The Court of the Midnight King: A Dream of Richard III

by Freda Warrington

  Kate was struck dumb. Other indiscretions, other children. She glared at the star-washed side of his face and wished her gaze was fire to consume him where he stood. Iesu’s blood, now I’m jealous enough to kill him! What is the matter with me?

  She swallowed the feeling, as her mother had trained her, until she almost choked on it.

  “Of course I won’t tell her. She’d think I’d gone mad.”

  He turned and frowned at her. “Mad, why?”

  She gave a thin smile.

  “Because she’d assume I was making it up, and why would I say such a thing, and get myself dismissed, unless I was mad?”

  “Indeed,” he murmured. “Anyway, she knows I am faithful. I have never broken my marriage vows. We’re content.”

  “Is that all, then?” Kate said coolly. “You wanted to ask me to keep my mouth shut, which you should know I would without being asked?”

  She made to walk away. He put out his hand and gently stopped her. His hand on her arm was pleasantly warm, but stayed there only a second.

  “No. You brought up the subject, not me, and I answered honestly. No, I wanted to… Last time we met, I offended you. I’m trying to apologise. Not to give an excuse, only a reason: that I was tired and distraught. I wasn’t railing at you, only at forces that were doing their damndest to destroy Edward and still are. I upset you. I’m sorry.”

  “All that upset me was that you don’t know what you’re railing against.”

  “I don’t understand anything south of the Trent,” he said darkly. “Here, things are simple. I carry out the law with fairness and, I hope, good sense. I ensure that all my subjects can feed and clothe themselves. What more is there? But no, in the south there are half a dozen factions trying to destroy each other with envy, hatred and sorcery. God, I’m glad to be out of it.”

  He was a narrow shadow against the curved wall, and her body – independent of her cool mind – tingled with a magnetic urge to put her arms around him. Resisting the impulse was painful.

  “So am I,” she said.

  “Yes, Kate, I’m sorry.” His hand came out of the darkness and found hers, pressing it to the stone. His voice was husky. “That you endured such misery at my brother’s hands – I can’t tell you how ashamed I am. But I must know what happened. This is why I wished to speak with you alone. I heard tales, so outlandish they surpass belief. Will you tell me what really happened?”

  He asked with such desperation that she couldn’t refuse. Speaking as frankly as she would have done to Raphael, she told him everything.

  “Oh God,” he said at the end, and put his head in his hands. “Did this Widow Twynyho intend harm to Isabel?”

  “No, of course she didn’t.”

  “Was she a witch?”

  “That depends. She was a good midwife, a wise woman skilled with herbs; enough to attract malicious accusations. But there wasn’t a thread of harm in her. Even if Queen Elizabeth wanted to kill Isabel, Ankarette would never have agreed. George went out of his mind when Bel died. He knew full well that Ankarette was innocent. He saw a chance to attack the queen, and convinced himself of her guilt. In truth, I believe he wanted to silence Ankarette, because he asked her to prophesy that he’d become king. But she didn’t foresee such a path for him, and she was too honest, or foolish, to save herself by lying.”

  “Oh, God, George…”

  “He asked me to prophesy too, with threats. He knew how I helped Edward at Barnet, with the fog.”

  “What did you say?” Richard glowered at her.

  “I refused. I don’t know how I escaped with my life, except that Anne had sent for me. It would have looked suspicious if I’d died too. And I think he was afraid of me.”

  “You do have a look of the Medusa, when you are angry.”

  “You flatter me, sir,” she said through her teeth.

  He gave a dry smile, eyelids lowered. “It’s as well you had some defence against him, when you’re so… He didn’t try to force himself upon you, did he?”

  “No, I’m quite unspoiled,” she said thinly. “He didn’t want a serpent in his bed and I didn’t want a drunken oaf in mine.”

  “Katherine, he is still my brother.”

  “And he’s still a drunken oaf!” she said. “Excuse me, but it’s the truth. No, he was more concerned with marrying Marie of Burgundy.”

