"Put him under house arrest," I said. Then it was Hastings' turn. He was a proved traitor and I ordered that he should be taken out to the Green at once and his head severed from his shoulders."
I could not believe this. I stared at Richard in dismay. Knowing him, I was well aware of the depth of his feelings. He had liked Hastings: Hastings was the kind of man whom people did like.
"It had to be," said Richard.
"They took him to the Green. They found a priest and he was shriven; they could find no block, so they used a piece of wood which was lying around, intended for repairs that were due to be done to the chapel. And there Hastings lost his head."
I covered my face with my hands and Richard put his arms about my shoulders.
"It had to be, Anne." he said.
"You do not understand how ruthless these people can be."
"Oh, Richard." I said.
"I understand too well."
I learned what happened after that dramatic scene; how the cry of 'treason!' had been heard coming from the Tower and was carried through the streets of London; how the people crowded into the streets; how they brought out their weapons to protect themselves and their homes because they feared there might be riots.
Richard had sent for the Lord Mayor of London, Sir Edmund Shaw, a goldsmith, highly respected in the city.
"There must be no trouble," he said, and a proclamation was prepared at the instigation of Sir Edmund who read it aloud in the streets of London.
"Lord Hastings has been executed," ran this statement.
"He was a traitor to the Lord Protector and the Government. He was planning to rule all England through the new King. He had enticed the last King into evil living and he had spent the last night of his life in the bed of Jane Shore, the whore, who was herself involved in plots against the government."
The trouble was subdued, but Richard's conscience continued to trouble him. He knew how fond Edward had been of Hastings; he himself had liked the man. But he had acted in the only way possible, and by doing so he had killed a man he had thought to be his friend. He took Hastings' widow Katharine under his protection. She should have her husband's property; he would always make sure that the child of the marriage a boy not yet of age -should be cared for.
I was glad of that; and I think Richard felt a little better after it was arranged; but I doubted he would ever be able to banish from his mind the memory of Hastings' perfidy and his tragic end on Tower Green.
Richard had no wish to punish Jane Shore but her share in the conspiracy could not be ignored. His brother had really loved that woman. She had not been one of his light loves. She and Elizabeth Woodville stood apart from the myriads of women in Edward's life, and Richard felt he would be haunted by his brother's reproachful ghost if he harmed her.
He was in a quandary. Her name had been mentioned in connection with treason. She had carried messages, knowing full well what she was doing, and it must be made clear that those who indulged in such practices could not go unpunished.
She was a harlot and there was a recognised treatment for harlots. Richard did what others had done before him; he decided that he would not judge her himself. He would pass her over to the Church.
She was brought before the Bishop of London's court which sentenced her to suffer the penance demanded by the Church for such as herself. She should be deprived of her possessions, those which had been bestowed on her by her lovers and were therefore tainted with sin; and she must walk through the streets in procession to Paul's Cross, bare-footed and wrapped in worsted, a lighted taper in her hand.
I heard from my women, some of whom had seen the spectacle, that crowds had gathered to see this notorious woman. She looked very sad, but her beauty impressed all those who saw her. Though her feet were bleeding from the rough cobbles which she had to tread, she held her head high and walked with dignity.
Poor Jane Shore, the beloved of Edward, Dorset and Hastings, too. I thought a great deal about her and wondered if she mourned the death of Hastings, and what her fate would be. I supposed there would always be men to care for her. She was that sort of woman.
There were rumours all over London. The king's coronation had been postponed until November. Hastings had been executed without trial; the queen was in sanctuary. Why did she think it necessary to seek such protection? The king was living in the state apartments in the Tower of London. And there was tension on the streets. People were waiting for something to happen.
Richard was worried. Morton and Rotherham were in the Tower, having been arrested at the time of Hastings' execution. Buckingham consulted with Richard and they decided that Rotherham was an old fool who could not do much harm, and it would be wise to release him. As for Morton, he was of a different calibre. He was a man to be watched. Suppose he, Buckingham, took charge of Morton, who was a very cultured man? If he were separated from fellow schemers and shut away somewhere in the heart of the country, he might settle down to study and enjoy it. Suppose Buckingham sent him to his castle at Brecknock? There he would live a secluded life of culture which would keep him out of mischief. From time to time Buckingham would visit him and make sure that there was always a watch kept on him. That seemed an excellent solution.
As for Stanley, they knew where they were with him. He was a man who would be where his best interests were. It was not so difficult to keep an eye on such men.
It was then agreed that the great problem was the queen. If she would come out of sanctuary and live in the manner of a queen dowager, the people would be satisfied and cease to wonder about her. She was the Protector's sister-in-law, the beloved widow of his brother who had been very dear to him, therefore he and the queen should be good friends.
When the suggestion was put to Elizabeth, she would not consider leaving sanctuary, thus proclaiming as clearly as if she had made an announcement from Paul's Cross that she did not trust her brother-in-law, nor the government.
