A Rose for the Crown: A Novel

by Anne Easter Smith

“Cousin Richard!” she muttered, recalling the scene at the coronation feast when she had seen him talking with Buckingham. “Oh, dear God, please do not tell me he is involved.”

  “Richard Haute of Ightham is indeed guilty of supporting the rising, I regret to say. ’Tis this news I have been asked to relay to you by my father. He thought you would want to know immediately.”

  “Thank you, John. ’Tis indeed troubling. Richard Haute was like a father to me. I cannot believe he would turn traitor to his king.” But then she remembered that he had supported York against King Henry. “Does the king know? He must be far into his progress by now. Tell me more of the rising. What did Buckingham hope to gain?”

  “The Kentishmen were told the duke had raised an army on behalf of Henry of Richmond and they were to begin the rebellion. Buckingham had indeed gathered troops to his banner in the south and southwest, which he hoped to join from his castle at Brecknock in Wales. But the Kentishmen rose too early and so warned of the rebellion to come, and with Father sending fast to the king with his news, the country was ready.”

  The news astounded Kate. What could have happened to Harry Stafford that he chose to turn traitor to the one person in the land who believed in him? How had Richard turned Harry’s love into such hatred? “One thing I do not understand, John. Why were the rebels trying to put Henry of Richmond on the throne? Why not young Edward?”

  “You are forgetting the princes’ bastardy, Dame Katherine. No one wants to take a chance on a bastard—or a boy. Nay, Richmond was their choice, although the man has not set foot in this country for many years. Indeed, he never even landed to support his claim and Stafford’s efforts. A well-timed gale prevented his fleet from finding safe harbor, and that same storm kept Buckingham from crossing the Severn to his followers in Dorset.” The young man chuckled. “’Twould appear God was not on their side. Why anyone would follow Richmond, an upstart Tudor, I do not know. Nor do we know his mettle. I, for one, am content with King Richard. He is a true Plantagenet and ’tis his right to wear the crown!”

  Kate smiled at John’s enthusiasm. “Well said, John!” She shook her head. “I fear for those two boys in the Tower, in truth. They are still a danger, and anyone else who covets the crown—and has not the same lawful right as Richard—must fear the sons of King Edward.”

  John shrugged. “They are bastards and of no account. There is now a rumor they may already be hidden far away—or even dead. Everyone speaks of Richmond as the king’s rival now. If I were the king, I would fear for my life. ’Tis evident there are those who wish him dead.”

  Kate gasped, grasping the truth of John’s words, and she turned pale at the thought of Richard’s danger.

  “Dame Katherine, are you unwell? Your cousin is imprisoned, certes, but we do not know his fate yet. Take courage. King Richard is a merciful man.”

  “’Tis good of you to be concerned, John. I must ask Jack to intercede for me. I cannot stand by and allow my dear cousin to be . . .”

  “Executed? Aye, ’tis said Buckingham will be executed at the king’s command. And other traitors may receive the same fate. Though several did flee to Brittany once the rebellion fell apart.” He rose. “And now, if you will forgive me, madam, I cannot stay. I am to gather some papers for Father and return to Salisbury, where he awaits the king’s grace. I will gladly carry some missive for you to him, if you wish.”

  “My thanks, John. If ’twill not disturb you, I will write it here.”

  “Certes. Take what you need.” He waved at the pile of parchment always in evidence in Jack’s well-run office. She wrote one letter to Jack asking that he deliver the second into Richard’s hands alone. Richard’s was more difficult. She wanted to ask without begging. She chewed the feather on the quill into a soggy mess until she found the right words.

  “My sovereign lord, I send you God’s greeting. I have news of the rebellion from John Bourchier, Lord Berners, and I pray God will give you guidance to pronounce judgment on your kinsman, Buckingham, whom you have loved and trusted and who has repaid you with dishonor and treason. For my own selfish reasons, I implore you to spare the life of my own kinsman, Richard Haute of Ightham. I have often told you of his goodness to me, and without it, you and I would never have met. I pray you to remember the love we once had and the words you said when you gave me this ring. I thought never to part with it, but I must if you will hold true to the inscription and will grant my cousin his life. Your loyal and obedient servant, Kate Haute.”