  “Oh, saints help us. Edward will never allow that! Iesu’s blood, what the hell is George playing at this time?”

  “He believes that becoming Duke of Burgundy will be a springboard from which to become king – of anywhere, I think, as long as he is a king.”

  “Christ.”

  Richard was in anguish, but Kate could only stand there, feeling immensely sad and helpless. “I’m sorry to bring such an array of bad news,” she said.

  “Thank you for being honest,” he murmured. Cautiously, she turned her hand beneath his so their palms met. He didn’t withdraw but caught her fingers and held them tight. “And I wish I did not believe you, but I do. George has been troublesome and intemperate for years. He’s learned nothing from his mistakes. I’m ashamed of him for threatening you, after all you did to help Isabel. It’s unforgivable.”

  “It’s not your fault.” She moved closer. Their forearms touched from wrist to elbow.

  “Isn’t it? I should have done something…”

  “I’m glad you don’t want to hang me, at least,” she said. “I know you don’t approve of my beliefs, but I never wished you harm. Please believe me. I served Edward. I’m here to serve you. I haven’t fallen off the holy path, but come to you by a different way, one much older.”

  “Whatever you are, Kate, I never wished you harm either. I was unchivalrous, with no excuse but youth and misunderstanding. Can you forgive me?”

  “Since you ask so graciously.” She wasn’t sure how it happened, but they turned naturally towards each other and she was suddenly locked in a hard embrace, his cheek resting on her hair. Stunned, she let her arms creep around his back, felt his body through his mantle as lean and strong as she remembered. His spine was not quite straight but curved one way then the other, in a gentle S-shape that made her think of a serpent… but to explore would have been too intimate. Instead she kept perfectly still. They held each other as if their lives depended upon it. She had no idea what this meant. The moment was dream-like and utterly confusing.

  He spoke into her hair, muffled. “Kate, that time we met, I was with Edward in Norfolk. When I left you, I returned there. Yet your demesne is in Derbyshire, is it not? More than a hundred miles away. How is that possible?”

  “You came through the hidden world,” she whispered. “The hidden world can be anywhere and everywhere.”

  “That does not reassure me… but it would explain more than you know.” His arms drew tighter. “Nothing in this life has ever frightened me as that night did.”

  “I didn’t lure you there. You found me of your own free will.”

  “Then God help me.”

  “I’d like to think you remember pleasure as well as fear,” she said. “I do.”

  She felt him breathe in and out. He whispered very softly in her ear, “Morgana.”

  Nothing else. He kissed her lightly, three times, on her temple, cheek and mouth; then the moment was over. They let each other go and stood guiltily apart. She had no idea why he’d hugged her, but she found her heartbeat shaking her whole body. They stood looking at the night, breathing hard and pretending nothing had happened.

  He broke the silence.

  “We should go back.”

  “What will you do? About Clarence, I mean?”

  Richard exhaled, as if in relief at returning to safe ground. “Being obnoxious is one thing; undermining Edward’s authority and accusing the queen is a darker matter entirely. George lives in a dream. He thinks he can get away with anything, that Edward is too soft to retaliate, but even Edward’s patience will have worn out by now. I might talk sense into them both, if no on
e else can. I shall have to go to London.”

  “When?”

  “Whenever I go, it always seems too soon.”

  “Raphael says you hate it there.”

  “Does he? Does Raphael confide much in you?” His tone was light, but just probing enough to make her uncomfortable.

  “He extols you as a dutiful lord. He only complains that duty takes you from home too often.”

  “He speaks the truth. However, I think it’s just as well, don’t you?” She heard pained amusement in his voice. “Go back to your chamber, Kate. I’ll go another way, so no one sees us together. And thank you.”

  She fled, glancing back to see him against the sky: the elegant silhouette of a knight. She only had to step away from Richard and he was a stranger again, an image of perfect self-control, so remote it seemed impossible that she had ever touched him.

