A Rose for the Crown: A Novel

by Anne Easter Smith

  Everyone began talking at once. “Arrested?” “A conspiracy?” “Gloucester was right!” “Rivers deserves what he gets!”

  Margaret put her finger to her lips. “Hush, children, let your father finish.”

  Jack took a well-earned drink and waited for silence. “Richard rode to Stratford and found the king already setting out for London with Sir Richard Grey—you recall he is the queen’s younger son by her first husband—poor old Tom Vaughan, young Edward’s chamberlain, and a large detachment of armed men. So it must have seemed to Richard that Rivers gave orders for the king to leave without waiting for the lord protector, despite his sweet-talking the evening before. The first thing Richard did upon seeing the young king was to leap from his horse and swear fealty to the boy on bended knee and with all formality. Then he comforted Edward for the death of his father and took him back to his lodging place. There he did reveal the nature of the devious plan by his uncle Rivers and his mother, the queen, to avoid a meeting with the lord protector and enter London without him. Edward, ’twas said, shouted loudly at Richard and demanded to see his uncle. However, Rivers was already under guard and on the road north. Gloucester then arrested Grey, Vaughan and Richard Haute—nay, Kate, ’twas Sir Richard, not your cousin—and they, too, have been sent north. It took many hours to convince Edward that his father had named Richard protector of the realm and that his uncle Rivers and even his mother were conspiring to circumvent that command. Eventually, the boy calmed down and realized his duty. ’Twas not easy, I am sure, but Richard is a kind man, and I am certain he explained it well.”

  “Aye, he is kind,” Kate could not help murmuring. “And he has a son the same age. He would know how to talk to Edward.”

  “But Rivers arrested! ’Tis astounding news, Jack,” Margaret said. “How did the queen react? The council?”

  “Ha!” Jack’s expletive was derogatory. “Her grace took to her heels and ran into sanctuary at Westminster the minute she heard. Her brother, Bishop of Salisbury, joined her. Her rascally son Dorset removed the king’s treasury and took it—and as much as they could carry from the palace—with them into sanctuary. In their panic to secure it for themselves, they ordered a large hole to be knocked in the side of the abbey for easier access. Such upstart nobodies, what could you expect?”

  The company was shocked. Margaret took to fanning herself with a trencher left on the table. It was all too unbelievable.

  “As if the taking of the treasury was not bad enough, Elizabeth found herself confronted with that old fool Rotherham, our chancellor and saintly Archbishop of York, who was now in a panic and fearful of a plot by Lord Hastings to overthrow the government. He rushed to Westminster”—Jack paused for effect—“to deliver the great seal of England into her keeping.”

  “What?” cried the group in unison, knowing the great seal gave the holder fiscal and legislative powers.

  Jack relished the reaction. “Aye, you heard right. The queen had the seal in sanctuary, and we councilors were none too pleased. When Rotherham realized his folly, he hurried back to Westminster and took it back again. Such a dithering idiot! You can believe he is no longer in possession of it, we saw to that. However, what is worse is that we have been forced to take sides, it seems. As the late king’s most trusted adviser, Hastings has the support of most of the noblemen from Edward’s court, including me. The queen has her supporters, and then there are the lords spiritual—a more grasping group of churchmen you have yet to encounter.

  “You can imagine the rumors, the whisperings, the conjecture. Many thought Richard had captured the king along with Rivers, but once Richard’s letter arrived, explaining everything, the council breathed more easily, and it stemmed any rising Woodville tide. Elizabeth’s brother Edward set sail with the rest of the royal treasury the very day Richard was supposed to meet Rivers in Northampton. How can anyone believe there was not mischief afoot?”

  If Jack had been telling a fairy tale, his audience could not have stared with more incredulity. They all clamored to know what happened next.

  The entry into London was almost an anticlimax, Jack told them, although Londoners were pleased to welcome their new young king, who was flanked by the two royal dukes, Gloucester and Buckingham. Richard had again sworn fealty to Edward in the Londoners’ presence, and so great was the relief that a strong leader was again in command of the government that many lords, including Jack, had sent a number of their armed retainers back to their homes. Now all looked forward to the coronation.

