The Dreams of Kings

by David Saunders

‘No – no, my Lord,’ flustered the abbot.

  Richard stood up. ‘You have until the morning to tell me where she is. If you do not, then you and your monks will suffer my wrath. Men of God you may be, but you are still just men to me.’ He leant forward across the table, bringing his face closer to the abbot. ‘I dragged Somerset and his followers from the holy sanctuary of your cathedral and had them executed, so do not think you and your monks are safe within its walls.’ He straightened up to his full height, the threat hanging in the air between them.

  The monks in attendance stared white with fear at Richard as he stood with his hunched back, and his face contorted with anger. He could have looked as though he was the devil himself.

  The Black Bear Inn, Tewkesbury

  5 December 1471

  It had been snowing softly when they left the abbey. Snowflakes as large as goose feathers drifted gently down to settle on the frost-hardened ground. The warmth from the roaring fire in their lodgings was a welcome luxury as they stared out of the window, hypnotised by the falling snow.

  John’s mind returned to the warmth of the summer and his marriage to Rose. They had been wonderful carefree weeks, until Richard’s arrival at Middleham Castle, when he had reviewed his new estates. Mustering his men, they had left to campaign against the Scottish raiders who were causing so much trouble for the English farmers just south of the border. John had again seen Rose, briefly, when they had stopped at the castle, on their way to London to see King Edward and confirm Richard’s marriage to Anne. Now, they were back at Tewkesbury, seeking her out.

  Francis Lovell entered the room, brushing the snowflakes from his shoulders. ‘We will not be going far tomorrow if this keeps up,’ he stated, matter-of-factly.

  ‘If we find the whereabouts of Lady Anne, then we will go to her, snow or no snow,’ replied Richard.

  ‘I’m not sure the abbot knew where she was,’ said John. ‘He seemed very timid – frightened even. If he did know, then I’m sure he would have told us.’

  ‘Oh, he knows, all right,’ said Richard. ‘He may appear timid, but that’s part of his act. I think he has courage; you don’t become an abbot by being timid. But the real question is, why would he hide her from us? What doesn’t he want us to know or find out?’

  ‘There is only one thing it can be,’ said Francis.

  John and Richard stared at Francis, both with a bemused, questioning look.

  ‘She has gone back to France,’ Francis continued. ‘I think, she probably met somebody there who she fell in love with, and now she is free, she has gone back to marry him.’

  ‘What evidence tells you this?’ questioned Richard.

  ‘Well, she is very beautiful, and we all know what those amorous Frenchmen are like. They dress and strut like peacocks. One is sure to have turned her head.’

  ‘I wish you were right,’ laughed Richard, at his friend’s fanciful theory. Then, his face turned serious. ‘If my suspicions are true, then I think it may have been her husband, Prince Edward, who turned her head. I will get to the bottom of this mystery, if it’s the last thing I do.’

  John felt a hot wave of guilt sweep over him.

  There was a sharp knock on the door. One of their senior men-at-arms stood in the doorway.

  ‘Sorry to trouble you, my Lord, but we have a monk here who says he must speak with you on a matter of urgency.’

  Richard looked quizzically at his two companions, and then beckoned to the monk.

  The man entered the room, his head bent low; the hood on his habit pulled up, and covering his features. The snow that clung to him quickly melted, forming little puddles of water around his feet.

  ‘Stand by the fire and warm yourself,’ said Richard, kindly.

  The monk moved closer to the fire.

  ‘I am intrigued by your presence,’ continued Richard. ‘Tell me, what brings you here?’

  ‘I know where she is,’ the monk whispered. ‘If I tell, will you leave the abbey, and the monks, in peace?’

  ‘You have my word,’ answered Richard, his eyes glinting with excitement.

  ‘She was taken to Hailes Manor,’ the monk replied, quietly. ‘It is near to the village of Winchcombe. The manor house belongs to Hailes Abbey; it is a day’s ride from here,’

  John’s heart sank. Anne had been betrayed by a cowardly monk; her death warrant signed by a man of God.

  ‘Hailes Abbey,’ repeated Richard. ‘Was that not founded many years ago by monks from Beaulieu Abbey?’

