The Devil in Ermine

  ‘I do, Harry. I would give my life for the little rascal.’

  ‘But not for me?’ I tightened my lips. ‘No, I do not blame you, uncle. I would not want my body parts distributed throughout the kingdom either.’

  Tears tumbled down his cheeks and clogged in his moustache as he flung his arms about me. ‘Harry, I care for you, you know that full well!’

  I returned his embrace, loving him for his honesty, for he had been like a father to me.

  Delabere coughed as though our embrace embarrassed him. ‘We shall leave before tomorrow’s dawn, your grace.’ The fellow seemed to be relishing his chance to give me orders.

  ‘So be it,’ I muttered, disentangling from my uncle, and my angry thoughts were like a rosary prayer to Satan.

  Damn you, Dick! Damn you! Damn you!

  SAYING farewell to Ned that dusk wrung my heart. I found my boy before the hearth playing knucklebones, becoming skilled at it too.

  ‘Ned.’ I dropped on one knee to face him. ‘Early tomorrow Uncle Knyvett and Sir Richard are going to take you and Mistress Lizbeth somewhere out of the rain.’

  He thought about it as he tossed the bones in the air. ‘But you are coming with us, sir.’

  ‘No, I must stay with our soldiers and… Ned, it may be a long time before I see you again.’ The cracking of my voice made him look up and the game was forgotten. ‘So I…I want you to be a brave, good boy and…and be content with all that God gives you in this life and put your trust in Him.’

  He frowned and stood up and came to stand before me like an earnest scholar. His hose was wrinkled and there was a potage stain down his jacket, yet my little rogue’s cheeks shone wholesomely. ‘You do not have to understand what those words mean, Ned, just remember them when you are older.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I never had a father to give me advice and I would have welcomed it. Say it back to me: “I-must-be-content-with-all-that-God-gives-me-in-this-life.”’

  I might have been teaching him amo, amas, amat but maybe one day he would remember and avoid the envy that had been my lover ever since I could remember.

  I hugged him. He permitted it with childish embarrassment. Ah, he felt so tiny. ‘Listen, fledgling, Uncle Knyvett is going to wake you before cockcrow and you will have to creep out like a mousekin.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because mice are very quiet and I do not want you to wake everyone.’

  ‘But mice are not quiet, Father. I have often had mice visit my bedchamber and they make a great noise.’

  ‘Then you must be a quiet mouse. And, Ned…’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘One day you will be head of our family and you must look after your sisters and brothers. Promise me.’

  He nodded solemnly and I pulled his cap down over his eyes. ‘Little rascal.’

  That night after Mistress Lizbeth had tucked him in the truckle bed in Lord Ferrers’ bedchamber, I sat beside him and told him of how I would take him fishing in the Usk when we returned to Brecknock and that one day he must help the town to put a tower on their church – a promise I had never fulfilled. I told him that he was a Plantagenet and descended from kings and that he must serve the King of England with a true heart just as his great-grandfathers had.

  ‘I’ve been thinking, Ned, see this ring of mine.’ I tugged off the ring I wore on the little finger of my left hand. ‘See, it has “HS” for Harry Stafford. Well, I want it to be a token betwixt us and if ever I send this to you, you must trust the messenger and let him bring you to me.’

  He nodded, so busy moving his pillow that I wondered if he had listened, but then he pulled out the little dagger I had given him last Yuletide. It was scarcely longer than a fisherman’s bodkin with a bone handle.

  ‘You might need this, Father.’

  ‘No, I—‘

  ‘I know you gave it me, sir, but now I’m giving it you.’

  ‘Oh, Ned.’ I gathered him once more in my arms, my heart breaking. Soon, I would make him Prince of Wales but for now we had to part.

  I LAY that night with Ned in my arms and Lord Ferrers’ bed seemed hard as rock to me. Beside us, Uncle Knyvett snored like a bacon pig until Delabere came to rouse him.

  I wrapped Ned tight as a case moth and scooped him into my arms and then mutely, mechanically, I followed them down the stairs. Their esquires had the horses ready saddled. Uncle Knyvett took my son from me then he carried my hand to his lips.

  ‘God keep you, Harry.’

  CHAPTER 15

  I watched them walk the horses to the road bearing my son away and then I closed the door and leaned back against it.