  She re-read her words, cleaned up a smudge here and there, slipped off her ring and wrapped it in the letter. She dropped wax in several places to secure the precious contents and sealed it. She addressed this letter and folded it inside Jack’s. Next, she pulled a parchment towards her and began a third letter.

  “My dearest Anne, I give you God’s greeting. I have heard of your father’s involvement in the rebellion and I know he is imprisoned for it. Take heart, dear sister, for I have confidence he will be restored to you soon. My friendship with the duke of Norfolk will surely bear fruit and Cousin Richard will be released. I have written to him to intercede with the king. I shall wait with impatience for your news. Your loving sister, Kate Haute.”

  She gave the letters to John and watched him slip them into his pouch with the other documents. Thanking him, she left the room and hurried down the lane to her house.

  WHEN MOLLY WAS in a bad mood, her scowl only intensified the dark mark on her face.

  “You might cause weeds to wither if you looked at them now,” Kate remarked, which did not help matters at all.

  “Mistress, hold still! I can’t braid your hair if you keep looking to the window. Who be you waiting for?”

  “ ’Tis none of your business, Molly. Pray attend to your task. You are impossible when you are in a mood. What has Wat done to make you thus?” Kate was stern, and Molly knew she had overstepped her bounds.

  “I be sorry, mistress. Wat hit me again this morning for not mending his stockings. He thinks I have naught to do but look after him. He left soon after without so much as a by-your-leave. Oooh, but he be a rude mammet!”

  “Sometimes you deserve a smack, Molly, ’tis true. But I trust Wat does not make a habit of hitting you. I will not tolerate a bully in my house.”

  “Nay, I be luckier’n some other wives, mistress. Husbands will always beat their wives. It be in a man’s nature. It be his right, more’s the pity.”

  “Aye, perhaps one day the law will change,” Kate said, but her eyes were back on the casement. Molly pinned the final piece of hair and arranged the wimple over Kate’s head, glad the awkward hennins harried her no longer.

  At last Kate heard the dogs in their kennels announcing a stranger. There was a thumping on the front door. Kate negotiated the narrow staircase nimbly and flung open the door. A messenger in the Howard livery stood on the step, letter in hand. Kate thanked him with a groat and closed the door in the poor man’s face.

  “Right trusted and well beloved Kate, your letter and enclosure was delivered to us yesterday. Be assured we shall review the matter of your cousin, Richard Haute, and out of respect for you and the ring you sent me, we shall spare his life. However, his involvement in this heinous rebellion cannot go unpunished. I pray you will understand our position.”

  The letter was formal up to that point, and Kate found the use of the royal “we” disconcerting. Nevertheless, the message was happily received. Whatever his crime, Richard Haute was out of reach of the executioner, she was sure. She kissed the letter gratefully. The next section, however, returned her to Richard the man, the Richard she had loved before fate forced him into kingship and his burden of responsibilities.

  “’Twas with a heavy heart that I ended the life of my cousin, Harry Stafford, yesterday morning. I could not look on him again even though he begged to see me. I am ashamed I did not have the measure of him, Kate. I wrote to another that he was the most untrue creature living, and I believe he was. There is more I might wri
te about his character and actions, but I dare not. Only pray for me, Kate, for I am certain I shall burn in Hell for what he has done in my name. God keep you, Richard.”

  No R this time, she noted. She frowned at the last sentence. Why should Richard pay for Buckingham’s treason? she wondered, folding the letter carefully and placing it among others in her little chest. “I suppose I shall never know,” she said.

  ANNE’S LETTER WAS BRIEF but informative. She wrote to keep Kate abreast of the situation at Ightham.

  “John and I were ignorant of Father’s involvement in the recent rising, I swear. It seems Father was in danger of losing his life, but, perhaps through your acquaintance with the duke of Norfolk and his intercedence, the king was merciful and only attainted him. The Mote is now in his brother James’s hands, but he is a kind man and allows us to live here. Little has changed except for Father. He has aged greatly through this process, though Elizabeth and Ned give him comfort.”

