We entered the church, dappled light and dark, sunlight spearing through crimson, azure, and amber glass. Candles flicker on altars in chapels, and stood tall and glowing at the foot of the mighty Rood screen with its line of stern-faced kings ending in Harry Six.
Kneeling upon a decorated footstool before the font, I murmured a Paternoster. Looming above me, the Dean lifted his arms and uttered, ‘Et ne nos Inducas…and lead us not into temptation’, before withdrawing with the Canons to their stalls to the accompaniment of the great organ’s thunder. Ta Deum came next, with the voices of the choir soaring up to the roof bosses, and the organ booming throughout the nave once more. De Trinitate was sung latterly, then I was rising from my footstool, the lords and prelates crowded around me, and in great majesty and great joy, my Queen and I went forth to a great feast in the nearby Archbishop’s Palace.
Later that day I sent James Tyrrell to London to retrieve raiment from the Great Wardrobe for Edward’s investiture ceremony as Prince of Wales. He would have to be swift in his duty, riding like the wind with a group of henchmen; I required the clothing before the 8th day of September, the Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin. I asked for doublets of purple and tawny satin lined with buske; crimson cloth of gold gowns, one with drops, one with nets, and lined with green velvet; a violet cloak lined with black; many pairs of gilt spurs, a banner of Our Lady in sarcenet, and one each of the Trinity, St George, St Edward, St Cuthbert. Three coats of arms decorated with pure gold for me, and thousands of boar badges for my loyal followers to wear.
Before James set out on his journey, I drew him aside, into a secluded area of the Archbishop’s Palace, well out of earshot. “James, I must ask of you another favour when you are in London.”
“Anything, your Grace.” He glanced at me, perplexed. “Just name it.”
“When you are there, find out about the removal of the Princes from the Tower.”
A gasp came from his lips; he swiftly recovered his composure.
“I confide in you, since I set you this task, but I impress upon you, that you must speak to no other about this matter, on peril of my wrath.” I placed my hand on his shoulder. “The Duke of Buckingham has removed my brother’s sons. Fear not, they are quite safe…” I hesitated a moment then licked my dry lips and continue, “But there are things I need to know. What day they left and if any know where they now dwell…”
“Your Grace!” Shocked words burst unbidden from Tyrrell’s lips. “Surely it cannot be that your Highness knows not where the Lords Bastard are! Has his Grace the Duke not told …”
“Be silent,” I grabbed hold of him, pushing him into a darkened corner, my mouth close to his ear. “None must know of this. Observe for me. Find out what you can. Report back. Argentine has been dismissed; mayhap you can find him and see if he will talk, though I expect he will keep his lips sealed. He was close to Edward’s eldest boy; and I fear has no love for me.”
“Surely, your Grace, he understands you had the right as the Lord Edward did not, due to his father’s illicit marriage.”
“Understand he might, but he, like others, may well never forgive me for stepping forth to claim the crown instead of keeping my mouth shut about Edward’s indiscretion, as heinous as that would have been to the laws of both God and man. The Crown and the blood right must be above the ties of kinship, Tyrrell. Some cannot fathom that hard truth.”
“Yes, your Grace,” said Sir James, “I will do as you ask,” and then, flinging a cloak about his shoulders, he left the Palace and galloped away into the night with seven henchmen at his side.
“So the Universal Spider shall spin no more.” Urgent news had reached me from Calais, brought by the relay of couriers that Edward had implemented and I had continued to use. King Louis was dead, at long last. Like Edward, he too had left a young child as heir; the regency had fallen to his eldest daughter Anne Beaujeu. I was glad that I had sent a small fleet into the Channel to protect England’s interests; Anne Beaujeu was not known to think kindly of England and was encouraging even more raids on our merchant and other vessels.
Francis was seated beside me; we had been playing chess (and drinking fine claret) as was our wont since we were young. Frank was winning the game; indeed, I was being thoroughly trounced. “Do you think the shock of that letter you sent killed him?”