"Then if she will not come out," said Richard, "the Duke of York must join his brother in the Tower. The king is lonely. He wants his brother with him."
Elizabeth refused to let her son go and Richard was growing angry with her.
"She has been a trouble since my brother set eyes on her in Whittlebury Forest," he said to me.
"How I wish he had never seen her! Think of it! There would never have been a quarrel between Edward and your father. Was that not all about her? And her family. They have been responsible for war and bloodshed and now here she is ... telling the world she is afraid of me, afraid of the government, seeking sanctuary, refusing to let her son go. I tell you, the Duke of York is going to join his brother in the Tower."
There was conflict between the churchmen. Richard said that Elizabeth was using young Richard of York as a hostage and that was why she would not let him go. That could not be countenanced any longer. The Archbishop of Canterbury thought that to take the child would be going against the sacred law of St. Peter. However, the general opinion was that the situation was too dangerous to allow the queen to hold her son a hostage and he must be brought out to join his brother in the Tower.
It was unfortunate that the plan had to be carried out in the only way possible, for Elizabeth would never have let her son go unless forced to do so. Armed men were sent to the queen. The Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Bourchier, was extremely dismayed, as he believed that it was not right to remove any person from sanctuary against that person's will. But, having been overruled, he was obliged to allow the deed to be done.
He begged the queen to let her son go. She said she would not do so. She wished to keep her children with her. They needed their mother at such a time. The king was in the Tower awaiting his coronation which should have taken place by now, but some people had seen fit to postpone it. For what reason she had not been told.
The archbishop explained to her that the king needed his brother and asked for him to join him. The two boys should be together, and he feared that if she did not allow him to
go willingly, he would be taken by force, which would not be good for him.
Elizabeth wanted the archbishop's assurance that her son would be respected according to his rank, well cared for and protected. He gave her this assurance and at length the archbishop took the nine-year-old Richard of York by the hand and led him out of sanctuary. Richard told me that when he was brought to Westminster Hall he had a brief interview with him.
"He was sad at leaving his mother and sisters but was looking forward to being with his brother," he told me.
"Poor child," I replied.
"It is tragic when he is so young to be taken from his family."
"Well, he will be with his brother," said Richard.
However that rather delicate incident was over, very much to Richard's relief.
There was no doubt that the treachery of Hastings had hurt Richard deeply and made him more aware of the dangers which surrounded him. More than ever I longed for Middleham and the everyday affairs of family life. Between them, Richard and Buckingham had decided that they must be rid of the Woodvilles. At that time Earl Rivers, Richard Grey and Sir Thomas Vaughan, who had been arrested at Stony Stratford, were awaiting sentence. These men were all a potential danger to the realm. The Woodvilles must be stopped from making trouble, if there was going to be a chance of governing the country without continual conflict.
Sir Richard Ratcliffe, a man whom Richard trusted, was sent to see the execution of these men carried out.
Richard had known Ratcliffe when his grandfather was comptroller of Edward's household; and later when he had fought with Richard in the north and they were besieged at Berwick, Richard had awarded him a knighthood. Richard said he was a man on whom he could depend.
Ratcliffe went to Pontefract where the executions were speedily carried out.
I wondered what the feelings of Elizabeth Woodville were at that time. So many of her family had perished. Her two sons were in the Tower and no longer under her care. She had been a very ambitious woman and she must have known when she married the king and there was so much opposition to the match that her life would be fraught with dangerous difficulties. We had all had ample proof of her ambitions but she did indeed love her family. She had made that clear enough.
Now the death of the king had brought far-reaching changes to her life. She must have wondered with trepidation what the future held.
Meanwhile rumour was rife. The young king was not crowned. Was it not time this ceremony was performed? The government announced that in due course preparations would be made for the coronation. It was unfortunate that, in view of the troubles, it had been necessary to postpone it.
There were even rumours as to what was happening to the king and the Duke of York until they were seen on the Green before the Tower practising shooting arrows. Then the rumours died. There would soon be a coronation. The Woodvilles had always been unpopular so not too much sympathy was wasted on them.
The general opinion was that the Protector was a serious man -not attractive and lovable like his brother, but serious-minded, and men seemed to respect him. Moreover, the late king had found him so reliable that he had left the government of the country in his hands.
The death of a king which left a boy on the throne was an uneasy situation. It had risen before when Henry the Fifth had left a baby to follow him. And what trouble that had caused! Now they had a wise protector. He might not be charming and handsome like his brother, but if he were a wise ruler, what did that matter?
That was the mood of the people when Robert Stillington, Bishop of Bath and Wells, made his extraordinary announcement. He came to see Richard at Crosby's Place and was with him for a long time. Then Richard sent for the Duke of Buckingham and the three of them were together all the morning. I knew that something of great importance was happening. It was much later in the day when I was alone with Richard and I begged him to tell me what was happening.
He hesitated for a moment or two and then, seeing my hurt expression at being shut out of. his confidence, he said: "It is so extraordinary ... so ... so wild. I cannot believe it, and yet Stillington knows. Do you remember, he was in the Tower for a while after George had made those statements against my mother's virtue?"
