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

by Freda Warrington

  A priest and a physician came, sent by Richard. The first wanted to exorcise him, the second to restrain, purge and bleed him. Katherine drove them out with such fury that they turned crimson with shock, and fled.

  The only people she allowed to stay were gentle Francis Lovell and Will Shaw. Lovell was upset, hovering anxiously at the foot of Raphael’s bed. Shaw was a steadying presence. He was calm and practical, fetching and carrying for Kate. Nan crept in to help, mouse-quiet. Presently Ursula came, telling Kate that Lady Bess had summoned her. Kate sent her away with the message that one of Richard’s knights was seriously ill, and Lady Bess would have to wait.

  Now she would be dismissed from court for certain, but she didn’t care.

  The visions let Raphael go at last, and he fell into a heavy sleep.

  Kate was exhausted. She made Francis and Will go for supper, asking that they bring her back some leftovers. Alone with Raphael, she sat stroking his forehead, trying not to break down. She begged Auset to help him.

  A creak. The door opened, letting in light from the corridor.

  “I hope you’ve brought plenty, Will, and some decent wine,” she said.

  “I am empty-handed, my lady,” said a voice that was not Will Shaw’s.

  The king came in and stood over Katherine, looking down at Raphael. Her whole body tensed.

  “You sent away my physician and priest,” he said.

  “Because the priest would have made him worse, and the physician would have killed him,” she said tightly. His presence salted her wounds with the memory of his tender kiss upon Bess’s hand, her flushed excitement, the web of rumours.

  Richard sat on the edge of Raphael’s bed, his knee almost touching hers.

  “He’s one of my best and most loyal friends,” he said, taking Raphael’s limp hand. “It would be hard to bear if anything happened to him. What ails him?”

  She found it difficult to answer. Her anger bled away. She saw Richard as someone who’d lost his family, and now feared losing a friend. He sat there, disconsolate, concerned and merely human.

  “I’m not sure, your Grace,” she said, wondering how much to tell him. “He has suffered for years with nightmares.”

  “Ah, his visions.” Richard’s head dropped.

  “You know about them?”

  “He told me years ago. First was some dream that I had slaughtered Henry the Sixth. If he ever had a fair dream about me, he kept it to himself.”

  “And did he tell you…” No, she couldn’t mention his dream of the two princes, which had disturbed Raphael so violently that he’d driven her out of his chamber. The memory was horrible. “Anything of late?”

  “Nothing.” Richard looked at her with tired eyes. “But then, I have been preoccupied. Francis said he was raving, that he’d gone mad.”

  “He appeared to be fighting some phantom battle,” said Kate. “We can’t know what it was about until he wakes up and explains for himself. Richard?”

  “Yes, Kate?”

  “You won’t dismiss him from your service because of this, will you?”

  “Gods, of course not! If he can’t return to work, I’ll give him a fine estate and a good pension; he’ll want for nothing. But all I desire is to see him fit and well again.”

  Deep lines creased his forehead. He remained silent for a time. Kate wondered what he was thinking about. His wife, his son, his brothers?

  Presently Richard said, “I should like to know what dream he had, and what it meant.”

  “Why? It might be dangerous to think he was seeing into the future. My mother says–”

  “I know. There is no definite future, only branches in the path. I’m clutching at straws. If he had a presentiment based on truth, it might help forewarn me. Still, he might only have envisioned something thoroughly predictable.”

  “A battle?”

  “The Tudor nobody has tried before; he will try again. I know how many enemies I have, Kate, and how many have gone over to the traitor. Every move I make causes the rattling of malicious tongues.” He looked down at Raphael’s hand, unfocused. “Still, I never expected kingship to be easy. Why should it be easy? The question is, what degree of difficulty becomes the judgement of God?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked as if he needed to weep but was too exhausted. His face paled, revealing a depth of pain that made her reel.

  “Raphael’s sickness represents the deterioration of my kingdom, the manifestation of the shadow. Whatever demon has a grip upon me, he enacts its intentions.”