  Kate leaned forward. “I beg your pardon, Jack, but who is the duke of Buckingham? I do not believe I have heard tell of him until now.”

  “You may well ask, Kate. He was of no account to Edward and was rarely at court. But Harry Stafford, duke of Buckingham, is the only royal cousin Richard has. He is a direct descendant of Thomas of Woodstock, King Edward the Third’s youngest son. A few of us on the council are puzzled by his sudden interest in Richard, but ’tis no secret he loathes the queen and all the Woodvilles for forcing him to marry with one of them. Richard, it seems, is mightily taken with his cousin and showers him with responsibilities.”

  Jack’s frown told Margaret her husband was not altogether pleased with this turn of events. “Where is the king now?” she asked, changing the subject. “And what of the queen?”

  “His grace was first lodged in my Lord Bishop of London’s palace, but now he resides more comfortably in the royal apartments at the Tower. His mother, for her own reasons, refuses to leave sanctuary, despite Gloucester’s assurances of friendship.”

  “And Gloucester?” Kate affected nonchalance. “Is he at Westminster?”

  “Nay, Kate. Richard prefers Crosby Place. He is not a king. He has been proclaimed protector and as such is giving us good governance. Certes, there are those who do not care for his style—he has become more serious of late and has none of Edward’s jovial manner and pleasure-loving ways. Hastings, for all he aided Richard to oust the Woodvilles and assume his rightful role as protector, is—and always has been—jealous of Richard.”

  “Jealous of Richard? Why?” Kate asked.

  “Edward was too generous to his young brother, I think. Although Hastings was Edward’s right arm, and Edward rewarded him accordingly, Richard’s star rose higher than Hastings’. ’Twas obvious from the first council meeting with Richard that he is his own man, and Hastings knew at once he would not rule Gloucester as he had his brother. Richard confessed to me during the Scottish campaign that he blamed Hastings for ruining Edward’s life—consorting with whores and drinking themselves under the table. ’Tis my belief Richard is full of anger as well as grief, and his anger is directed at the lord chamberlain. I may be wrong. I hope I am.”

  JACK WAS NOT WRONG.

  A month later, William, Lord Hastings, was dead.

  “Richard’s ire was terrible to see,” Jack told his wife and Kate later on that thirteenth of June, after the boatman had been paid handsomely to row at double pace back to Stepney. Kate well remembered occasions when Richard’s fury overtook his more temperate side, but she was agog to hear why it had cost Lord Hastings his life.

  “Richard was informed by Buckingham that Will Hastings, Tom Stanley, that fool Rotherham and John Morton—Bishop of Ely—were involved in a plot to unseat him and take the reins of government. By now, I must tell you, Hastings had come to hate young Buckingham for his sudden influence with Richard and his own loss of power. Morton, too, grumbled to me that he did not much like the duke. Of late, we have been gathering at different places to discuss the council business. Some have gone to Westminster, some to the Tower and others to Morton’s palace and of course Crosby Place. It was noticed how often the four I mentioned were together and that after such meetings, Mistress Shore—who exchanged Edward’s bed for Will’s with unseemly haste—would go and visit the queen. Before long, word reached Buckingham—I presume through his lawyer, who it seems is also Hastings’ agent. Buckingham told Richard that the secret signal to
overthrow him at today’s council meeting would come from a discussion of strawberries in Morton’s garden.”

  “Strawberries? What have strawberries to do with council matters?”

  “Naught, my love. But they had everything to do with Will’s demise. We all convened in the White Tower and waited for the protector. He came late. Before the business began, Will asked Morton if the strawberries were ripe in his garden, to which the bishop replied, ‘Aye, let me send for some,’ and promptly left the room. According to the agent, this was the signal to send in Hastings’ guards to arrest both dukes. But Richard thwarted the effort by shouting ‘Treason’ and crashing his fist down on the table so as to almost break it in two. In place of Hastings’ men, Richard’s came running in and we were all in turmoil. Richard accused Hastings of plotting against him—and since he is protector of the king’s body ’tis a treasonable offense—and in his anger he ordered Will taken out on Tower Green and beheaded immediately.”

  Margaret was shocked. “God Almighty! Without trial? Why, Hastings was King Edward’s closest adviser. Did he deserve such an end?”