  Pershall found me later sitting before the unstoked embers of the bedchamber’s hearth. There was no longer the usual laughter in his voice as he set a cup of mulled wine before me.

  ‘Your grace, a dozen of the Newport men have left this morning. Downstairs they are asking whether Sir William and Sir Richard are gone too. Would it please you come and speak with them?’

  ‘Good Pershall, tell them I have sent Sir William back to command the Brecknock garrison, and that every man who stays with me shall have a silver penny and double wages when we’ve crossed the Severn.’ I patted his arm in thanks.

  He was gone but a minute when Morton’s great bulk blocked the door like a magpie stuffed in a chimney. ‘Rats jumping ashore, eh, Buckingham?’

  ‘Pardon?’ I clambered stiffly to my feet and picked up the jack of wine.

  ‘It seems that your captains are turning lily-livered. What are you going to do, my boy? Grovel before King Dick and plead for a whipping?’ I took a swig of wine, watching through narrowed eyes as he waddled in and sank onto the chest that sat at the foot of Ferrers’ bed. The coat of arms carved on its lid creaked in protest.

  ‘Undecided, are you, Buckingham? It looks as though it is not just the King but God who is against you.’

  It was hard to keep my temper sheathed. ‘Against me! I find your choice of words very curious.’

  ‘Where’s the child?’ He had noticed the empty trundle. ‘Ah, so it is true that Knyvett has fled with him.’

  I glared at Morton’s fat face. Not a flicker of pastoral sympathy was there; he looked so unmoved by our circumstances that I wondered if there was actually any rising planned and whether this had all been some monstrous connivance to detach me from Richard. As if he read my thoughts, he flicked them aside with a wave of podgy hand.

  ‘Doesn’t it matter to you that we have failed to meet up with our allies?’ I blurted out.

  He shrugged, his mouth a scythe of diffidence. ‘Quite frankly, if King Dick rounds up the Woodville captains and lops off a few heads, no, it doesn’t matter. Just so long as he does not snare Henry Tudor. Still, Margaret’s lad is not a fool, he’ll hoist sail back for Brittany if there’s a hint of doubt.’

  By Jesu, was he now saying my claim as the last legitimate heir of Lancaster was of no consequence? That I and the Woodvilles were dispensable? Well, I was not finished yet.

  ‘You’ve been a disappointment, Buckingham, not raising the numbers we hoped for and now this.’

  ‘This is not my fault.’

  I had risked everything, believing him my ally, and now he sat there like God at my doomsday. By rights, I should have been riding that very hour to claim the throne yet the curl of his lip told me I was a fool and not worthy of respect.

  ‘You Judas!’ I snarled, grabbing him by the neck of his vestments. ‘You stinking lump! You’ve dragged me down to your pit of treason. By Heaven, I should have lopped you straight after Hastings!’ I punched my thumbs into his windpipe, determined to choke the air out of that cavernous throat. ‘Liar, blasphemer! By God, the Jew priest Caiaphas could learn nothing from you.’

  Latimer burst in and grabbed hold of me. ‘Your grace, desist, I pray you. The men can hear your quarrel.’

  Morton’s serpent eyes glittered, unchanging. I let him go and he flopped back on the chest, one bloated hand craw
ling up like an ugly familiar to knead his flesh but still he could not resist aiming a fist of hoarse words to bruise me further.

  ‘“More is worth a good retreat than a foolish abiding.”’

  ‘Get out!’ I hissed. ‘God grant you burst when they coffin you and, by Heaven, I’ll spit on your tombstone. Set a guard on him, Nick, under constant watch!’ I would keep him as a hostage. If need be, he would be a peace gift to Richard.

  A DAY LATER, they told me he had escaped, taking his guards with him. They? Limerick, Latimer, Russhe, Pershall and Bannister. The rest of my army had vanished save for a few indecisive fellows who were fearful of Stafford’s men.

  We gathered together that morning in final council.

  ‘The river is almost passable, my lord, and then it will be open season for the bounty hunters. Should we not separate? At least that way we may save our lives.’ It was Russhe who spoke. Counting out gold pieces in Thames Street had not hardened him to riding in the mire.

  ‘I agree with Master Russhe.’ Latimer turned his grey eyes on me. ‘We have our families to think of. If we go now, the King will have little evidence against us.’