  ‘Yes, my Lord,’ replied the monk. ‘It was founded by Richard, Earl of Cornwall, the younger brother of Henry III, around the year 1246, using monks from Beaulieu Abbey.’

  ‘Do the two abbeys still have close ties?’ asked Richard.

  ‘Very close, my Lord.’

  Richard rose from his chair and walked to the window. He stared out at the falling snow. ‘Anne’s mother is being held at Beaulieu Abbey, on the orders of King Edward,’ he said, quietly, as though talking to himself, ‘so messages must pass weekly – even daily – between the two abbeys. Anne is in one and her mother in the other…’ his voice trailed off. He turned back round to face the others in the room. ‘You will show us the way to Hailes Manor’ he barked at the monk.

  ‘I do not wish to be involved, my Lord,’ the monk replied. ‘I have risked enough already.’

  ‘You have risked nothing but your conscience,’ said Richard, dismissively. ‘For if I’m not mistaken, the assistant abbot was wearing the same ring I now see on your finger. Have you decided to betray your abbot, so you may take his place?’

  The monk’s hesitant nod confirmed his agreement.

  ‘Well, if we find the Lady Anne, I will gladly make you the Abbot of Tewkesbury,’ said Richard. ‘But first, you will lead me to her.’ The sudden harshness in his voice brokered no refusal. He turned to the others. ‘Raise the men,’ he ordered. ‘We ride for Hailes Manor, immediately.’

  ‘Tonight?’ cried Francis, incredulously, as he looked out at the deepening snow.

  ‘Yes, tonight,’ replied Richard. ‘We have not a moment to lose.’

  Hailes Manor, Gloucestershire

  6 December 1471

  The pale dawn light revealed an icy landscape. Anne held her newborn son tight against her chest. She looked down at him to check he was wrapped well against the cold draughts that often slipped silently into the room. He was just two weeks old, and she had named him Edward, after his father.

  She moved towards the window and held him up so that he could look out at the falling snow. She watched his eyes blink and widen at the whiteness of his first snowfall. Anne smiled and kissed Edward on his forehead. It was then that she saw the four horsemen moving slowly towards the manor.

  Her stomach tightened with fear. Who would be coming in this weather? She moved closer towards the window and stared at the approaching figures.

  The door behind her opened. She turned around, her face white with worry. Lady Vaux, and a wet-nurse entered.

  ‘There are men approaching,’ said Lady Vaux. ‘Move away from the window.’

  The urgency in Lady Vaux’s voice made Anne step back quickly into the shadows of the room.

  Lady Vaux rushed to the window and stood silently looking at the approaching figures. ‘Go and find Sister Mary,’ she ordered, ‘and prepare the secret room.’ She glanced round at the wet-nurse, who nodded and left.

  ‘Who can it be?’ asked Anne.

  ‘I don’t know, but they must have urgent business to travel in these conditions,’ replied Lady Vaux. She turned back to the window and watched the approaching men. She saw their horses were struggling through the deep snow. It would be a while before they reached the manor house. She breathed a sigh of relief. ‘You must take the baby to Sister Mary, while I check there is no evidence that would make them suspicious.’

  Anne nodded and hurried from the room.

  Lady Vaux gathered up the baby’s belongings to hide them away. She stood clutching them nervousl
y, as she watched the advancing horsemen. Slowly, her hands relaxed. Her stomach stopped churning, as she recognised the leading horseman. It was Abbot John. She watched as he and his companions slowly fought their way through the snow towards them. What is so urgent to make them undertake such a hazardous journey on such a terrible night? she wondered. Her stomach started churning again.

  The abbot and his three companions huddled around the fire, slowly easing the bitter cold from their bodies. Their thick woollen habits were frozen white. It had been a hard journey, and all were still too numb with cold to speak. Lady Vaux busied herself supplying hot drinks and food.

  Anne entered the room. She stopped and took in the scene, her face full of concern.

  The abbot turned from the fire to face her. ‘My Lady,’ he whispered, as he tried to rub warmth into his hands. ‘I have distressing news: Richard, Duke of Gloucester, has arrived at Tewkesbury, and is searching for you.’

  Anne’s hand shot to her mouth. ‘Then we must leave!’ she cried, her face suddenly filled with worry. Glancing out of the window, she saw the freezing landscape, the snow swirling in the bitter wind. Her body slumped in despair. ‘We are trapped,’ she whispered, her eyes darting around the room with mounting panic.