I sputtered on my wine. “If only it were that easy to dispatch one’s enemies, Frank. But no, it may never have even reached him, alas.”
Frank toyed with a chesspiece, eyes thoughtful. “It is well he is gone, even if his daughter proves an unyielding termagant. Have you thought of attempting an alliance with Duke Francis of Brittany?”
“Thomas Hutton has been sent to speak with the Duke; a man of much wit and a silver-tongue. I am eager to extricate Edward Woodville from Brittany’s lands. Not that I am foolish enough to imagine any of the treasury will return with Woodville. That’s gone on fine wine and French whores, no doubt.”
“What about Henry Tudor?” asked Francis. “He has been skulking around Brittany for years.”
“What about him? For all his mother’s pretensions, he is a weak and cowardly man, always hiding behind someone else’s skirts. For Christ’s Sake, Margaret Beaufort begged me to let him come home! Can you see my mother begging for me or any of my siblings? Hah, I would not lower myself to mention Henry Tydder, and make Duke Francis think I am fearful of such a pathetic knave.”
Francis waggled an admonishing finger at me. “Do not underestimate, Richard, I beg you. Remember David and Goliath.”
“I do,” I sighed, “it is a story I think of often, but I always see myself as David rather than Goliath, facing…facing…something much larger and stronger than myself. That isn’t Henry Tydder, though; do not misread me!”
“Who, or what, is it, then?”
I stared down at the chessboard; my gazed focussed, unremitting, on a bishop. For some reason, an image of Bishop Morton popped into my mind—Morton, locked up at Brecknock. With Harry Buckingham… “Frank, I cannot tell you.”
We both went quiet, continued to concentrate on our game.
I was still in a precarious position. It was Francis’s move; suddenly my Queen was in his possession. I had lost. “Checkmate,” he said in a dry whisper.
Somehow, neither of us wanted to play the game again.
On the feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin, Anne and I, both wearing our crowns, went into St Peter’s with the lords of the land, and with our son. Glancing out the corner of my eye, I could see Little Ned, wide-eyed, staring at the unfamiliar sights in the Minster—the Pilgrimage window which depicted the burial of a monkey, the Jesse window with King David and Solomon, the Rood screen bearing the life-sized painted images of his ancestors upon it, the sombre faces of the gold and silver saints ringing the High Altar, the red round face of the Bishop of Durham, who was officiating at the ceremony.
When Mass was over, we retired to the Archbishop’s Palace once again, for yet another feast. There I called Edward to my seat, set high upon a dais draped with cloth of gold and the Banner of the Boar, and before all announced that he was the Prince of Wales, heir to the throne of England. As he knelt before me on the chequered tiles, I placed a cap of estate upon his head, and slipped a golden ring upon his small, cold finger. Bidding him rise, I then bound a sheathed sword to his waist and handed him a golden wand to carry.
“Behold, Lords Temporal and Spiritual, good men of York!” I cried, turning to the onlookers, “we have determined to honour our first-born son Edward, whose outstanding qualities, with which he is singularly endowed for his age, give great and, by the favour of God, undoubted hope of future uprightness, as prince and earl, and we have made and created, and do create him Prince of Wales.”
The room burst into shouts of delight; never had such high ceremony been held in York before, nor so many nobles of the land, Lovell, Stanley, Strange, Lisle, Greystoke, Fitzhugh, Percy, Thomas Howard and John de la Pole gathered in the p
resence of such eminent churchmen—five Bishops, Dean Robert Both, the Treasurer Portington, Archdeacon Portman, and a gaggle of prebendaries, parsons and vicars.
But I was not yet done. I called forth Sasiola, the Spanish Ambassador, and set a golden collar about his neck and knighted him with the threefold stroke of my sword blade upon his shoulder. “You have this honour today to show the new friendship between our countries, between us and our royal cousin, the noble Queen Isabella.”
Then I called forth young Warwick, George’s son, and knighted the small, timid boy as he knelt trembling before me…and lastly I called to me John, my bastard son, who had journeyed down from Sheriff Hutton with his half-sister Katherine to attend the ceremonies in York.