  Kate looked at him in horror. She felt trapped in an abyss between Raphael’s raving, and the king falling apart in a way that was quieter but just as catastrophic.

  He was losing everything. Betrayed by Buckingham, bereft of his wife and son. All support slipping away.

  “What else has he dreamed of late?” Richard asked. His eyes and voice compelled her to answer.

  “That you killed the two princes, even though he knows full well you did not.”

  “Ah,” he said. “I don’t know if Raphael dreams the future, but he does dream the truth.”

  “No. They were ill. He told me. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Not according to my conscience. What else? Did he see images of me dropping poison into Anne’s mouth?”

  “No,” said Kate, fighting tears.

  “That’s something.” His silence was so intense, so anguished that it was all she could do to stay near him.

  “I am so sorry about Anne.” Her voice cracked. “I did everything I could. You must blame me.”

  He looked sideways at her, surprised. “Blame? Of course not. Anne would not have lived so long, nor had such a gentle passing, without you. How could you think I blame you?”

  “I always wonder if there was something else I could have done. My mother tells me it’s foolish delusion to believe that healers of Auset should be infallible, but I can’t help it.”

  One corner of his mouth twisted.

  “A delusion shared by kings. Forgive me for sending the priest and the doctor; it was an act of desperation. If anyone can help Raphael, it’s you. I should have had more faith.”

  Kate, as she watched the king leaning over the bed, realised that he loved Raphael. A simple, unswerving love he held for all his close friends. The revelation warmed her a little. Made her envious, too.

  “You should,” she said tiredly.

  “Please help him,” he whispered. “I beg you.”

  They didn’t speak for a time. Kate found a strange, gentle intimacy in sitting so close to him, united in concern. Poignant, because it was an illusion. She couldn’t touch the king, and soon he would be gone, unreachable again.

  Raphael frowned in his sleep, and made a small, sharp moan.

  “I heard that Lady Elizabeth has asked you to serve her,” said Richard.

  So, Bess had confided in him. She wondered if they spoke so intimately to each other, and if his hands strayed to explore her full, welcoming bosom and to stroke the sunflower hair under its gossamer veils of silk.

  Stop, Kate scolded herself.

  “Yes, she has. Apparently my reputation as a midwife and healer is carolled the length and breadth of the kingdom. Would you mind?”

  Lines tensed around his eyes. “Why should I mind?”

  “Perhaps you’d sooner I left the court.”

  He looked at Raphael, not at her. “Have we not had this conversation before? There is no need for you to leave.”

  “Would I be serving your noble bastard niece, or serving the queen?”

  Richard released his breath sharply. “You have a scorpion tongue, Katherine.”

  Kate bit the inside of her lip. No denial of the relationship. She took it as an admission.

  “You used to praise my honesty. I have nothing to lose. No position, no influence, no political games to play.”

  He looked at her, expressionless. “There are always games to be played. Have you decided? You must be the only
noblewoman in the realm who would refuse a future queen, but still, you have the choice.”

  So, he realised she might not relish the role; but did he understand why? The truth burned on the tip of her scorpion tongue.

  I cannot stand to see you marry again while I am taken for granted as servant to your wife. Not again. I am no martyr. My own pride would slay me!

  She didn’t say it. The admission would be utterly humiliating. And there was the risk that Raphael, although he appeared to be unconscious, might hear her.

  “Lady Bess is a good and lovable girl, but she has no hold upon my affections,” said Kate. “All I care for at this moment is Raphael. She can throw tantrums at my inattentiveness, but I can’t go to her or even think about her until Raphael is well again. She can dismiss me, for all I care; he is all that matters.”

  “You won’t be dismissed.”

  She looked coolly at him. “Why not?”

  After a long pause he said, “I can’t imagine my court without you.”

  “In spite of my outrageous blasphemies and forbidden practices?”

  “None of us is perfect. You would be missed. I would miss you.”

  Kate could find no sarcastic riposte to that. She said, lamely, “Thank you, your Grace, but you I must beg leave for a time.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know how to heal Raphael. All I can think of is to take him to my mother.”