  Chapter Ten. 1477-1478: George

  CLARENCE

  I passed, methought, the melancholy flood

  With that sour ferryman which poets write of,

  Unto the kingdom of perpetual night

  The first that there did greet my stranger soul

  Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick

  Who spake aloud, “What scourge for perjury

  Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?”

  And so he vanished. Then came wandering by

  A shadow like an angel, with bright hair

  Dabbled with blood, and he shrieked out aloud,

  “Clarence is come – false, fleeting, perjured Clarence

  That stabbed me in the field by Tewkesbury.

  Seize on him, furies, take him unto torment!”

  Richard III Act I scene 4

  Kate went cautiously into a chamber as plain as a nun’s cell. The firegrate was dead, the gloom sparsely lit by three tapers. Anne Beauchamp was sitting in a chair in the empty centre of the room. A dim pool of light fell on the book she was reading.

  She looked old. Her black damask gown had turned charcoal with wear. The fabric hung loose on her once-statuesque frame.

  Kate had been ready for a fierce argument. She expected to interrogate the tall, proud woman who’d once so intimidated her. Instead she saw no adversary, only a frail creature wrapped in cobwebs.

  “My lady?” She spoke softly, but the dowager Countess of Warwick started, nearly dropping her book. Kate saw brightly illuminations, framing prayers. “It’s me, Katherine Lytton.”

  “Oh, Kate.” The voice was light, surprised.

  “Madam, how are you?”

  “Never mind me, how are you?” A long bony hand came questing towards her. Kate took it, feeling the flesh cold and loose against her lips. “How sweet to see you.” Anne Beauchamp’s eyes still had a spark of the iron spirit Kate remembered. “You look well, and your eye is as bold as ever. Has your taste for wickedness diminished in any degree?”

  “Madam!” Kate knelt beside her. “One foolish act in my youth and I’m branded for all time! It’s past… Oh, you haven’t told anyone here, have you?”

  “As dumb as stone am I, my dear. Since he is my son-in-law, I’d not want my daughter hurt by rumours.”

  “Oh.”

  “As you say, it’s past.”

  “There’s a cold draught in here,” said Kate. “I’ll send for servants, have them make you a fire. Where are they all?”

  The countess shook her head. “No, no, I sent them away; they disturb my peace.”

  “I’ll make the fire for you, then.”

  “No.” Some of her old sternness entered her voice. “I don’t feel the cold. They say the dead don’t feel it.”

  Kate shivered. “Madam, have you seen my mother lately?”

  “Not for some years.”

  “Did you know she was chosen to succeed Dame Eylott?”

  “Oh, I’m glad for her. She deserves it. But no, I didn’t know. After my husband Warwick died I went into sanctuary, in fear of Edward’s vengeance. He exacted it, anyway, without much heed to the law.”

  “So you have no contact with the Motherlodge?”

  The countess took a while to answer. Her mouth drooped and her eyes became watery. “Ashes. No, I’m done with all that.”

  Kate let go of her chilly hands. “Done with it? But the Dark Mother was your strength! Once we give ourselves to Auset, there’s no turning back. You can’t renounce her.”

  “But I have.” The countess smoothed her prayer book.

  “Why? Did they persuade you back to the Church in sanctuary, with lies about devil-worship and redemption?”

  “Hush, Kate, such passion. I don’t see it as redemption, rather as peace.”

  “Yes, I’ve already found it’s more peaceful simply to give in. But they can’t control our inmost thoughts and beliefs.”

  “Kate, don’t, I’m so tired.”

  “Were you ever fully committed? You tried to live two lives at once, and ended up surrendering to the outer world. You didn’t pass your wisdom to your daughters, for fear of what people might think. Now Anne’s only strength is in living like a saint, and Isabel was killed by it!”

  Anne Beauchamp stared at her, her lined face as fearsome as ever. “Killed?”

  “She said it was against God’s will to use certain methods… to preserve her health.”

  She expected an explosion, but none came. The dowager’s voice was stiff and fragile.