John had grown so much since I had seen him last; he was older than Ned’s eldest boy, not so far from being a man, a handsome youth, taller than me by several fingers and with greater girth and lighter hair. His mother’s son and with something of Ned in him too, in his smile…but his eyes were mine.
“Kneel, my son,” I said, he did with much grace, his fair head bowed with his hair flowing forward like a tide of spun gold, and I touched the flat of the blade to his shoulder thrice in the customary fashion. “Arise, Sir John of Gloucester!”
As a beaming John retired to his seat near to Katherine, who looked both beauteous and womanly in her tight fitting gown of red brocade (making me think, by God, I would have to soon consider the matter of a marriage for her!) I returned to the dais where Anne awaited me, regal in her robes of state with her long hair loose like a shining river in her lap.
Wearing our crowns, we remained seated for many hours, while musicians played on rebec and lyre and the wheel-fiddle, and the hall was filled by all manners of entertainers: tumblers and jugglers and stilt-walkers and even a masked man with horns on his head who breathed fire (and who nearly set an Abbot’s purple robes alight with the fiery blast from his mouth—dignity hurt, the Abbot chided him, and the player retorted that a belch from his mouth was far preferable to a blast from his arse. I tried to keep my serious kingly composure as the Abbot stuttered and stammered in embarrassment.)
The stars were sailing west and the moon setting when we departed the great hall for our beds, and outside in the streets of York the people, my people, who have served me so well as Duke of Gloucester, extolled the name of Richard III to the very skies.
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CHAPTER FIVE: MOST UNTRUE CREATURE
York kept me very busy. A King’s work is never done. Supplicants came in the droves, oaths were sworn, justice dispensed cleanly and fairly. The whole city and most of Yorkshire seemed to have turned out to see an amazing, almost mystical transformation—their very own Duke of Gloucester turned overnight into anointed King. The love they felt for me made my spirits rise and my heart magnanimous: I called the Mayor and Aldermen to the chapter house of St Peter’s and told them I was reducing York’s taxes to the Crown by half. There were many smiling faces that day, as one might expect!
I saw John and Katherine off to Sheriff Hutton, after bestowing many gifts upon them—a book on knightly ways for my son, gold rings and chaplets for my daughter, silken and furred mantles and gowns for both of them.
But my children were not going alone—I decided young Edward of Warwick would accompany them, under the supervision of my nephew John de la Pole, the Earl of Lincoln, a handsome and amusing young man of around twenty who was quick in wit and pleasant in manner.
Unsurprisingly, the young ladies of York seemed to find him appealing and threw white roses in his direction; I could even see my Katherine gazing at him adoringly from the back of her palfrey. I rubbed my chin, considering the possibility of a match between the cousins…but no, it was impossible, as John was already married to Margaret FitzAlan, although they had no children yet. I would have to work on Katherine’s match.
Several days after the children departed, Anne and little Ned followed suit, heading towards Middleham. “God keep you safe, Anne,” I said to my wife as she sat in her litter with my boy close at her side. “May He keep both of you in good health until we meet again.”
Edward peered out at me from under the cloth of gold canopy. “I like being Prince,” he said. “It is even better than being Earl of Salisbury.”
As my Queen and heir departed, flanked by scores of guards in Murrey and Blue livery, I noticed James Tyrrell standing nearby in the shadows of a nearby building. He had brought me the garb from the Great Wardrobe as required, but in the frenzy of celebration and ceremony, I had not yet found time to discuss his findings from his trip to London. His expression was one of sombre consternation, however, and it was with a heavy heart I beckoned him to me.
“There is something you need to tell me, is there not, James?” I asked, as we strolled through the grounds surrounding the Bishop’s palace.
“Aye, your Grace. Well, it may be naught, but it is best you know…”
“Have you learned anything about the whereabouts of Edward’s boys, where Harry Buckingham has secreted them?”
Tyrrell, who had respectfully removed his bonnet, began to screw it up in his hands. I saw the brim buckle, then the brightly hued feather.