  ‘The young prince must be taken to the docks at Gloucester, and then by ship to France. I have brought some good men with me who will assist in getting him there safely but they must go today; there is no time to be lost. Duke Richard is not to be underestimated.’

  Anne stared at the abbot but his words seemed far away. She was thinking of Margaret, who had brought her only beloved son, Edward, back to reclaim the Lancastrian throne, and now he was dead. That could not happen to her own son. The abbot was right; her beautiful baby boy had to be taken to the safety of France.

  ‘If we are going to brave the snow and escape, then we should be organising ourselves,’ she cried. ‘Lady Vaux, Sister Mary, come with me. We must wrap our baby prince up well against this weather.’

  Hailes Manor became a hive of activity. The abbot had given them little time to prepare for their escape. Two nuns and two wet-nurses quickly gathered food and drink for the journey, and all the warm clothes and blankets they could find.

  Anne busied herself issuing instructions and helping here and there, but her heart was heavy. She acted bravely, but tears were never far from her eyes.

  Finally, they all stood in the large entrance hall ready to face the cold. The three monks who had arrived with the abbot had gone to bring the horses from the stables. Anne held her baby close, now fearful for his future, whilst Lady Vaux reassured her that all would be well. The abbot also whispered words of comfort. She heard the horses outside, and clutching her son tighter to her chest, she silently said a prayer for his safety.

  Suddenly, the great door flew open and an icy wind blew, swirling snowflakes around the hall.

  Anne let out a gasp of horror, for framed in the doorway, sword in hand, stood Duke Richard.

  He strode into the hall. To Anne, his great fur cloak flowed out around him like a beast from hell. As he approached, she saw the blood dripping from his sword. She shrunk back in terror against the wall.

  The abbot raised his hands protectively and moved quickly in front of Anne. Richard, without a word, ran him through with his sword; the move executed with vicious brutality. The abbot let out a short grunt of surprise and crumpled, dying, to the floor.

  Anne screamed with fear as she wrapped her arms protectively around her son.

  Richard glared malevolently at the baby, his sword hovering over him.He pulled his arm back to strike. Instinctively, Anne turned her back, and hunched over to protect the child. Her eyes tightly shut with fear as she waited the fatal blow, but then she sensed, rather than felt, a body move between her and Richard.

  ‘Enough, my Lord, you must stop this bloodshed!’

  Anne recognised the sound of John’s voice. She held her breath, praying for a miracle.

  The silence in the room hung in the air as though it was suspended in time itself. Nothing moved. All eyes were frozen, unblinking, staring at Richard.

  Slowly, he lowered his sword, the rage within him gradually fading. He looked at John, who stood between him and Anne, and gave a wry smile. ‘You’re a brave man,’ he said, as his composure returned.

  It was mid-afternoon. The December light was slowly greying and the wind had gone. A silent stillness hung over the soft white landscape.

  John was just finishing his rounds, checking that the thirty-five soldiers they had brought with them had eaten, and had warm billets to sleep in. Satisfied all was well, and that the guard rosters had been organised, he headed for Anne’s room. He needed to speak with her before he talked with Richard. He had left him with Francis, who had instructions to keep Richard calm and entertained until John got back.

  The two soldiers who stood guarding the door stepped aside. John knocked. There was a rustle of movement, and the door slowly opened. Lady Vaux peeked out at him, and smiled, opening the door wider and ushering him in.

  Anne was sitting in a high-backed chair, close to a small struggling fire that smelt of wet wood. She looked up and greeted John with a weak smile.

  John knelt beside her. Her face looked tired and fragile. He looked into her sad eyes.

  ‘Oh, John,’ she sighed, ‘sweet John; you saved us from that monster’s sword and I thank you with all my heart.’ She brushed the hair from his eyes and stared deeply into them. ‘Does he still want our blood?’

  John moved to the chair opposite her and leant forward, his face close to hers. ‘We both know the implications your son brought into the world when he was born, so you understand why the Yorkists would want him dead?’ he stated. ‘Edward’s crown will never sit easy on his noble head if word got out that there was a grandson of Holy Harry waiting to reclaim it.’

