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

by Freda Warrington

  “Yes, Robin,” said Eleanor. “Lady Katherine is here. Come, sit and talk with us.”

  Hesitant, the boy perched on a footstool. Katherine never knew what to say to him. It had been easy, when he was a small child, to dandle him on her knee for a few minutes, then hand him back to the woman he called mama; when he was older, to play games, to read with him or talk of animals, fishing, hunting. Now, though, he was too old to be treated as a child, too young to be called a man.

  Despite his age, there was no surliness in him. He regarded her, as he had from the beginning, with cheerful, intelligent eyes. He loved horses, but he also loved books. He’d received all the good care and affection that Eleanor had lavished on a dozen natural children, and had grown up good-natured and bright; a son of Auset. Eleanor was training him to assist her steward, one day to take over the management of her estate. Despite his scruffy clothes, he was a young gentleman. And Katherine felt her usual guilt and sorrow, more strongly than ever this time.

  “How are you?” she managed at last.

  “Very well, my lady,” he answered, cheeks flushing. He loved seeing her; that was always heart-breakingly obvious.

  On an impulse, she took his hands and folded them between her palms. “What have you been doing?”

  “I’ve got a hawk,” he said excitedly. “My own firehawk. I call her Kit.”

  Oh, Goddess, don’t let me cry, Kate thought. She’d never allowed herself to grow too close to him. The wave passed and she said, “Will you show me?”

  “With pleasure, Lady Katherine!” he said, jumping up and taking her hand, like a nobleman taking his lady to a royal banquet. Eleanor watched them go; Kate glanced back to see her smiling ruefully.

  Outside, the day was beautiful, the sun a gold haze through floating pollen. The red house basked in utter peace. She heard the familiar sounds of home; hens clucking, the occasional snort of a horse, the voices of men and women working the fields, the constant bleating of sheep. She smelt the scent of baked grass. She thought of her adored mare, Mab; long dead, but Kate felt if she looked over the stable door, Mab would be there.

  “You’re always away for such a long time, my lady,” said the lad as they walked the length of the house towards the stables. “I hardly know you when you come back.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, Robin. You know why, don’t you? I’m lady-in-waiting to the Duchess of Gloucester, who is now the queen.”

  “And you can’t leave such an important person,” he said seriously.

  “Not often, no,” she said. “I’m glad you understand. But I come as often as I can.”

  “Kate,” he said, turning to her and shielding his eyes from the sun. She liked him to address her informally, but he always took a while to do so. “May I ask you a question?”

  “You may, Robin.”

  “Are you my mother?”

  She stopped in her tracks. The question was so blunt, so casually asked. Her answer came out like a reflex to being struck. “Yes.”

  “I thought so.” His eyes and nose were screwed up against the bright light.

  “Who told you?”

  “No one. I knew, that’s all. Why would you pay so much attention to me, but not to the other boys around the place? And I worked out that Jenny wasn’t.”

  Jenny was the young woman Eleanor had brought from York, to pretend the babe was hers.

  “How?” Kate, stunned, could only utter monosyllables.

  He shrugged. “I just knew. Not when I was little, but by the time I was seven. She’s so different to me. So I asked her one day if she was my mother. She went red and hesitated a lot but in the end she said no, she was my adopted mother because my real mama had to go away. She wouldn’t admit you were my mother, but she didn’t deny it either. I thought about it for a long time, but it was obvious, really.”

  “Well, aren’t you clever!” Katherine growled, laughing at the same time.

  He grinned: not hurt, but pleased with himself.

  “Then it occurred to me I ought to make sure. I didn’t think you would lie to me. I’m glad you’ve told me the truth.”

  They stood looking at each other. Again her mouth ached with tears.

  “Don’t cry,” he said. “Why do women cry so much? I’m quite glad to have you as my mother, actually.”

  “Well, thank you, kind sir. And I’m glad to call you my dear son.”

