On June 21, the two brothers rode out of London towards Bury St. Edmunds and Walsingham, where they would pray for guidance in their mission at the two world-renowned shrines. The journey was uneventful except for an unexpected reunion with the indomitable Kate. She had talked her way into riding to Bury alongside Margaret Howard, who was to meet Sir John there. Kate had an inkling Richard might be in Edward’s party, and she had been right.
Somehow the two lovers were able to escape for an hour or two one afternoon, and, consumed with passion and overheated in the hot June sun, they had thrown off their clothes and plunged into the nearby river. Like two children released from supervision, they frolicked in the cool water until, excited by the delicious exploration of each other’s submerged bodies, they made love in rhythm with the gently moving stream.
“Perhaps we have made a son, today,” Kate whispered after they climbed out onto the bank and lay naked on the green moss to dry in the sun. “I shall pray to Saint Catherine that we have.” Gentling him over onto his stomach, Kate stroked the slight protrusion and enlarged clavicle.
“Does it hurt, my love? It looks as though it must hurt.”
He tensed. “Only when I have sat my horse for too many hours. But I have worked long and hard to compensate,” he told her. He could not see her expression from his position but, certain it reflected disgust, he tried to roll back over to conceal his flaw. Kate resisted him and then, with a tenderness that moved him greatly, she kissed the shoulder.
He sighed then, understanding that she was unperturbed by his imperfection. “I am fearful of it being noticed. Any enemies I make will be sure to blame the Devil and call me a monster. I do fear that I have displeased God in some way,” he confessed. Then turning over and taking her hand to his lips, he asked, “Tell me true, my rose, does it notice when I am not prancing about naked.”
Kate smiled and shook her head, her curtain of wet hair sprinkling his chest with cold drops of water. “You have no need to trouble yourself, Richard. Only I know what is beneath your shirt. Well, me and Rob Percy, I suspect.”
And perhaps Mother, Richard thought, remembering the concerned look on Cecily’s face the last time they had embraced. “Aye, Rob knows and certes, my squire. I could not bear for others to know, so I beg you never to disclose my secret to…”
Kate stopped his words with a kiss.
By the time Edward reached Lynn, he had gathered more than 200 men to his banner. It has to be said that Edward did not appear in any great hurry to quell whatever annoying rebellion had erupted in the northern “wilds” of his kingdom, more’s the pity. Richard silently took offense to Ned’s ribbing of his preferred part of the country, but as he had similar feelings for the self-important southerners he ignored his brother’s taunts.
They had taken to the waterways of the fenlands after leaving Bishop’s Lynn and the little army ventured all the way to Fotheringhay on the winding River Nene. Seeing his birthplace for the first time since he had left it at seven years old, Richard remarked it did not seem as imposing as it had been then. Even so, the keep rose high on the motte with the York banner floating over it, and it was comforting to see not much had changed in almost ten years.
Richard watched with an ache of envy as Edward dismounted in the inner bailey to stride eagerly across the cobbles and take his wife in his arms. Elizabeth had accompanied her father and two brothers to meet Edward on his march north, and they had mustered more men to Edward’s side. How he wished he could take Kate as a bride, but the idea was absurd and he put it from his mind.
Although more troops and supplies arrived during the last two weeks of June, Edward was disappointed he had not been joined yet by the earls of Pembroke and Devon. He moved out of Fotheringhay and rode unhurried to Nottingham castle, where he dug in and waited for news.
Edward blanched, reeled backwards and collapsed into a chair when he read the missive that he now crumpled in his clenched fist.
“What is it?’ Richard and Hastings asked in unison. Elizabeth quickly poured some wine and offered him the cup.
Edward downed the contents in one long swallow. All eyes were on him as he handed back the cup to Elizabeth, who was now kneeling by his side. “What is it, my dear lord?” she asked.
“The worst of news,” Edward’s flat monotone belied the words, but all could see he was in shock. “Not only is my cousin of Warwick preparing to turn his coat, but it would seem my brother George has done the same.”
