I, Richard Plantagenet: Book One: Tante le Desiree

by J. P. Reedman

  Kate knuckled the tears from her eyes, and dragged the coverlet over us both. I rolled onto her, felt her arms and legs wind round me, pulling me up against her. Normally I might play the lover, make the afternoon last; but it had been so long, and I had seen so much…I slid between her thighs without more preamble.

  It was over soon, rather embarrassingly so, and I fell asleep almost immediately after, as if I had been drugged.

  As I dozed off, I saw her wipe her eyes again, as if she were about to start crying again.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked drowsily, drawing her down against me.

  “N…nothing, my Lord…” she stammered, and then, in a low voice, “It was just…you called me another name. You called me Anne.”

  I woke in the dawn, and she was still in the bed with me, wrapped around me like a pretty ribbon. I woke her, and moved my hands over her and then my lips, making amends for the haste of the night before. The bed made a most hideous creaking, and I hoped the household, two village boys and the old servant woman Tilda, were not all standing below listening to the sounds and smirking. Kate seemed unconcerned by the prospect, clutching me to her heated flesh, her hips striving against mine as she cried out in wild abandon against my shoulder.

  Afterwards, in silence she helped me dress, and then shrugged into her own kirtle and gown. Clumsily I tried to dress her in return, fiddling with the lacing on her over-gown so that she would look presentable. She laughed at my poor efforts, kissed my clumsy fingers.

  Walking away a few paces, she washed her face with the rosewater by the bed, and put on a headdress hide her tresses as a decent woman must. I had left my pages, squires and a small contingent of soldiers billeted in a nearby tavern, not wanting them to witness my visit with Kate, (though they well knew what I was about, judging by the giggles and sniggers when they thought I could not hear) so I was embarrassingly unshaven and scruffy, though there was none of import to see. Then we both descended to the hall.

  The old servant Tilda was sitting on a bench, tending to my daughter who was very much awake. The crone did not dare look me in the eye, but made a quick curtsey and handed me the child, who was wide-awake and straining toward her mother and me.

  I ignored the old woman and sat with Katherine on my lap, dandling her on my knee. Reaching inside my doublet, I removed a small silver pendant on a chain, which I draped over her little head. It bore the image of St Katherine, who was martyred on the wheel, and on the back I had ordered to be engraved Mon Coer Avez…Have my Heart.

  I then gave my daughter to her mother. We looked at each other and there was a strange knowledge in both of us. Katherine must have felt it too; she raised her small fist to her mouth, hid her face on Kate’s shoulder and began to cry.

  “I won’t see you again, will I?” said Kate in a low voice. She then added, “My lord’ as an afterthought. It felt as if a huge dark chasm was opening between us. It was not something I wanted to discuss, I just wanted to say my farewells and depart, as I had departed many times before. No promises, no lies.

  But now she was asking me outright. And I knew….

  “Everything has changed now that the King is back on the throne…” I started, then shut my mouth. I did not need to explain myself. When I first met Kate, I was a no one, son of a dead man with a claim to the throne; a boy with the title of Duke but not much else. A boy so desperate for money he had once written a letter asking for a loan from Lord Say while in the sullen, stern block of Castle Rising. Now my brother was the undisputed ruler of England and the Lancastrian hopes crushed on the field; I had proven myself in battle, and I was about to receive, I hoped, many lands and castles. It was time for me to settle, to establish myself.

  I needed to marry. And it would not, could not be Kate.

  I touched her hand. “Thank you, my sweeting,” I said quietly. “You will not be forgotten. I will continue to send payment for Katherine when I may and to inquire as to her health. When she is older and my household is in order, mayhap she might come and live with me. I will see she has the best of everything, and that a good marriage is made for her when she is old enough. ”

  “I must prepare to remarry soon if that is the way it must be.” Kate took a deep, shuddering breath. “It has been a long while now since Matthew died….years. Many men have shown interest but I…I spurned them all...” She stared down at the floor. Words hung unsaid. I spurned them all because I wanted you….