  “’Tis a question of loyalty.” Kate’s unexpected remark surprised Jack. “Richard could never forgive disloyalty. ’Tis a religion with him.”

  “May God have pity on the others, then. For he arrested Morton, Stanley, and Rotherham. All are imprisoned there in the Tower.”

  IT WAS PEACEFUL by the river. Kate spent hours watching vessels ply up and down the tidal waters, some propelled by their sails and others by the oarsmen’s brute strength. The dock at the foot of the garden stairs was busy every day. Jack went back and forth to the Tower, Crosby Place and Westminster to meet with the council. Each night his family eagerly awaited the news of the day. They learned that Bishop Morton was put in Buckingham’s custody out of the way in Wales and a few days following Hastings’ execution, Richard asked Jack, Thomas Howard and the Archbishop of Canterbury to accompany him to the Westminster sanctuary. Together they persuaded the queen to allow the young Prince Richard of York to join his brother at the Tower.

  “The boy was happy to leave that gaggle of silly geese, I can tell you,” Jack chuckled. “He’s a good boy, and he seems fond of his uncle. Of course, Elizabeth wept a fountain. Young Edward was delighted to see his brother, so Thomas said, and they immediately ran off to the butts with their bows.”

  Kate was recalling the conversation as she sat idle under her favorite willow one warm morning. The Howard women were being fitted for new gowns for the upcoming coronation. She had brought her finest gown with her, not knowing if she would have a place inside the abbey. Upon her arrival, Jack had promised she would. She watched a boat inch up the river from the city and wondered where it was going. She could see the boatman had only one passenger, a youth sitting stiffly upright on the cushions and taking an interest in all he saw. Soon it was clear the boatman was making for the Howard jetty. She did not think she had seen the young man before . . . or had she? There was a look of someone that rang bells in her head and tugged strings at her heart. But it was not Richard.

  Then she knew.

  “John! My dearest son!” she cried, standing up so quickly that she hit her head on a low branch. “Fiddle-faddle!” she exclaimed, more loudly than she had intended.

  The young man, who was now climbing the steps, jerked his head in her direction. “Mother?” he muttered to himself. “It must be.” At the top of the stairs, he saw her flying towards him. “Mother!” he cried aloud.

  With no awkwardness or shyness, Kate and John flung their arms about each other. Without ceremony, he picked her up and twirled her round and round until she begged him to stop. They were both laughing and kissing and talking all at once.

  “Let me look at you,” Kate said, when he put her down. He was taller than she and yet tended to his Uncle Johnny’s stocky build. At thirteen, he was still a boy, she thought, but a hardness around the eyes and mouth told her he had taken his share of knocks during his training at Pontefract and Middleham. The gray-blue eyes had not changed, but now his dark hair hung to his shoulders in the new fashion. Jewels sparkled on his fingers and on the pin of his hat. Seated on a stone bench in the privacy of the knot garden, Kate could not take her eyes off him. He chattered on about his skill with the short sword and his love of singing.

  “It is said I must have inherited this from you, Mother. I do remember a song about Agincourt, but it was a long time ago. Father and Aunt Anne insist that I sing for them whenever we are together. ’Tis not often, though. For I am now squire to Lord Lovell, and I must go with him when I am not in training. Father says I will be a knight soon. Oh, and I see Katherine whenever I am at Middleham. You know she is now lady-in-waiting to Aunt Anne. She is loving to me . . . sometimes. But most of the time she is ogling the other squires. She looks like you, Mother, but not nearly so beautiful.” He was earnest, his gaze admiring. “She wants to see you, too. The duchess had need of her today, or she would have journeyed with me. When will you come into the city? You can see her there.” He paused. “But forgive me, you have said nothing. What of you? I was sad to hear of Grandfather Martin’s passing. I think I remember him. Oh, and Molly, where is Molly?”

  “Questions, questions!” She laughed happily and did her best to answer them all. She paused for breath. “How is your father, dearest? These events of late must have tried him sorely. Oh, I warrant you are too young for him to confide in you. Foolish of me.”

  John was silent. He looked down and played with one of his rings nervously. He must have picked that up from his father, Kate thought, a pang of longing striking her.