  “To Derbyshire?”

  “You have an impressive memory, sire.”

  “Attention to detail, for which my councillors curse me. It’s a hard journey for a sick man…”

  “But my mother’s the only healer I trust. May I take him?”

  She was sure he would refuse. The king rose slowly. “The moment you deem him fit to travel, I’ll order an entourage to guard you on your way.”

  To her shock, as he passed her, he bent and dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. Lightning. In the next breath he said, “Marry him, Kate. Few men are fortunate enough to enjoy such devoted love.”

  A few minutes after Richard left, Raphael opened his eyes. He looked ghastly, yellow as beeswax. Kate helped him sit up and gave him sips of watered wine to moisten his mouth. He seemed drained, but lucid at last.

  “The king was here,” she said.

  His eyes widened. “What did you tell him?”

  “The little I know. That you were possessed by visions of battle. He’s extremely concerned for you.”

  Raphael groaned. His voice shook, and his wild eyes alarmed her. “Creator’s blood, the battle was the least of it. Such things I’ve seen, Kate. Am I mad? The world shimmers and changes shape as I look at it. The ways are so dark and long, like tunnels into the earth. I don’t think I can come back.”

  “Drink this,” she said. “An infusion of calming herbs.”

  She brought the goblet towards him but he batted her wrist aside, spilling half the brew. “Herbs won’t make it go away! I’ve seen Richard’s death!”

  She drew away from his anguish. “Keep your voice down!”

  “I must warn him.”

  “No, Raphael. Not yet. Not until we understand what it means.”

  At that – perhaps her sympathy unravelled him – he moaned and squeezed his eyes shut. Tears rolled down his face. “Kate, I’ve become a spectre. I’ve been in the shadow world and I can’t come back. I’m sorry, sorry.”

  “What for?”

  He clutched her hand. His fingers felt skeletal.

  “I can be no lover and no husband to you. Forgive me.”

  Once her shock faded, she felt a strange clarity. He was right. How could they stay lovers, when he was half-invalid, half-mystic, and she his nurse? She’d never honestly admitted her fierce passion for another man, and this was her reward.

  Tears came. Kate mourned the end of a love that had been sweet and gentle… but she knew that she and Raphael could never cease to love each other, any more than a sister and brother could.

  “It’s all right, sweetheart,” she said, crying. “Don’t fear any more. Eleanor will know what to do.”

  Auset help us, Kate thought. She had better.

  ###

  Katherine was dreaming. She was sixteen again, labouring to bring forth Robin, every tendon straining until her eyesight turned red. Eleanor laboured with her. In the dream the pain was blunted and held a strange ecstasy, as if she floated serenely as the baby was expelled. Many times she’d seen Eleanor act as surrogate for another woman. Now she did so for her own daughter. In the dream Katherine looked in wonder on her mother’s anguished face, marvelling that she could endure such pain while Kate merely floated…

  She woke in a nun’s cell. Their last lodging was an abbey half-a-day’s ride from Lytton Dale. The mixed sense of loss and euphoria stayed with her. She was glad to be going home. Nan and Ursula, though yawning and grumbling as they roused themselves, seemed in equally good heart.

  The moment she stepped into the cloister, and saw Raphael’s waxen complexion as he walked to meet her, her mood sank. His face was gaunt. Throughout their journey he’d been calm but wrung out with exhaustion. Kate was glad of Will Shaw’s tireless good cheer. She had nothing left to offer Raphael herself.

  “How was your sleep?” she asked tentatively.

  “No clear dreams. Only images.”

  “Of what?”

  “I can’t tell. Lies and hatred.”

  Shaw, who’d spent the night watching over Raphael, followed him bearing their baggage. He gave Kate his usual quick, awkward bow of respect. “I’ll see the horses are saddled. Looks like being a fine day.”

  Summer was full, the afternoon fair as Katherine and Raphael rode with their entourage towards the red manor in Lytton Dale. Eleanor came out to meet the party, with Martha, Thomas Copper and his son Tom – now a grown man – at her side. Katherine had written to her, saying only that she was bringing a friend in dire need of help. Eleanor’s face was serene, but Kate saw the nuances, her brows arching a little to see outriders in King Richard’s livery.