  “Thank you, Richard,” Kate said to herself, kissing the letter. She read on.

  “In happier news, I had occasion to visit Geoff and meet young Dickon. I cannot condone your action in this, Kate, but he appears happy, in truth. ’Tis a puzzle to me how a mother could give up her child, but I know you had your reasons. He resembles you greatly even to your golden eyes. Geoffrey says he leads my Johnny astray whenever Geoff’s back is turned. Only boys’ pranks, Kate, let me assure you.”

  Kate laughed. She could imagine Anne’s serious face when she wrote the last sentence, concerned Kate would worry. On the contrary, Kate was glad her son was not mealy-mouthed. She conjured up an image of herself as an eleven-year-old boy, with dirty hands and face and a handful of frogs. She was sure that when she finally came face to face with Dickon, she would know him instantly. She thought of him in context with Katherine and John and in a flash remembered the vision she had had at Walsingham: three children, two rising above a field while a third stood on the edge, watching. Certes, she thought with relief, Katherine and John are acknowledged royalty and will rise above their country-bred brother. It was that simple. She refused to speculate on the blood-spattered knight who had also been a part of the dream. It certainly was not George, she knew that now. She tucked the letter into her sleeve and went back to her loom.

  JACK AND MARGARET were in residence at Stepney for Christmas of 1483. Kate was invited to join them for the festivities, which she accepted happily. Winter in Suffolk was a bleak season, and without the Howards at the Hall, it loomed long and lonely. Margaret confided to Kate on the journey to London that Richard found Jack’s presence in the city of great comfort after the nightmare of Buckingham’s treachery.

  “Richard’s trust in Jack is well placed. My husband is as straight and true as an English bowman’s aim, and his respect for Richard has grown greatly over the years. ’Tis an unusual friendship ’tween a pup and an old dog, but both draw strength from it.”

  “It gives me comfort to know Jack is on Richard’s side. He has his old friends Rob Percy and Francis Lovell, ’tis true, but Jack is perhaps the father he has needed.”

  “Aye, you may be right, Kate. The queen confided to me at Windsor before the progress began that the hardest thing about their new life is being parted from their only child. They dared not subject him to the rigors of the progress, she said. He is a fragile reed, so it seems.”

  “As was Richard when he was a boy. And now look at him.”

  Margaret laughed, peering out of the carriage curtain that sheltered them from the rain. “I for one am grateful not to be astride a horse today. In truth, my bones are getting old and like not the saddle nor the rain.”

  “Fiddle-faddle, Margaret, you are only forty.”

  “Forty-four,” Margaret said. “You just wait another ten years. You will see.”

  Kate teased her for the rest of the journey, and the outriders were kept entertained by the sound of merry laughter from the coach.

  KATE HAD THOUGHT the Howard barge luxurious, but when she stepped into the richly decorated royal barge, she could only stare about her in awe. Richard had sent Rob Percy as her escort to Baynard’s Castle, and when Rob greeted her inside the Howards’ town house, he kissed her affectionately.

  “’Tis good to see you again, Rob,” she said, noting a few gray hairs. “I hear from Jack you are now torturing a second wife.”

  Rob laughed. “Such tales they spread about me! Aye, Joyce died suddenly of a fever, God rest her soul. My new wife waits for me at Middle-ham—if I ever return.”

  They walked together down the path to the pier, where the royal barge lay. Kate stepped onto the gangplank with Rob’s help. “Let me congratulate you on your position at court, Rob. Controller of the household, is it not? A high honor indeed.”

  As the oarsmen drew them swiftly through the water, Kate was offered wine and wafers, another pleasure she was unaccustomed to on board the Howard barge. The lions of England fluttered over the canopy, the pennants proclaiming the identity of the vessel, as if the carved golden prow and canopy’s columns were not enough.

  “Do you have a notion why Richard wants to see me? The messenger did not give me a reason for the summons.”

  “Nay. I cannot tell you, Kate. Richard has been silent of late. I fear the death of his cousin weighs heavily on him, in truth. Perhaps he would talk to you of Katherine’s wedding arrangements. He has sent William Herbert home to Wales to keep vigil against a possible Richmond invasion and to mend his health. The man has not been well.”