It was not a complete surprise to anyone in the room, but all gasped just the same. Richard felt the bile in his throat as all the years of friction and suffering at George’s hands rose to sour his senses. He could not speak he was so overcome with a heady variety of emotions: anger, disappointment, scorn, sadness, deliverance, and loss.
“’Tis said Warwick has not only promised Isabel to George but my crown into the bargain,” Edward growled, rising and pacing about the room.
“The crown?” Earl Rivers shouted. “Has the man gone mad? ’Tis not his to give. It is time for you to cut off his haughty head, Your Grace,” he counseled Edward, who turned his back and stared silently out of the window. It was clear to Richard that Ned was in no mood for discussion.
Richard seized a moment of silence and faced the handsome patriarch of the Woodville family, who was decidedly overstepping his bounds albeit he was Edward’s father-in-law. “My brother and I wish to be alone, if it please you, my lord. I pray you, take no offense, but George’s defection is a family matter, and we would be grateful for time to discuss it between ourselves.”
“I am Edward’s wife,” Elizabeth objected. “I should stay.”
Richard smiled and, in a rare gesture for him, went to Elizabeth and lifted her hand to his lips. “He will be with you shortly, Sister, I promise. Just allow us this moment, I beg of you.” What he wanted to say was: Much of what ails us is your family’s fault. You have all set yourselves up above those who are far nobler than you. Your influence with the king has repelled those who would give experienced counsel—including Warwick, hence distancing himself from good governance. Instead, he simply opened the door.
The queen had no recourse in the face of such diplomacy and flounced from the room, followed by her family and Will Hastings, who acknowledged Richard’s wise decision with a quiet, “’Twas well done, my lord.”
When the door was closed, Richard waited for Ned to say something—perhaps even reprimand him. He suddenly noticed Ned’s shoulders were shaking, and thinking his brother was laughing, he took a step forward. “Ned,” he said, “Ned? Are you all right?”
But when Edward turned to face his brother, Richard was horrified to see that Edward was weeping. “Dear God!” Richard exclaimed, and the youngest York took the eldest into a close embrace and let his big brother cry.
“They have twice as many men as we have, Your Grace,” Will Hastings informed the king a few days later. He cursed the slow intelligence of the rebels’ movements, but when the hoped-for reinforcements from the earls of Devon and Pembroke did not appear, the usually even-tempered chamberlain was nervous. “If you want my advice, you will send your in-laws away. They are part of the grievances laid out by Redesdale and his followers. Aye, even Elizabeth. You have allowed her family to exploit their position, and their presence is only aggravating resentments here.”
Richard had become accustomed to the familiar way Hastings addressed the king. He recognized the informality came from the same degree of trust he himself had in Rob Percy.
“I agree, Ned. Let the people see the Woodvilles have no influence. Listen to the people’s grievances,” Richard begged, “they do not want to fight. They complain they have fought too many battles already for a cause that is not their own. They have been forced to leave their homes to fight those battles, paid too many taxes to fund the fighting, and have no food to feed their families. And they blame the Woodvilles. They have had enough and are wanting you to listen.”
Edward studied his steepled ha
nds and nodded slowly. “Elizabeth will not like it, but I will send them away.” He looked up at his two advisors. “What then?”
“I cannot believe Warwick wants to attack you,” Richard said, “and I do not think you believe it either, Ned, or you would not have just put him in charge of our fleet to ward off the French. He is patrolling the Channel protecting us. It does not make sense.”
“Astute thinking, Richard,” Edward said, grateful for this brother’s wisdom and loyalty. “We know the rebels are led by Warwick’s adherents, so who do you think is giving them their orders?”
Richard shrugged. “There are so many Nevilles—from both branches of the family,” he said. “Perhaps these are from the Stafford line not our Beaufort one.”
But all three men knew in their hearts that Warwick was the culprit, although the earl’s two cousins wanted desperately to believe otherwise.
“Perhaps,” Edward humored his brother. “Then all we can do is wait here in safety for Pembroke and Devon.”
They waited in vain.