  Kate saw no need to tell him she was sorry. Among the nobility it was common for sons to be cared for by nurses and taken from home early, while the mother was a distant figure owed respect. It was also usual for a woman who had a child out of wedlock to hide the fact and leave the infant with others. Robin knew that. Eleanor hadn’t shielded him from real life; only from one crucial fact.

  His real name was Richard, but he’d been nicknamed Robin for his round, perky charm as a baby.

  “I wish someone had told me before,” he said. “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because I wasn’t married to your father. I was in disgrace.”

  “Oh. Are you married to him now?”

  “No, dear.”

  “Are you still in disgrace?”

  She laughed. “I might be, but only in the outer world. In the hidden world, it doesn’t matter. I know Eleanor has taught you that. Unfortunately, the outer world is the one that holds sway.”

  “It’s all right.” he said quickly. His eagerness to reassure her was touching. “I wanted to know, that’s all. Come and look at Kit.”

  He brought the firehawk to her, poised on his gauntlet. As they stood in the stableyard, admiring the raptor and stroking her small fierce head, Kate said gently, “Robin, you won’t tell anyone what you know, will you?”

  “I’m not ashamed.” He looked at her, his steel-blue eyes serious.

  “I know, but everyone believes you’re Jenny’s son. It wouldn’t be good for people to know too much. Perhaps a few suspect, but as long as the official story stands, no one needs to feel awkward or embarrassed.”

  “Or disgraced?” Robin frowned. His mouth was sad. “I can keep a secret. It doesn’t seem fair, though. What’s wrong with you having a son? We’re as good as anyone else.”

  “I know. It’s utterly mad. But we really can’t tell anyone yet.”

  “Will we ever be able to?”

  “One day. We’re not the only people this has happened to, but in the outer world, the mother carries most of the shame.”

  “Turn the world inside out, I would,” Robin said under his breath. “Wouldn’t you, Kit?”

  “She’s magnificent, isn’t she? Show me how she flies.”

  Kate watched him, so thrilled by his hawk wheeling above the crags and folds. She wanted to be proud of him, but couldn’t let herself. She’d done nothing to shape him into this straight-limbed, sweet-natured boy. He could so easily have been bitter and hated her. His good character was just the whim of fate.

  They walked back to the house together, the firehawk proud on his arm. Presently he asked, “Who is my father?”

  She groaned. “I can’t tell you that. The time isn’t right. I will, eventually, I promise; just not yet.”

  He considered this.

  “All right, I’ll wait, on condition that I may ask three questions about him.”

  “You are very pert,” Kate gasped, amused. “Go on, then. I don’t promise to answer, but you may ask.”

  “Was he a great knight?”

  “Very great.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “Yes.” In apprehension she awaited the last question.

  “What would my surname be, if you’d married him?”

  “You cheeky–” She exhaled, and stroked his hair, one brief gesture of affection. “Our secret?”

  “I promise, on Kit’s life.”

  “Your surname would have been the best.”

  She whispered it into his ear.

  Leaving the boy to tend his hawk, she returned to her mother. Eleanor was in the solar, poring over a hug
e book of household accounts. The light was amber and dusty red, outlining her mother who sat, elegant in russet velvet, with her feet resting on a tapestry footstool.

  “He knows,” Kate said helplessly.

  Eleanor looked up. “I didn’t tell him.” She beckoned Kate to sit beside her on the settle.

  “He worked it out for himself, little devil.”

  “I must say I’m not surprised. Was he upset?”

  “He didn’t seem to be. He’s a wonderfully clever boy.” Kate stared at her hands. “He’s probably realised who is father is by now.”

  “No wavering, now, and no regrets,” Eleanor said, calm and firm. “We did what was best. We shall have to decide his future; whether it’s best for him to leave here, after all, though the goddess knows, I should miss him sorely. We should decide soon.”

  “Yes.” Kate sighed. “So much to decide.”

  “Have you told your young man about him?”