  “Has Richard set a time for the marriage?” Seeing Rob shake his head, Kate began to assume this was to be the subject of the audience.

  With six men pulling on their oars in perfect unison, the barge docked at the Baynard jetty in quick order. Rob led her to the solar where she and Anne had first met. An usher standing outside knocked on the door and announced her upon hearing Richard’s “Come!”

  Richard was alone, standing in front of the fire, a silhouette against its bright glare. She sank into a curtsy.

  “Kate, welcome! ’Tis good of you to come.” He walked forward and took both her hands, raising them to his lips. “When I knew that you were Jack’s guest at Stepney . . .” He stopped when he saw her expression. “What is it, Kate? Have I offended you?”

  He looked at her anxiously. What he had seen was her reaction to him now she could see him clearly. He was thinner and his shoulders markedly stooped. But it was the pain in his face that shocked her. His eyes had lost their humor, the deep lines on his brow and around his mouth gave an impression of a far older man and his expression was one of anguish despite his smile of welcome. She wanted to put her arms around him and lead him from this place to somewhere far away from the cares of kingship.

  “Do I look so different? Come, ’tis only six months since we saw each other last. I cannot look so different.”

  “Ah, but you do, Richard. I wish I could relieve you of your pain, whatever it is, for it is consuming you, ’tis certain.” She reached up and stroked his cheek, tracing her finger down the lines by his mouth. “It has something to do with your cousin Harry, I will wager. Your letter was puzzling, I must confess.”

  He stiffened at the mention of Buckingham, turned and walked back to the fire. His fingers gripped the mantel, his head drooping towards the flames.

  “Sit” was all he said, but she obeyed instantly.

  She waited patiently while he sorted through his jumble of thoughts for a coherent explanation of his cryptic written remark. When he began to speak, she could barely hear him and strained to catch every word.

  “Nothing of what I say must ever leave this room. You must give me your solemn oath,” he said, not moving. “Only Anne knows what you are about to hear. But telling Anne was not the same as telling you. She is good and kind, but she has not your way of understanding me. You were always my wise counselor, Kate, and I found myself wanting to hear your voice every day, giving me practical advice. ’Tis selfish of me, but I hoped that sharing my
burden with you would help me sleep again. Especially after Harry’s death. I pray you, swear you will never speak of this to anyone.”

  “I swear on everything that is holy.” Her heart had begun to thump uncomfortably. She felt beads of sweat form on her upper lip, and her mouth was dry. What could have happened to cause him to want her so after all these years. She stared at his back.

  “My brother’s sons are dead.” Richard spoke the words in a monotone as though he was a soul devoid of hope. Kate recoiled in horror, her hand over her mouth. He had purposely turned his back to her so as not to see her reaction. His shame was palpable, and she could not add to it by questioning him. He would tell her in his own way, she knew.

  “’Twas Harry who foully murdered them one night in late July. He came to me in Gloucester—aye, my own city—with the ‘good’ news. He was positively brimming with it.” The sarcasm dripping from him made Kate shiver. “The fool thought I would reward him for his trouble, for ridding me of these two pests, he called them. My own nephews! Edward’s only sons. I know not what I said to him, but he removed himself from my presence in all haste, his expression dumbfounded. I managed to smile when I followed him from the chamber, hoping to signal to those present that all was well. What was I to do? Announce to all that my cousin of Buckingham had murdered Edward’s bastards? How many among them would believe I had not ordered it? Not one, I will wager. Not one.”

  He covered his face with his hands and began to cry softly.

  Kate slipped out of her chair and laid her cheek lightly against his back, her hand stroking the soft fabric of his doublet. She felt him stiffen, but she stayed where she was and let him cry.

  “I am so ashamed for you to see my tears.”

  “It takes a strong man to express his emotions, Richard. Why should God have given us tears if we are not to shed them? They are naught but a way to cleanse our hearts of grief. Come, my love, sit and tell me the rest.”

  She led him to a chair and sat him down. He clung to her hand like a child. She used her toe to move a footstool closer and lowered herself onto it without breaking his hold.