In the meantime, and unbeknownst to the Yorkists at Nottingham, the earl of Warwick, his wife and two daughters, George of Clarence, and Warwick’s brother-in-law John de Vere, earl of Oxford, had sailed from Sandwich to Calais, where, on the eleventh day of July, Archbishop Neville performed the marriage ceremony between Isabel and George.
There was now no doubt of Warwick’s treasonable intentions. The next day, Warwick and his followers issued a manifesto to Parliament in the form of a letter denouncing the king’s willful exclusion on his council of…princes of royal blood, in favor of the deceitful, covetous rule and guiding of certain seditious persons. In particular, they mentioned Earl Rivers, his wife and sons, and the earls of Pembroke and Devon. They did not dare include the queen. They have caused our said sovereign lord and his realm to fall in great poverty of misery, disturbing the ministration of the laws, only intending to their own promotion and enrichment.
Warwick declared his intention of returning to England to lay these grievances and proposals of reformation before the king.
How ironic that ten years earlier, Richard duke of York, Edward’s father, had set sail from exile in Ireland with exactly the same goal in mind: To reform the bad governance of a king.
Cut off from the south by the rebels, the king was unaware of these developments, all too easily—and expediently—choosing to believe that the silence from Pembroke and Devon meant they were making their way to Nottingham.
Twice Richard attempted to rouse his brother to be more aggressive in his intelligence gathering, and twice he was rebuffed. To Richard the silence was ominous, but Edward scoffed, “You are too pessimistic, Richard. If we are so outnumbered, why have the rebels not attempted to reach us? Where are they?”
Richard could only demur, but he was anxious to leave the castle. Part of him longed for his first foray into battle, and so far he had seen nary a sword unsheathed nor a cannon ball fired. But he was convinced Edward needed to gain the trust of his subjects again, and he would not do that by cowering behind castle walls.
Hastings spoke up then, voicing what Richard was thinking. “Go among your people, Edward. You are your own best advocate. I’ve seen you charm the surliest of men with a warm greeting or a friendly slap on the back. Be the people’s king once more. Dare I say, but you have lost the common touch that endeared you to all, which has allowed Warwick to exploit and gain from it.”
It was a bold pronouncement that earned Richard’s admiration, but both waited apprehensively for the king’s reaction.
Again Richard was impressed by the trust the king had in his lord chamberlain, because Edward finally nodded and said, “Aye. I see that now,” and rose with more purpose. “Let us make plans to find Devon and Pembroke.”
At the end of July, Edward finally received word of the two earls’ progress, and heeding Hastings’ advice, he marshaled his meager troops and began the march south to join them on July twenty-ninth, a much happier Richard by his side.
The mood would not last long.
Once again Edward’s intelligence was tardy, for on July twenty-sixth Devon and Pembroke, commanding two separate forces, did not make their rendezvous somewhere in Northamptonshire before being outmaneuvered by the rebel force and vanquished in the battle of Edgecote Field. Both earls were sent before Warwick and executed.
Not far from Northampton, a messenger from the royal force reached Edward with the bad news. Upon hearing that the rebels were at hand and had already defeated their comrades, Edward’s small army dissolved like a summer’s mist, leaving the king and his small entourage marooned in the middle of nowhere.
Richard could not believe his ears.
“You are my prisoner,” the earl of Warwick told the angry Edward at Olney, where the earl had cornered the helpless king and his few men, who were seeking to ride back to Nottingham.
Like a wounded dog, Edward turned his horse around to face the earl and snarled, “Nay, my lord, you are mistaken. As soon as I return to Westminster, ’tis you who will be tried for treason.” He attempted to unsheathe his sword, but Warwick’s henchmen had hedged him in and one wrenched the weapon from his grasp.
“I think not, Your Grace,” Warwick almost purred at Edward. “As you can see, you are greatly outnumbered. I am here speaking for your subjects who seek naught but a way to lay their grievances and the need for reform before you.”