  ‘Then save yourselves, good friends. I thank you for your service of me with all my heart.’ I embraced each of them, promising that once matters improved, I would reward them

  ‘What shall you do, my lord?’

  ‘I shall heed the fox’s wisdom and lie low while the hunt is on. There are plenty of possibilities. I could go to Brittany or France. Talk the Scots King into giving me support, perhaps.’

  Limerick bowed. ‘Then God keep your grace.’

  He and Latimer mounted up and took the lane westwards. The remaining soldiers ran after them. Russhe had slipped away too.

  Jesu, had every one of them gone? Drawing my sword, I skirted the stable and found Pershall and Bannaster leading out three saddled horses. The dog from Clerk’s Well was trotting at their heels.

  ‘Where to, now, my lord duke?’ Dear, loyal Pershall.

  I eyed the man at his side. ‘I gave you a holding north of Shrewsbury, did I not, Bannaster?’

  ‘Aye,’ he mumbled. ‘It be north of Shreswbury, my lord.’

  ‘Good man! Then guide us there. I purpose to keep my head down for a few weeks until the hue and cry is past. And then I shall quit England or else make my peace with the King Richard.’

  Bannaster agreed but he looked fit to piss himself. He had worn my livery all his life and performed his duties efficiently but he was so self-effacing that I could not recall one conversation that did not consist of a command from me and a murmur of compliance from him.

  In the solar, I abandoned my expensive German armour for a stained jacket that one of my lily-livered soldiers had discarded in the hall. With my finery gone, I felt naked but it was better so. No one would recognise me now.

  I almost had my foot in the stirrup when Thomas Nandik ran out of the house.

  ‘Everyone’s gone,’ he exclaimed, staring about him.

  ‘Ah, that’s what a good education does for you,’ jeered Pershall. ‘Makes you observant.’

  Nandik looked even worse than me. The dye of his new gaudy doublet had run like veins down his long, spindly legs ruining his fine woollen hose.

  ‘Your grace, your stars… I…’

  ‘Jesu ha’ mercy, you think I acted on your predictions?’ I exclaimed contemptuously, easing my crude belt a notch. ‘Use your head and go! Every other jack has.’ I turned away but he flung his arms around my dirty leggings babbling:

  ‘No, no, my lord, nothing was false, nothing! Remember in Northampton, I warned you to beware rivers. Is that not come to pass? Believe me, this very month the King will die and you may once more prosper.’ I tried to shove him away but the sodding fool was clutching at my hose. ‘I beg you, lord, return home. Make pretence you were warned of the rebellion and were setting out on King Richard’s behest.’

  Pershall grabbed him by the shoulders and hurled him from me.

  ‘Fuckin’ incubus! Have done with your poxy prophecies! Would we had never set eyes on this accursed wretch, my lord.’

  As we galloped away down the sodden track, I realised in hindsight that Nandik had prophesied the truth. It had not been Lord Rivers I needed to fear but the bloody River Severn.

  ICY damp was in my bones, my liver, my heart, my head but I refused to let courage trickle out of me like piss into the soggy earth. How I longed for the soft comfort of my deerskin boots. The mud-caked hose chafed at every step I took. And the filthy jacket offended me, too. Every spatter that befouled it was only bearable because it made me look less like Harry Buckingham.

  Bannaster led us along the contours of the hills and the higher ground was less water-logged than the furrowed highways, but we made pitiful speed at first, our hearts jumping every time we heard a stick snap in the wild woods.

  When the sun at last withdrew out of the mist at noon in a belated answer to my prayers, glorious warmth lit the peace of the forest and the bright cloak of the Autumn king swirled around the roots of the trees in a flurry of scarlet and amber. Alas, the radiance lasted scarce longer than a woman’s sigh before the clouds again took dominance. No matter, I would survive this, I vowed.

  One of the horses cast a shoe at dusk and so, not daring to show ourselves at a blacksmith’s, we turned the beast loose. Then the next morning, the second horse began to limp. It had picked up a shard of stone in the frog of its hoof. With one mount between us after that, we made ill progress. I was unused to walking, let alone for hours at a time, and my feet blistered painfully.