I cast my mind back. It had happened at the time the Duke of Clarence had been found dead in a butt of malmsey. We had wondered why Stillington had been arrested in the first place, and then released so suddenly.
"I remember," I said.
"I know now what that was all about, and it is disturbing, Anne. It is alarming in a way. The amazing possibilities ..."
"Please tell me calmly, Richard," I said.
"The bishop says that Edward was not indeed married to Elizabeth Woodville and that those boys in the Tower are bastards."
"But that is impossible!" I cried.
"No ... very plausible in truth, knowing Edward. And when you hear how it happened you will agree. Edward was very young at the time. You know how reckless and impulsive he could be where women were concerned. It would not the first time he had been so overcome by passion that he threw away all caution. Apparently what he did was marry a woman named Eleanor Butler, and although she went into a convent later, she was alive when he went through a form of marriage with Elizabeth Woodville ... which means that there was no true marriage to Elizabeth and her children are illegitimate."
"I cannot believe that, Richard."
"Stillington says he performed the ceremony with Eleanor Butler."
"Can this be proved?"
"Stillington swears it."
"And this Eleanor Butler... who was she?"
"She was no goldsmith's wife. She was the daughter of the great John Talbot, Earl of Salisbury, and widow of Sir Thomas Butler. She must have been older than Edward and apparently a lady of virtue because she would not submit to him without marriage. Hence he took this reckless step."
"If this is true ..."
"If this is true," he repeated, turning to me, his eyes gleaming, "you know what it means."
"It means that you are the king." He nodded.
"Oh, Richard," I cried in dismay, "it cannot be."
"If it is true, it must be."
A terrible feeling of foreboding swept over me. I tried to lose it in disbelief.
"The king would never have done such a thing."
"He would, Anne. You know he would. He chose to forget his marriage to Eleanor Butler. The affair was long over; she had retired to a convent; she was as good as dead. He became besotted by Elizabeth Woodville. She insisted on marriage, so he went through a form of marriage with her."
"And all those children ..."
"Let us face it. They are illegitimate. They must be, if the marriage to Elizabeth Woodville was no true marriage."
"What will Elizabeth Woodville do?"
"Shed some of that arrogance, that insufferable pride mayhap. The upstart is reduced to what she was before the Icing raised her up."
"Will the people accept this?"
"Everyone must accept what is true. Anne, I see you are full of disbelief."
"Why did not Stillington say this before?"
"I believe he did."
"When?"
"He must have let it out to Clarence. Oh, don't you see, Anne? That is why Clarence died in the Tower. It comes back to me now. Think back to the time of George's death."
"I remember he said that Edward himself was a bastard."
"Yes, that calumny against our mother. George said Edward was the result of a liaison between our mother and a man of low birth. You know my mother. Do you believe that?"
"I should find it very hard to."
"Exactly. That was one of George's fabrications. This is different. Casting my mind back, I remember how Edward went to visit him in the Tower. It was the night of his death. Edward came back. He was stunned. I had never seen him like that before. Now I know what happened. Stillington must have spoken to Clarence of the king's marriage to Eleanor Butler, and when Edward went to see Clarenc
e in the Tower, Clarence told Edward that he knew this. The next morning Clarence was found dead in a butt of malmsey."
"You mean Edward ordered him to be killed!"
"It was a good enough reason, surely?"
"Edward ... to murder his own brother?"
"I know Edward well; he would reason that the death of one worthless man, obsessed by delusions of his own grandeur, was necessary in order to avert a civil war and the death of thousands. Edward was right in what he did, Anne. It is perhaps wrong to condone murder, but the life of one against those of thousands must be considered."
"And Stillington was sent to the Tower."
"Yes, because Clarence betrayed that the information came from him. Indeed, he was the only one from whom it could have come. You can imagine what happened. He was immediately imprisoned in the Tower, lest he should do more damage. Then Edward relented. I imagine he would go to see Stillington who would have been very contrite and swore he would never let the information pass his lips again, and possibly to deny it if it ever came to light through any other source. Edward was never vindictive. That has been shown again and again. He was always ready to forgive his enemies and live in peace with them. It may well be that he trusted Stillington so he was released and kept his silence."
"Until now."
"Yes, till now, when it cannot harm Edward."
"But it can harm Edward's family ... his son ... who is now king."
"I shall have to do my duty, Anne."
"You think the people will want that?"
"I must do what is right."
"You mean ... take the throne?"
"I think it is the only way. The king is but a boy. It is not good for a country to have a child king. A strong man on the throne gives stability to a country."
"You will be King Richard."
"And you will be my queen."
I closed my eyes. I was overwhelmed by foreboding.
Richard's first step was to call a meeting of the council and to lay the disclosures to them.
I waited at Crosby's Place to hear the result of that meeting. I soon heard that there was unanimous agreement that Richard must take the throne.
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