  Anne wrapped her arms around herself and sat back in her chair, her eyes wide with dread. ‘So we are doomed?’ she whispered.

  ‘There is only one way to save your son,’ John said.

  Anne reached out and gripped John’s arm. ‘I will do anything!’ she cried.

  ‘You will have to sacrifice yourself, your feelings, and your dreams.’

  Anne’s eyes searched John’s face, trying to grasp what he meant by these words.

  ‘You must marry Richard,’ John said, gently knowing the effect his words would have on her.

  Anne’s hand flew to her mouth, her face registering shock. ‘Marry him,’ she blurted out. ‘Marry that hunchback from Hell who would kill my son? Never…’

  ‘It is the only bargain you can make to save him,’ John said, forcefully.

  Anne sat back in the chair, her eyes smouldering with indignation, and waited.

  ‘Richard’s key objective is to take control of your, and also your mother’s, estates,’ John continued. ‘He needs them desperately to compete with his brother, George, who, being married to your sister, has already inherited the Warwick estates in the Midlands and the south of England. George is now making a claim on your estates in the north of England and Wales by petitioning Edward and stating that you forfeited them by your marriage to Prince Edward. That means if Richard fails to take control of them, and George’s claim is upheld, then it will make him the most powerful magnate in the land and Richard, the poorest. So, to be on equal terms, Richard must marry you.’

  ‘So, you believe he would trade my son’s life to achieve his aims?’ Anne asked, with disbelief.

  ‘Yes, I believe he will.’

  Anne covered her eyes, and shook her head sadly. ‘This man and his brothers have killed my father, my uncle, and my husband, and you now say I have to marry him?’ She looked across the room to where her baby was sleeping; tears crept into her eyes. ‘I have no choice,’ she cried, as her eyes lingered on him. ‘I will have to harden my heart, and make my peace with him as best I can.’

  John saw the grim resolution on her face, and took her hand. ‘You may be a woma
n, but you have the courage of your father,’ he said, gently, and then rose from his chair. ‘I must go and persuade Richard to allow your son the safety of France in exchange for your hand in marriage. Lady Vaux can take the young prince to Margaret’s family where you can be assured he will be secure and loved. England will never know of his existence.’ He turned for the door.

  Anne rose from her chair. ‘John,’ she called.

  John stopped and turned to her.

  She stepped towards him and took hold of both his hands. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, as she leant up on to her toes and kissed him lightly on the cheek. ‘You are truly the brother I never had.’

  John blushed slightly as he smiled down on her.

  ‘You must forgive me,’ Anne continued. ‘I have not asked after Rose?’ She looked at him, enquiringly.

  ‘We were married shortly after the Battle of Tewkesbury, on the 1 June,’ John replied, with a proud grin, ‘and she is now with child. I hope to return, God willing, for the birth in April.’

  Anne smiled at hearing his good news. ‘I will pray that all will be well when the baby comes,’ she said.

  John lent down and returned her kiss. He left her then, to be comforted by Lady Vaux, while making the most of the short time she had left with her son.

  ‘It is a bargain made in Hell,’ said John to Richard. ‘Anne has no choice but to marry you to save her son, which will give you possession of her lands, but the price you both must pay is to suffer a loveless marriage.’

  Richards’s eyes glinted with satisfaction. ‘Love has nothing to do with marriage,’ he replied, cynically. ‘It is all about position and wealth. Love is a bonus that may happen to a few. Tell her I will only agree to the terms of this contract if she agrees to consummate the marriage and provide me with an heir. Our child must have our pure royal blood in his veins.’

  John stared at Richard, his mind racing as he thought of what was being asked of Anne.

  ‘You must make her understand that this is expected,’ said Richard, forcefully. He waited for John to nod his agreement. ‘If she agrees,’ he continued, ‘then her son will be taken to France and from this day forward we will deny all knowledge of him. The abbot and his three monks are dead, and deserve to be for their traitorous action in hiding him from us. The assistant abbot will take care of their burials, and inform his brother monks of some reason for their deaths. The nuns are sworn to secrecy, to protect their convent from my wrath should they speak of it, and the wet-nurses will go with Lady Vaux to France never to return, on pain of death.’