  My servants conversed sparingly leaving me to hobble along with my thoughts. Taking heed for tomorrow outweighed all else and there were healthy precedents to cheer me. Bolingbroke, Edward IV and Warwick had all returned from exile to rule England. I could, too. And this rebellion had not been a mistake. Richard’s friends would have talked him into not trusting me. I’d have been squeezed out between their thumbs like a blackhead. No, that’s too distasteful. A splinter is better. A splinter since childbirth, that’s me.

  But I had no taste for this adventure any more. The wind continually blew in squalls from the south, and trudging through the Malvern Hills, avoiding the villages, was poor sport. Nor was I accustomed to an empty belly. I had to rely on Pershall to forage for us and I despised myself for being so dependent on him and Bannaster. I could not even conjure damp kindling into a fire.

  We reached Shropshire and were about half a day’s journey from Wem when Pershall returned with ill news. Tudor had sailed back to Brittany, Howard had subdued the rebels in the east and the King had passed through Coventry and was setting out to hunt his ‘Cousin of Buckingham’ with a deadly vengeance. Proclamations were everywhere. I should definitely have to hole up until the hue-and-cry calmed down.

  ‘I been thinking,’ Pershall announced to me as we shared the meagre food. ‘I’ll go with the pair o’ you nigh Shrewsbury but no further.’ At that, Bannaster looked up fearfully, and anger drove the blood into my cheeks.

  ‘Why don’t you turn me in and have done with it?’ I hurled my bread at him and stumbled from their company to lean against a nearby tree.

  ‘I’m now a traitor, am I?’ growled Pershall at my elbow. ‘Do y’ know it’s only just dawned on my feeble wits how great a traitor you are, my lord of Buckingham! All those letters you and that great turd of a bishop wrote from Brecknock about King Edward’s son or that Welsh knave being rightful king when all along it’s you who wanted the crown. You’ve no right to the kingdom.’

  I whirled round on him, my hand on my sword hilt. ‘A murrain on you for a liar! I’ve far more right than Gloucester. His brother took the crown in blood.’

  ‘But that’s just it, isn't it?’ Pershall exclaimed, turning to include Bannaster. ‘We just can’t have any bloody-minded beggar knockin’ the King out of the way and takin’ the crown just cos he feels like it.’

  ‘Oh, come now, Pershall…’ I knew I could talk sense in
to him.

  ‘No, you listen to me for a change,’ he exclaimed. ‘Gloucester is king because Parliament passed a law agreeing to it, an’ that was your doing but, bless me,’ and here sarcasm dripped from his voice, ‘now your grace has had a change of mind. ‘By Christ!’ he snarled further. ‘Your blood are never satisfied. Thirty plaguey years an’ more you lords have been slashing at each other an’ what good has it done? All your kinsmen slain an’ you, a duke, fallen to running like a wretched hare before the hounds. An’ here’s another thing.’ He wagged a calloused finger at me. ‘Tell me this, what sort of king does a traitor make? Eh? Eh?’

  ‘I do not follow your reasoning, man,’ I protested.

  ‘Well, supposin’ a bleedin’ miracle occurs and you do become the friggin’ king. You won’t trust anyone. You’ll be even afraid of your own friggin’ shadow.’

  ‘No, Pershall,’ I began but again he was too anguished to listen.

  ‘Rot you!’ he cried, his lips an ugly sneer as he railed further. ‘King Richard gave you all a man might dream of and what did you do? Throw it away like it was some soiled rag not fit enough for your grace’s hands. O God!’ he clapped his hands to his temples as though the pain of his thoughts was agony. ‘An riskin’ good men’s lives to show the bloody world how great you are.’

  My tongue froze. I could not believe that Pershall of all people could abuse me so. He had one last insult.

  ‘By Our Lady, you are a fool, Harry Stafford,’ he snarled, ‘an’ I am done with you!’ Grabbing up his knife from beside the fire, he stuffed it in his belt. ‘God be wi’ you, Bannaster, you poor bastard.’

  Then without another glance at either of us, the insolent rogue whistled the dog from the field and scrambled down the bank, taking our only horse and leaving Bannaster and I staring at each other in disbelief. I should have sprung down and wrestled the bridle from the bastard but I was not swift enough and Bannaster could not think that fast.

  ‘You ungrateful, stinking, thieving son of a whore!’ I yelled. ‘After all I’ve done for you. Damn you, Pershall!’