  “You’re right; I tried to live in both worlds and the struggle tore me apart. What good was the sisterhood to me, while I was battling to keep my lands? I’m tired, Kate. I lost everything. Edward took all that was legally mine let my two sons-in-law carve it up between them. Like wolves feasting on my corpse.”

  Katherine recoiled inwardly from the pain in her face, utter weariness of spirit, as if her soul were broken.

  “Anne loves you. She can’t want you to live in such austerity.”

  “She’s ceased arguing with me, which is a mercy. The cold and dark suit me well, since I am dead.”

  “Dead?” Kate laughed uneasily. “Good mother, if you can still debate with me, you are far from dead.”

  The widow gave a ghastly smile, showing yellow teeth. “I haven’t lost my mind. Holy Mother, I wish I had! Edward wrested my estates from me by declaring me legally dead.”

  Kate was silent, lips parted. She heard her mother’s voice, “There’s no use raging against the injustice of the world.”

  “There is a use,” she whispered.

  “What do you say, dear?” The countess leaned down. Kate looked into her eyes.

  “Do you hate Richard for it?”

  “No, I don’t hate him. How could I? He was my ward, like a son to me for a few years. He won back my daughter’s birthright, and brought me home – a widow grateful for charity. He can be extremely kind, but even as a boy he was fiercely brave. As the youngest brother, he was bound to compete the hardest to prove himself. I believe that is what made him capable of such intense ruthlessness.”

  Kate noted the judgement, and stored it away.

  “A ruler needs to be ruthless.”

  “That’s the way of the outer world. He had the supreme teacher: my husband Warwick.”

  The countess lowered her chin and seemed to be dozing. Then she opened her eyes again. “Katherine, would you come often, and read with me?”

  Kate’s rage against Anne Beauchamp was spent. She couldn’t be angry with the countess for abandoning the sisterhood; even the strongest warrior might withdraw from the field, wounded. She kissed the tremulous hand.

  “Aye, and bring you firewood, candles and cushions, and force you to a little luxury whether you like it or not.”

  ###

  “Can you get away?” asked Raphael.

  On the first warm day of spring, he and Kate met by chance near the wall of the bakery. His jade eyes were warm with pleasure at seeing her. “I’m not wanted until this afternoon. I can saddle your horse and mine and…”

  “I’ll slip into the
kitchens and beg some demain bread and claret from the cook,” Kate finished, with a grin of conspiracy. The day’s warmth thrilled her. This was the first time she’d felt light of heart for months. “Auset grant that the duchess doesn’t send for me before we escape.”

  They rode to Aysgarth Falls, where the river tumbled in slides of dark glass and white foam over the rocks. On the far side curved a wall of tree-covered clay and stone; on the near bank a meadow sloped up from the riverbank, with thick bushes to hide them, and not a soul in sight. Capricious sunlight slid over the landscape.

  Her grey mare and Raphael’s big brown cob grazed while she and Raphael sat on smooth stones in the grass. He put his arm around her but seemed shy of doing more. She felt perfectly at ease with, as if they’d never been apart. They ate bread, drank from the same cup.

  “Well, are you happy at Middleham?” he asked.

  “Yes. I didn’t think I would be, but I am.”

  “I knew better than you, then,” he said. His eyes crinkled with tenderness and the sun lit fires in his hair. He was as transparent and warm-hearted as Richard was aloof and complex. He didn’t know that Richard had whispered to her in the dark… but Richard had withdrawn again and barely spoken to her since. There was nothing to tell.

  Kate suspected that Richard had viewed her as a temptress who’d caused him nothing but feelings of guilt. But now they’d made peace and gone their separate ways, as if nothing had ever happened.

  Richard lived in another world, but Raphael was here, kind and tender.

  They kissed. It was inevitable, sweet and warm. Breaking apart, they sat looking at each other, breathless. Raphael’s hands were on her shoulders, hers on his forearms.

  “Gods, I think we’d better stop that,” he said.

  “While we still can?”