  Kate leapt off Querida’s back and ran into her mother’s arms.

  “Who is your sick friend?” Eleanor whispered.

  “It’s Raphael Hart.”

  “Ohh. So that is Raphael? I haven’t seen him since he was a boy.”

  Kate turned. Raphael was still on horseback, looking around and blinking against the sunlight. The welcoming shape of the manor, blending with the soft greens of the gardens and the wooded hills rich with woodlands – he absorbed everything as if he’d been snatched into the land of Faerie.

  “No colour in his face,” said Eleanor. “What ails him?”

  “A malady of the spirit, not the body,” Kate said. “I’ve fought off priests and doctors wanting to purge him. If he hadn’t been the king’s good friend, they’d have cast him into some dungeon. But he’s not possessed. He’s a visionary, but the visions are driving him mad. If we can’t help him, who will?”

  “Kate,” said Eleanor, wincing. She realised she’d been pinching her mother’s arms tighter and tighter as she spoke.

  “Sorry,” she said, loosing her grip. “Where’s Robin?”

  “In the stables, as usual. I asked him to stay out of sight, in case you haven’t yet told Raphael…”

  “I haven’t.” She paused. “It won’t matter now, anyway.”

  “Come in, love. Bring him inside. Tom will take care of your escort and their horses. Let Nan and Ursula go with Martha. No doubt they’ve much news to exchange.”

  Raphael gathered himself enough to bow and give Lady Lytton a formal greeting. She asked him nothing, only welcomed him and led them through the great hall and up to her private solar. There she sent for food and drink, and left them to rest and eat. Alone, Kate and Raphael made small talk, but he seemed a thousand miles distant.

  After an hour, Eleanor returned.

  “Raphael, your mother Edith was a close friend of mine. I cared for her until her death. She spoke of you often.
To my unending regret, I was unable to tell her you were alive.”

  The corners of Raphael’s mouth tensed. He said in a low voice, “My Lady Lytton, the trouble that brings me here is the same trouble that separated me from her. I was lost in hellish visions and didn’t know who I was. By the time I remembered, it was too late.”

  “You’re honest,” said Eleanor. “I appreciate that. These conflicts of York and Lancaster made many orphans, and deprived me of my husband.”

  “And they’re not over.”

  “Is this what troubles you? Speak candidly. Nothing you say will go beyond the three of us.”

  Raphael took several breaths. Pain blanched his face.

  “I love the king,” he said. “All my life I’ve fought for him, served him, and been as loyal as a man could be. Yet my dreams contain nothing but treason. I see him committing bloody murders that he did not commit. I dream that chroniclers are writing of him in the most iniquitous terms, as if he were the Devil. I saw… another king on the throne, and the queen at his side was Bess, Elizabeth of York.”

  Kate gasped. “You didn’t tell me that!”

  “I couldn’t.” His voice broke. “I can hardly bear to think of it. Lady Eleanor, it’s not just the dreams but their malevolent tone. They’re nightmares, full of sinister revelation, as if all the demons of hell are about to erupt. Terrible. So yes, I saw this cold-eyed scrawny Lancastrian king on the throne, and I knew he’d killed Richard and stolen his crown.”

  “Was it Henry Tudor?” asked Katherine.

  “Yes. I’ve never met him, but in the vision, I knew it was him.”

  “But he stands no chance. That’s what they say. He has a chaotic bunch of ruffians against a great warrior with a royal army!”

  “I saw the battle,” Raphael said helplessly. “I was in it! Some of Richard’s greatest nobles will betray him and go to the enemy. I saw Richard cut down. Overwhelmed, cut down and slaughtered, crying treason. I fought to my last breath to save him, but couldn’t.”

  He was shaking his head in despair. Kate seized his hands.

  “Raphael, this is your fear of what might happen, not reality!”

  “Kate, shush,” Eleanor said crisply.