  “Yes, you must wed again,” I said softly, touching her arm in a way I hope might be comforting. “It is how it should be. A woman who has had a natural child with a royal Duke would be a prize for most men. Farewell, Kate.”

  To her credit, she did not cry. Her eyes, though, became like clear glass, shimmering. “A prize...” she said. Her smile was brittle.

  I went out the door, shoulders hunched against the chill wind that was coming from the North, feeling a complete bastard.

  I set off to Norwich on my business for the King, putting any thoughts of Kate behind me. Duty and the works of men were less…difficult…than dealings with women!

  Once in the town, I met with the Mayor, who with much ceremony presented me £10 in a gilt purse. The generous city fathers also paid for a company of players and for my excellent tabor player. The Mayor was a big man with a bald pate, who looked nervous although he towered over me in height and must have weighed twice what I did. I imagined he was uncomfortable because Norwich had wavered between supporting York and Lancaster, giving gifts to our enemy the Earl of Oxford one month and rewarding Anthony Woodville the next.

  “I am sure the King can be certain of you, Lord Mayor,” I said, sitting at his table and impaling an apple on my dagger. The Mayor looked at me with such fear you would have thought I had impaled him. He did rather resemble the apple, though, with his round shape and rich red robe. “I would hate to see Norwich suffer the same strictures and executions as Canterbury. You did hear of them, my Lord Mayor? The gallows fairly groaned beneath so many burdens…”

  “Norwich will be forever loyal, your Grace!” he fairly squeaked. “I bid you tell his gracious Highness, my Dread Lord, Edward, that none shall be truer.”

  “I will tell him,” I said, and with a smile sent the apple spinning in two fragments across the table, its pips spilling from its heart.

  The mayor looked slightly ill for some reason. I rose. My work for Edward was done. Now I was going north.

  With glad heart, I took the road with my company and headed for Yorkshire. Edward has given me given Middleham, where I had spent a few happy years of my youth in the care of my cousin, Richard Neville. However, Edward had decided to lumber me with the Bastard of Fauconberg, that annoying traitor pardoned for reasons known only to my brother, and his presence overshadowed what would have otherwise been a pleasant journey

  Thomas Neville, Bastard of Fauconberg rode at my side, a rangy figure astride a dark horse, still grinning that insincere grin that I had found so irritating when we met in Kent. He set my teeth on edge and I kept my hand close to my sword whenever he drew to near. He seemed determined to vex me, plying me with silly questions about Ned, about my boyhood at Middleham with our mutual kinsman, Richard Neville.

  We travelled along the Great North Road, following the line of Ermine Street, marked out by the Romans hundreds of years ago. Tales of the Romans always interested me, as they did my father when he was alive—for they were matchless soldiers and tacticians who forged a great empire. Passing through Stamford, bristling with many spires, we then came to Grantham where the Angel Inn beckoned, and Newark with its castle, where King John had died in a small room above the gatehouse—from a surfeit of lampreys, some said. I quite liked lampreys myself.

  Then it was on to Doncaster, where we turned aside on Roman Rigg and continued along an offshoot of the road toward Middleham, which lay deep within the cradle of Wensleydale, the vale of the Ure below and the Moor running alongside.

  As we rode towards the town and castle, I spurre
d my horse on, outstripping my companions, desirous of savouring the sight without the intrusion of others. Middleham felt…like home to me; a strange sensation, for I had in truth only dwelt there a few years, learning knightly arts in Warwick’s household before Edward summoned me back to court.

  But what marvellous years they had been, riding on the Moor with Francis Lovell and Rob Percy and the other boys, shirking our duties in the summer heat to hide on the mound of Alan Rufus’s old castle, the ancient guardian of the road to Richmond, where we hid in the snarled briars and found wonderful things kicked out of rabbit holes: old, bent brooches, strap-ends, decorations once attached to armour. We had lain under the wide northern skies and invented fanciful tales about the corroded trinkets we found—Francis was rather good at storytelling—making them out to be lost treasures of long-dead warriors, or King Arthur and his knights.