“No…yes…Your Grace, I don’t know how to say this…to tell you.”
My breath became shallow, “Tell me what?”
“I could not find any information about the whereabouts of Lord Edward. Brackenbury remembers the night Buckingham came with his men; he was told Henry Stafford was on secret business for the King, and even he dared not question, being but the Constable of the Tower while Stafford was High Constable of England. But as for young Richard…”
“Yes?” My stomach roiled.
“He is still there!”
“What? Buckingham told me his men had taken them both!”
“I spoke to the lad, your Grace. He was most upset. It seems they took, by mistake, another lad who was dwelling in Lord Edward’s chamber.”
“Another lad? How can that be possible?”
“It was some boy of the Tower household he had befriended. Lord Edward and his brother, rather than becoming close, had fallen to fighting in their confinement, and this new playmate was, according to Lord Richard, given all his finery by Edward’s orders, and took his place in his affection. You know how fickle and cruel children can be, and how brothers may fight.”
“I know only too well.”
“Be that as it may, your Grace, it appears the Lord Richard was left behind while the Duke and his men carried off the other lad, who was also called Richard. The two boys were of similar age, similar colouring; easy enough mistake to make when in haste, and at night. Buckingham may not even realise his mistake yet.”
I twisted my thumb-ring, thinking furiously. “Young Dickon cannot stay in the Tower. And I do not want Harry Stafford, or anyone else, to learn about the error that was made. Lord Richard must be secreted away…but where? Harry said it, and it was true—any holdings of mine will be close under scrutiny from my enemies. I cannot pretend foes with keen-eyed spies do not exist. And I dare not send him abroad, not yet. The Channel is heaving with French ships. Can you imagine what sport they would have if they laid hold of him?”
“I…I have a fine manor at Gipping, your Grace.” James was still nervously destroying his hat. “It is away from the Woodvilles’ lands and their influence. Indeed, it is a way from most things, in remote countryside.”
I thought on his words, nodding slowly as I tried to decide what would be best for the safety of both the boy and for me. “Gipping. Yes, that may be a temporary solution, but only temporary until I can devise better—and you must assure me your wife and your servants can hold their tongues,”
“They will not speak out of turn,” he assured me. “Who would believe a servant’s silly blathering anyway, your Grace? Once I got Lord Richard there, I could give him a new name, a new identity; try to convince him it was all part of some secret, special game.�
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“Aye, he would need a new name. Something that would not indicate his true origin.” I stalked back and forth, trampling the Archbishop’s garden with impunity. “While you keep Dickon safe I could arrange secure accommodation in a far-off land. Once I have found safe—but distant as possible—lodgings, and once the threat of the French fleet has subsided, I could arrange for him to be transported in secrecy to the Abbey of St John in Colchester…That is near enough to Gipping, is it not? I visited the Abbey twice when I was a young man; long have the abbots there proved loyal to the House of York. They would not remark on the child’s appearance there. From Colchester, it is but a short journey by river to the harbour at Brightlingsea, where ships leave regularly for the Low Countries.”
“Shall I depart, your Grace? Go, with a safe pass to the Tower and take charge of Lord Richard?”
“No, your appearance there so soon after your last might arouse suspicion that something is afoot. I will send messengers to Brackenbury, a good loyal man, and Constable of the Tower. He will see to it that Lord Richard is sent, hastily and in secret, to Gipping Hall.”
“What of the missing child? The other Richard. The humble boy.” Tyrrell stared down, prodded the ground with his toe. His face was flushed. “I expect his parents would like him back. They are simple folk, at the moment they believe he has gone on some happy jaunt with a former prince and is living with him in some castle, training to be a knight.”
I squirmed in frustration, my heavy robes feeling suddenly too warm, uncomfortably so, the high neck choking me. “Buckingham will not harm them. The child will be returned—as soon as I find him. Till then, I will pay the parents. I will send them a fat purse to keep them sweet and silent.”
I, Richard Plantagenet: Book Two: Loyaulte Me Lie Page 16