  “I might ask you the same question, wife,” George retorted, his eyes glittering. He took Kate roughly by the arm and pulled her to him and away from Rob’s side. “So,” he hissed loudly enough for Rob to hear, “is this the father of your bastard?”

  Kate saw Richard freeze behind George, who had not seen him, and her eyes implored him to leave. He hesitated but then turned on his heel and went the other way.

  Rob leapt immediately to Kate’s defence. “Unhand the lady, sirrah! I know not what you mean by your insinuations, for Dame Katherine and I have not long become acquainted. There is nothing untoward between us, I swear to you.” Rob stared pointedly at George’s grip on Kate’s wrist and then into his eyes. “Robert Percy of Scotton swears this to you. I presume you are the unlucky lady’s husband.”

  “You are impertinent, sir!” George blustered a little, recognizing Rob’s name and understanding he was dealing with someone above his station. “Aye, I am George Haute—Kate’s unlucky husband.”

  “Now who is impertinent, sir, to insult this lady twice in as many minutes? Dame Katherine, forgive me, I fear I must leave you to your . . . husband.” He gave George a withering look and saw George loose Kate’s arm. He bowed and removed himself.

  “George! How could you be so rude. How could you humiliate me so?” Kate rounded on him as soon as Rob was out of earshot. “If Sir Robert believed you, all the court—including your father—will think you have been cuckolded. I care not for your reputation but I care for my own name and that of your father. Pray God Sir Robert can keep his counsel!”

  George’s bravado left him in the face of Kate’s wrath and the fear that Martin might be compromised by his outburst. He knew not why he cared who was Katherine’s father, but seeing Kate with Rob had aroused feelings of anger he did not know he possessed. His shoulders sagged and his mouth assumed its petulant droop. “I am still your husband, Kate, like it or not. I have the right to chastise you if I will. Do not push me too far.”

  Kate moved away from him. The more public they were, the less likely he would question her further. But then she had a thought. All of a sudden, she smiled winningly at him and took his arm. “Why, husband, what a surprise and pleasure to see you here. I am come at the invitation of Sir John and Lady Margaret, but I had no notion you, too, would be a guest.” Her raised voice attracted some attention, and several people turned to look at the handsome couple. She glimpsed Rob and Richard conferring in the corner. Richard’s face was as black as a thundercloud. Thank heaven it was innocent Rob and not Richard George had confronted. Rob’s indignation had been so marked that George could have no doubt he was speaking the truth.

  George caught on to her act and cupped his other hand possessively over hers and answered her as cheerily. “My lord of Norfolk had need of me in preparation for the king’s arrival, and now that I am here, I am to ride north with Sir John. Has he not told you?”

  “Nay, he has not. But I have not seen Sir John since yesterday. They were the guests of Mistress Paston for dinner last night, and I remained at my lodging.” Kate could keep up this idle chatter for as long as she needed. “Let us tread a measure, George. My feet are itching to dance.”

  That night, Kate knew she must sleep with George. She hoped Richard would know, too, and would stay away. They had not spent every night together, for Richard had had to ride to several great families to seek men and arms for his brother’s campaign against the rebels. On the morrow, she was to ride with Margaret to the Walsingham shrine ahead of the king’s party and from there back home.

  “Have no fear, Kate,” Richard was able to murmur to her during a country dance. “We shall be discretion itself. I will send word when next we can meet.”

  George was not in the mood to talk when they wearily climbed onto their bed in the second chamber of a merchant’s town house. They shared the room with Molly and another servant girl, who lay down on their straw pallets and fell asleep almost as soon as the rushlights were extinguished. The sultry air was oppressive in the small room, and Kate threw off the bedsheet and lay in her petticoat.

  “If it is the last thing I do, wife,” George whispered to her back, “I shall discover your lover’s name and make him rue the day he ever laid eyes on you.”

  Kate shivered despite the heat.

&
nbsp; A MILE FROM THE SHRINE, Kate and Margaret dismounted to leave their shoes at the Slipper Chapel among the thousands of others covering the floor. Kate briefly wondered if she would ever find her own shoes again, but as several nuns were hovering, watching over their leather charges, she soon forgot about them.

  After eight years away from Snoll’s Hatch, Kate’s feet were unaccustomed to being unshod. All pilgrims were obliged to go barefoot the final mile to the shrine in the abbey at Walsingham; not even the king was exempt, Kate was told. By the time they reached the village, Margaret and Kate were limping and both wore pained expressions, perfect for penitent pilgrims.

  “Some three hundred years ago, the Widow Faverches was visited by the Virgin. Our Lady told the widow to build a house on her lands in Walsingham.” Margaret explained the legend to Kate as they picked their way along the stony path. “The house is said to be a replica of the one in which the Virgin was visited by the Angel Gabriel when he announced she was to become the Mother of God. Word spread of the widow’s vision, and soon the wooden house she built was a place of pilgrimage. To preserve it, they enclosed it in a stone chapel. Inside is a bottle containing drops of the Virgin’s milk.”

  “Where would anyone find such precious liquid?” Kate was incredulous. “How can milk from that long ago be preserved?”

  “We do not question God’s miracles, Kate. You must believe.”

  “Aye, Margaret,” Kate replied, dutifully. She believed fervently in the vision of Richelde de Faverches, but the milk was another thing entirely.

  As they drew near the shrine, the pilgrim numbers swelled to match the hundreds of shoes back at the Slipper Chapel. It was an hour before they finally turned off the main road in the village to the shrine and the huge abbey that towered over it. Only a few worshippers at a time were permitted inside the holy place, hence the long wait. Kate covered her face with a veil and told her rosary as she shuffled forward to the door. Once inside, she was astounded by its splendor. She had expected something humble as befitted the home of a poor woman of Judea. The statue of the Virgin that dominated the chapel was of pure gold and shone in the light of a hundred candles. Around the walls were other statues of saints and angels, bejewelled and painted in vibrant colors. Before the Virgin, in a reliquary also studded with jewels, was suspended a tiny vial in which sat a small quantity of murky, tan-colored liquid. The milk, Kate reasoned. She fell to her knees, overcome by the holiness of the place. She had not felt this full of awe at Bury. Perhaps it was because, as a woman and a mother, she felt more akin to the Virgin than to the remains of a dead bishop. Her lips began to move in prayer, at first the rote Ave Maria, but then something more personal.