  And then there was Anne and Isabel. Warwick kept them apart from us rowdy lads at first, and God knows at the ages Frank and I were, we hated prissy little maidens, but eventually we were introduced and allowed to fraternise under the watchful gaze of the girls’ nurses and their mother, Countess Anne.

  I was guided towards Anne, and to my surprise, despite her being just another annoying little girl, I found myself at ease in her company. She did not make me look at her dolls and she knew her letters, so we could talk of stories we had both read. Yes, I might want to talk of the courage of Arthur and Lancelot, while she was only interested in the beauty and tragedy of Guinevere and Isolde…but we complimented each other.

  Protectiveness towards her grew within my young, idealistic heart, and I smugly prided myself on behaving as a good knight should toward a gentle born female. Warwick had watched us together with an ironic smile—he was canny, the Earl; he had decided that his girls, his only heirs since God had not granted him male progeny, might do much worse than marrying royal dukes.

  Ah, but then things had turned bad after Ned’s marriage, and Warwick became estranged from him. As the friendship cooled, Edward had, not surprisingly, denied Warwick’s marriage plans for George and me. We complained, George the most vociferous, and Edward grew angry even with the two of us, thinking we had sided with Dick Neville behind his back. He raged and threatened to lock us up; George’s face was a picture of wrath and terror; mine was just sick.

  Ned soon relented, however, and took my assurance that I would do naught against his will. However, the Earl of Warwick knew then that his time as Ned’s counsellor was over, and it was rebellion or ignominy. Never clever, George defected to Warwick’s side, wanting his elder daughter Isabel, wanting the illusory crown the Earl dangled before him.

  And so the Wheel of Fortune turned, and now the great Neville lord was dead, his body lying mouldering in the family vault at Bisham Abbey, and Ned granted me the massive northern castle that Warwick had once owned.

  My cavalcade descended from the Moor down into Middleham town, and the townsfolk emerged from their doors and called out with great fervour, “Duke Richard, Duke Richard!”

  Whilst on the road, I had wondered with slight trepidation what reception I might receive at Middleham; the people had loved Warwick for the aid he gave to the common folk and the poor. However, by the enthusiasm of the cheers it seemed that his death would not be held against me, thanks be to God, and that at least some townsfolk fondly remembered me from my days as a boy at the castle.

  Horse’s hooves clattering, I cantered across the wooden drawbridge under the shadow of the East Gate tower, its battlements crowned with gargoyles and stone defenders. Inside the bailey the huge keep faced me, one of the largest in all England, its windows like rows of eyes, the walls thick enough to withstand the most powerful ram or even Greek fire. No banner flew from the battlements; the household must have removed Warwick’s standard upon hearing that I was Middleham’s new master.

  I held up my hand, halting the party. A banner would fly at Middleham today, replacing the Bear and Ragged Staff of Warwick. The White Boar of Gloucester would take pre-eminence, now and forever.

  “Take my banner up,” I ordered my squires. “Give it to the steward. See that it is flown from the keep as soon as it is possible, so that all passing the town of Middleham shall know that Richard of Gloucester is lord of this place from now unto the end of his days.”

  I would like to say I feasted in splendour the next night and for a week thereafter, and that everyone came from miles around to do obeisance to the Duke of Gloucester…but it would not be true.

  I got sick.

  It was the wound I had taken in my side at Barnet, the ‘little scratch’ I had dismissed as trivial. It had not healed as well as I’d hoped. Stitches had popped, flesh had turned red, and now…I was running a fever.

  Feeling rather miserable, I lay in my bed, one minute feeling too hot, one minute too cold. The castle’s Chamberlain hurried to attend on me; a long-faced man with backswept hair streaked with white. I remembered him vaguely from my time there in training; the hair had not held white then.

  “My lord,” he asked, in concern, “shall I call a doctor for you? Alas, one may have to be summoned from York; the old one we had in residence left after my Lord of Warwick’s death.”