Richard observed several heads nod in agreement and sheathed his own sword. He suddenly saw Francis Lovell among the earl’s knights and lifted his hand briefly in salute. Poor Francis had no choice but to be at the earl’s side, Richard knew, for he was Warwick’s ward. The youth’s shoulders shrugged a reluctant response. It was then Richard determined he would make his protégé one of his household when the present debacle was resolved. It was clear Francis wanted none of this treason.
However, more important matters concerned Richard here at hand, as he watched Edward use his intimidating strength to push away the guards and move his horse closer to the earl’s. “So what do you propose, cousin. That you take my place as king, or….” Suddenly Edward caught sight of George, skulking behind Warwick’s brother, the archbishop. Kicking his horse’s flanks viciously, he jostled Warwick and rode straight at George, purposely allowing his mount to rear up and stop a precise few inches from the startled duke of Clarence.
“Did Warwick promise you the crown, my lord duke?” Edward cried, and he slashed George across the face with his rein. “Over my dead body, traitor! My own brother. You are lower than the muck in a gong-farmer’s barrow. Aye, turn your face away in shame. I have no wish to see it ever again.” And he wheeled his courser around and rode back to Warwick, Richard, and Hastings. “Keep him from my sight, do you hear me, my lord.”
Warwick nodded and glanced at Richard. Despite his enmity towards Edward, the earl still felt an affinity for Richard, whose eyes spoke of betrayal and sadness as they held Warwick’s for a moment, and Warwick had the grace to lower his gaze and incline his head in a tacit understanding of the young man’s conflict.
“What do you intend to do with me, pray?” Edward was bold despite the danger. “Am I to suffer the same fate as my ancestors Richard of Bordeaux or the second Edward, shut away to be forgotten until discovered dead?”
“You are still the king, cousin,” Warwick assured him. “But your power will be greatly reduced—at least until I and my council believe that you have accepted our manifesto.”
“Pah!” Edward harrumphed. “So another Magna Carta. I think you overestimate your sway with my people, my lord.” He looked around hopefully at the soldiers but saw nothing but surly faces. Thus powerless, Edward gave himself up to the earl, who told him to choose from his retainers to accompany him to his confinement at Warwick castle, where, the earl assured the king, he would be housed in comfort.
Hastings moved his horse towards the king, but Edward gave an imperceptible shake of his head. “I trust you have no quarrel with my
chamberlain or my brother, Gloucester?” Edward asked Warwick. “I will be content to have two gentlemen of the bedchamber and my secretary to take with me into this ‘confinement.’”
Warwick bowed. “As you surmise, Your Grace, we have no quarrel with Lord Hastings or Richard.” He emphasized Richard’s first name purposely. “They may go where they will. Fare you well, my lords.”
Hastings leaned over to Richard and muttered. “I’m for Lancashire,” where Richard knew Will had large land holdings, “and may I suggest you find Jack Howard and keep me apprised.” Richard nodded, and after saluting Edward and ignoring Warwick, Will and his men cantered away.
“Find Elizabeth and tell her the news, Richard,” Edward commanded, only now choosing to dismount. “I am sure this ‘confinement’ is a temporary inconvenience. Am I right, cousin?”
Warwick said nothing and watched as Richard followed the king out of the saddle and Edward took his brother in a warm embrace. “Don’t let him get away with this,” Edward hissed in Richard’s ear. “Gather support and we shall defeat these rebels ere the rising of the next moon. Now get you gone from here at once, before the traitorous whoreson changes his mind about you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Autumn 1469–Spring 1470
Bemused and silent, Richard rode from the extraordinary scene towards London. He kicked his horse’s flank into a gallop, intent on putting as much space between himself and Warwick as possible. Trusty Rob Percy was at Richard’s side, and he was also rendered unusually speechless by the disaster that had befallen the king. With only their squires attending, they followed Watling Street and covered the first ten miles on that old Roman road in record time, and, upon reaching the town of Stony Stratford, reined in their mounts. As the sweating beasts gratefully slowed to a walk, their riders guided them over the River Ouse to an inn hard by the Eleanor Cross.
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