  “Nay, he does not confide in me, ’tis true. But Katherine did tell me of his anger the night before Lord Hastings’ execution. She is afeared of him when he flies into a rage. Only the duchess can calm him, she says.”

  Kate winced. John was not to know how much that still hurt her.

  “’Twas certain Father was in danger, Lord Lovell told us. ’Twas a stinking Woodville plot, and there is no doubt that if the king had come to London before Father, the Woodvilles would now have control. Certes, Father’s life would have been forfeit—and his cousin of Buckingham’s. Father was much aggrieved by Lord Hastings’ conspicuous role in it. There are those who say Father should have given him a fair trial, but,” he blurted out, “I do not believe he deserved one.”

  Kate looked around quickly. The Howard estate was safe, she was sure, but one never knew in this simmering summer. “You must not say things like that abroad, John. You must learn to curb your tongue. We do not know whom we can trust. You do not want to place your father in more danger, do you?” Kate was gentle but made certain John understood her. She bent forward and kissed his cheek. A few soft whiskers were visible. Sweet Jesu! she thought, he will be a man soon.

  “Come, let me take you inside to meet Lady Howard. Then you can greet Molly. She will be so happy to see you again. Make sure you tell her all about Katherine, for I cannot lie, that child was the apple of Molly’s eye.”

  “Aye, that I do remember.” John grinned. “But, Mother, I was always sure I was the apple of yours.”

  “You shall never know, my bold-faced boy!” She winked at him, drew his arm through hers and led him towards the house. “Have you met with your cousin, the young king, and his brother?”

  He looked around furtively. “Aye, Mother. I confess I find his grace a mealy-mouthed boy, pale and uninteresting. His brother, Richard, is much more entertaining. I cannot love them as I do my half brother, Ned. He is a dear boy for all he is sickly.”

  “Sickly? Did he not travel here with his mother?”

  “Nay, he is at Middleham with his nursemaids. He is not abed all the time, if that is what you think. It is just that he is thin and his legs wobble. Oh, ’tis hard to explain. But he is a clever boy. I cannot beat him at chess.”

  Kate had to laugh. “Good for him. But surely, he will be here for the coronation. His cousins would miss him sorely, would they not?”
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  “I doubt it, Mother. They hardly know him. Cousin Edward has been in the west and Ned in Yorkshire. They are strangers to each other, just like me.”

  “Poor child! I cannot imagine a boy your age being forced to wear the mantle of state. I would be afraid.”

  “With Father as lord protector, how could anyone be afraid? He has sworn to serve the king, and nothing will stop him from helping Edward to rule well, ’tis sure.”

  NO ONE WATCHING Jack Howard’s sprint from the jetty to the house would have guessed his age as fifty. Holding his gown above his knees, he arrived panting at the side door and burst into the hall. Kate was entertaining the family with a song as they waited for the master of the house to arrive for supper. She broke off when she saw him, and the others swung around to face him. Margaret hurried to his side.

  “Are you unwell, my love? Your face is red and your breathing labored.”

  For once, he brushed her aside and made straight for the chair she had vacated.

  “Wine! Bring me wine!” he shouted, sitting down heavily. A page scurried off to comply. “God’s bones! But when will this all be done!” He wiped his brow on the back of his sleeve.

  “What has happened, Jack? Pray tell us immediately, before you are stricken by an apoplexy!” Margaret sounded cross. Her mouth was sour, and a frown creased her forehead.

  “Edward—his grace, the now-buried king—has thrown us all in a cesspool of dung! Aye, from the grave he mocks us! He was not content to philander while he was married to the queen. It appears he was philandering even in marrying Elizabeth! It seems our gracious lord was contracted to marry another lady before he wed his Grey mare,” he said, referring to the queen’s first marriage to John Grey. Looking at each of them in turn, he asked, “Who can tell me what this means?”

  Before the rest of the befuddled company could digest this latest piece of information, John Bourchier answered. “Why, it means Edward of York’s marriage to Elizabeth was bigamous. It means his children are bastards. It means our new king cannot inherit the throne. It means we have no king! Holy Mother of God, ’tis a cesspool, as you say, Father!” As the others began to grasp the implications, he asked, “How do we know about the first marriage contract? Why only now do we know of this?”