  “Raphael? No. I couldn’t. I think he would have accepted it, but… the words wouldn’t come out, and now I’ve left it too late. Mama, I’ve never told anyone. I’m not seen as a dishonoured woman in the outer world, and I don’t want my reputation shattered. And Raphael would want to know who the father was – Gods, how could I ever tell him that?”

  Carefully, Eleanor asked, “Are you going to be married?”

  “I suppose so. Let me put it this way; we really should have married six years ago. We meant to do so this spring, but King Edward’s death stopped everything. Now there never seems time. We’re always at the beck and call of our master and mistress. Our lives are theirs, not our own.”

  Eleanor gave her a probing, serious stare. “It takes but a few minutes to marry.”

  “And a lifetime to wish you hadn’t,” Kate muttered.

  “I’m not bullying you into conforming with the outer world, but we must be practical. This is important, because it pertains to the future of Lytton Dale. If you marry Raphael, he will be our lord, and your children will inherit. If not, young Robin may be able to inherit; but only if his parentage is made public, and special provision granted by the king. But you refuse to tell the king. All in all, it could be a tangle. And what if you had another natural child?”

  “Mama, I won’t. I’m very practised with herbs, charms and the phases of the moon. Other women come to me for instruction all the time.”

  “Is Raphael a good man? A true son of his mother? A man who will strengthen us and not to undermine us?”

  “Yes, Mama. All those things.”

  “Then would you explain to your obtuse old mother why you are plainly putting off marriage to him?”

  “I don’t know!” Kate leaped up and paced to the window. “I love him dearly, but the idea of being his wife – of losing my freedom – makes me panic. I would feel like a trapped bird. We like being lovers and friends – but marriage? I don’t know. It seems so absolute, like the clang of a prison door. An end to any other possibility. It scares me. I don’t know.”

  Eleanor rose, went to the door and glanced out – to make sure no one was listening, Kate realised, turning warm – then closed it.

  “I doubt it would be that dreadful. A good marriage quickly feels quite safe and ordinary. What does he say? Has he pushed you on the matter?”

  “Sometimes, but not of late. I always change the subject. And as I said, we’re too busy to think of it. We’re happy as we are.”

  “You know it’s rare for women of our station to have the luxury of choosing our husbands. Many might wonder why you hesitate. ‘An end to any other possibility’ – Whatever do you mean?”

  Kate went to her mother and clasped both her hands. “Mama, is it possible to love two men at the same time? Each in a different way?”

  “This second man would not be your dear late father, then?” Eleanor said dryly. “Raphael has a rival?”

  “No. He’s married, he cares nothing for me, but… I can’t stop thinking about him. He haunts me. I don’t know that I even love him; I don’t know what to call it.”

  “Infatuation?”

  Kate shook her head vehemently. “Gods, no, it’s far beyond that. It’s like being bewitched and chained in velvet, so soft you don’t know it’s happened until it’s too late. The feeling is terrible, yet I don’t want it to stop. I cannot marry Raphael while I feel like this about another man.”

  It took a lot to shock Eleanor, but she looked astonished. She held a breath for so long Kate thought she would never speak again.

  “Well,” she said finally, laughing. “Actually, many women marry while pining for another man. You are fortunate indeed to have a choice. Who is he?”

  Kate pressed her hands to her face.

  “Great goddess, don’t make me tell you.”

  “It’s Robin’s father, isn’t it?”

  In answer, Kate only gave a sigh that became a low groan.

  “Oh, Kate!” Eleanor’s cry made her jump. “After your protestations that he meant no more than a passing shepherd? After you’ve served his wife all these years?”

  “There’s no need to examine every detail of my humiliation,” Kate snapped.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Being so close to him all this time, yet distant. Or I was lying, when I said the first time I met him had no effect upon me. Yes, lying, especially to myself.”

  “Has anything further… occurred between you?”

  “No, of course not. We agreed to forget the folly of our extreme youth. And he’s renowned for his faithfulness to his wife. And I love Raphael.”

  “Oh, Kate,” she said again. “He’s the king.”