  “Yes, of course, if that’s what must be done…do it,” I snapped, being in a less than happy mood, “and bring me more water to drink. Oh…” Suddenly quite a different expression crossed my face. “Wait! Do not send for the physic at York, not yet at any rate…I know of a nurse who has abilities as great as many a doctor. Yes, send to Pontefract instead…”

  “Pontefract, your Grace?” The Chamberlain looked perplexed. Pontefract with its grim and terrible castle was miles away, and I could see the man’s brain trying to work out why I would wish a nurse from Pontefract instead of a proper physician from York.

  “You heard me,” I said irritably. “Nurse Alice Burgh. Send a chariot for her at once…and tell her to bring the boy, unless it is impossible.”

  Sudden light dawned in his face, and he looked suddenly sheepish as he guessed what Alice might be to me besides a nurse. His cheeks flushed crimson, despite the fact he was a man of middle years. Oh, but by God now the silly oaf was gazing at me in terror, as if he thought I was asking to see this woman and child because I was on my deathbed and about to expire. When I was well, I would have to see about pensioning this one off, and getting a more fitting Chamberlain.

  “Just go!” I waved my arm towards the door. “I’ll die of old age before she gets to me, at this rate.”

  Alice arrived just after sunset. She was, as I have said, a nurse. We went back a long way, Alice and I, to when I was a glum and ungrateful lad, as most youths are at some point before they grow to be men. Once Ned had removed my father and brother’s skulls from the gates of York, they had been buried with the rest of their remains in the church of the Blackfriars at Pontefract, and I, on business in the north by the King’s will (‘Keeping an eye on Warwick’ was how he put it) asked permission to go and visit the gravesite. A pilgrimage, if you will.

  Edward had readily agreed, and eagerly I set off with my escort from my accommodation in York. All had gone smoothly and uneventfully until my party entered Pontefract’s crowded marketplace; then a dog ran barking before my horse, making it shy in fright. Its flank crashed into a stand of produce, and the entire stall collapsed, spilling fruit and cabbages onto the cobbles in a great shower. My mount’s foreleg crumpled, gashed by the splintered wood, and not being the horseman I am today, I came off.

  I landed heavily on my back, bruising the soft part of my body just above my hip. I had hoped that only youthful pride had been bruised, and trying to regain my dignity mounted a new steed and proceeded to the castle, but by the time I partook of the evening meal, I was in agony and passing blood with my water.

  The steward of Pontefract reacted with great dismay, flapping his hands like an old woman; he was terrified that he would bear the brunt of Ned’s anger should I succumb to my injury while in his care.<
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  “I would get you my own physician, your Grace,” he whined tremulously, “but damn him to Hell, I’ve given him leave to visit his family in Scarborough! But do you not fear, my lord…I will have a nurse attend to you. Mistress Alice Burgh has trained with my doctor, and shows great skill.”

  All youthful indignation, I was furious at the thought of having some nurse foisted on me. I wanted a proper physician of high standing to treat my ills, not a half-trained female plucked from a country town where she served as the real doctor’s helpmeet. Although females were not permitted to attend universities such as Oxford and Cambridge, women in England occasionally did practice medicine, but that was no comfort to me… No one was taking my injury seriously, and I was to be prodded at by some old nurse fit only for wiping babies’ arses and cleaning up greybeard’s puke.

  I had not expected this Alice Burgh would be a young girl, only a few years older than I. A pretty young girl with red cheeks and yellow hair that I could just see poking out below her cap, and striking, forthright blue eyes that ran over me, appraising.

  I scowled at her; offering no greetings as she entered my chamber within the castle keep. Sullenly I sat on the bed as she removed my shirt and felt the tender and bruised spot above my hip. I grunted with pain; she ignored me.

  “A few questions, my lord, before I go further…” Her voice was deeper than I thought it would be, rich with her northern burr. “Is there still blood in your piss?”

  Such frank talk from a woman shocked me, but I gathered myself—she was, after all, doing work more appropriate to a man so it was natural she might speak like one. “Y…yes, some.” My ears and face were burning.

  “And it has only happened since your fall? Forgive me for the impertinence of my next question, but it must be asked—have you recently lain with any whores or women of dubious cleanliness?”