  “I had noticed.” Katherine drew herself up. “But he… confides in me sometimes. You saw the beautiful mare I rode here? He gave her to me.”

  Eleanor looked scandalised. “Did he? Why?”

  “For nursing Anne through an illness.”

  “Which is only your normal duty.”

  “I know. I don’t know what he was thinking.”

  “You should have refused the gift.”

  “How could I?”

  “Because he’s no business to be toying with your feelings in that way! This is impossible.”

  “I’m fully aware of that.”

  “Let’s see. Could your feelings stem from simple awe? Kings, saints and nobles tend to attract excessive devotion. Added to that, you can’t have him. That fact inflames people’s passions like nothing else.”

  Kate gripped her own elbows, fingering the hard angles through her sleeves.

  “You’re right. Next time the fever comes over me, I’ll remember what you’ve said. I don’t want to be his mistress. I just like the thrill of his presence, and having this secret. I can’t help it, or reason it away. But that’s why I can’t marry Raphael.”

  “Does Raphael know?”

  “Of course not! I could never tell him. Imagine how betrayed he’d feel.”

  “There is an answer.”

  “Yes?”

  “For you and Raphael to leave the king’s service.”

  Kate stood silent. At last she gave a hard shake of her head. “Raphael would never leave him. And I can’t leave Anne.”

  Eleanor’s eyebrows twitched. “You are not jealous of her?”

  “I was, but it’s separate. I’ve grown to love her like a sister.”

  “I can’t berate you for having so much love in you.” Her mother pressed her fingers to Kate’s cheek. “Better too much than too little, especially in a priestess of Auset.”

  “This concern is a small corner of my life. It doesn’t rule me.”

  “But it’s preventing you from marrying. You could leave, if you wanted.”

  “Obviously, then, I don’t want to. I like tormenting myself.”

  “Then I give up, Kate! Do as you will; but be on your guard. I know how easily passion can turn to hate. I hear the king has enemies enough.”

  “I won’t turn against him. The best appointed, yes?”


  “So it is felt by the York sisterhood.”

  “I was at the London Motherlodge. Bridget Marl said the same to me. So I love him and aid him purely as my king.”

  “Wise Kate.”

  “By the way, you’re not obtuse, Mama, or even so old.”

  Eleanor’s eyes glinted. “Thank you. Just as well, in the Mater Superior. Your son’s future is important, but so is yours. I need you out in the world, and your position is ideal. You mustn’t be turned aside by distractions in the shape of men. Marry, or not, as you will; but turn aside. Kate, I want you to follow me as Mater Superior. All the sisters are in agreement. You are as much heir to the hidden world as the Plantagenets are to the outer.”

  ###

  Buckingham sat at his fireside in Brecknock Castle, huddled over a bowl of mulled ale. Every bone ached from a long and furious ride. Bishop Morton paced slowly – glided, rather – around the large firelit hall.

  “He expressed a wish that the princes should die,” said Buckingham. “I was shocked. I wept, I tried to dissuade him; he was like stone.”

  Morton stroked his chin as he paced. He looked thoughtful and compassionate; impossible to tell what he was really thinking. “Let your conscience be clear; you did what you could. Not your fault he was deaf to your tender entreaties.”

  “I did my best.”

  “And this has plainly distressed you,” Morton said gently.

  “Creator knows what price I’ll pay for it.”

  “You are afraid of him?”

  “Of course I’m bloody afraid!” Buckingham exclaimed. “Look how he dealt with Hastings, with Anthony Woodville!”

  A low muttering came from Morton.

  “What are you doing?” Harry demanded.

  “Praying for you.”

  Fear became a flood of terror. The story he told Morton might have been skewed, but the result was the same; he and Richard no longer trusted each other. “Thank you, your Grace, but there’s no need.”

  “Alas,” said Morton. His well-fleshed hand passed over Harry’s hair. “His actions towards the princes have already made him unpopular. If they die, there will be a turning of the tide against him such as this kingdom has never seen. And if he falls, Harry, you fall with him.”