This Son of York

by Anne Easter Smith

  He laid the king’s body gently on the bed and covered it in the blanket. Then he prostrated himself on the floor, tears wetting the cold stone, and prayed for his own soul.

  The story that was put about in the days and weeks to come was that when King Henry, sixth of that name and last of the Lancastrian Plantagenets, heard of the disaster at Tewkesbury, he died of a broken heart in his Tower prison.

  Richard did not understand until much later why he had decided to do Edward’s bidding himself, but at the time he only knew he could not have lived with himself had the murder of saintly Henry been carried out by that criminal in such a dishonorable manner. He felt ashamed he had given so rash a command, and a mantle of guilt settled permanently on his heart. ’Twas badly done, Richard, he told himself.

  Only his confessor ever knew of his sin.

  He would never forget the deadly sound that had put an end to the strife between the cousins and given England a dozen years of peace. He knew it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

  As he buried his face in Traveller’s comforting neck after the awful deed, he had let go of his self-control and wept. All vestiges of his youth and belief in a merciful world had died in one sickening crack.

  PART FOUR

  Lord of the North, Anne’s Man

  London, 16 January, 2013

  Finally to see the face of the last warrior King of England, the man I had sought for the last four years, would be the culmination of a long and difficult journey. It would also be an enormous personal relief since after all the research it would have seemed wrong not to proceed to the project’s visual conclusion.

  …The reconstruction then followed a process based on the anatomical formations of the head and neck, where scientific standards are used to interpret the facial features….

  The reconstructed head was set up in the centre of the main archeological Institute, University College London. To enable DSP* to record me meeting Richard for the first time, I was asked to close my eyes as Simon Farnaby led me in. After a few moments’ hesitation, I opened my eyes. Richard’s face took me completely by surprise. I don’t know exactly what I had expected but it wasn’t this….it was the face of a young man who looked as if he were about to speak, and to smile. I searched in vain for the tyrant. I can’t describe the joy I felt. I was face to face with the real Richard III.

  —Philippa Langley, The King’s Grave

  *Darlow Smithson Productions, the documentary filmmakers of the Looking for Richard Project.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Winter 1471–1472

  If Richard had assumed the mantle of manhood, it was time for him to take a wife.

  “In truth, you above all men have deserved my gratitude,” Edward told Richard in a private meeting at Windsor early in the autumn. “Not satisfied with being constable and admiral of England, great chamberlain, chief steward of Wales and all the other honors I have bestowed on you to show it, you now want to wed Anne Neville.” He harrumphed. “George will not be agreeable.”

  Richard gave a snort. “Annoying George is only part of my reason for wanting Anne’s hand.” He stuck out his chin, clueing Edward that Richard had made a decision. “I am determined to wed her, but I need your support, Ned. Besides, you owe it to me.” Richard would never let his brother forget that he had carried out the orders for Henry’s execution, although Edward was not privy to the how and who. The king was unaware of the dark shadow that had descended on Richard’s very soul from the moment he had ended Henry’s life.

  “To soften George, I suppose?”

  Richard nodded.

  When Anne had been captured along with Margaret, she had been placed in her sister Isabel of Clarence’s household, which in essence meant George was now Anne’s guardian and entitled to revenues from her estates. He now controlled both sisters’ vast Warwick inheritance as well as their mother’s Beauchamp manors. It was George, not Edward, who had the right to give Anne in marriage.

  “How does the lady feel about it? Is she not grieving for her husband? You will have to wait for the year of mourning, you know.”

  “Of course. But she writes that she desires our marriage above all things.” Richard felt his cheeks flush. “She says she has loved me since she was a girl.”

  “And you, Richard? Do you love her?” Edward laughed. “Cock’s bones, it doesn’t matter if you do or you don’t. Besides, I know you have given your heart elsewhere.”

  Now Richard laughed, too, enjoying this rare intimate moment with his brother. “You know too much, Ned. Am I still transparent? Ah,” he said, seeing Edward nod, “then I will not lie. I shall always love Kate, but I also care for Anne—like a brother, ’tis true, but it will grow deeper with time, I have no doubt. I remember her as a sweet, kindly soul—although she can be…um, spirited.” He was recalling their last meeting when she was brought to Coventry after being captured. Far from falling into Richard’s arms, she was brave enough to publicly decry George’s vicious killing of Edouard when the battle was already won. Richard had been impressed, and doubly so when, in a less public moment, he had asked her, in the most tactful way he could for a man, whether she carried Edouard’s child. Anne had slapped his face. He grinned now. “Aye, she definitely has pluck.”

  “Then I shall not stand in your way,” Edward said, “and I will support your suit. But mark my words, it will be messy.” He rose from his chair. “After all this talk of wedding and bedding, I think I will go and find my beautiful Bessie. My cock is crowing.”

  Richard winced.

  Feeling the confidence of Edward’s backing, Richard rode past the many mechanical cranes standing along the wharves on Thames Street and into the large courtyard of Coldharbour, the Clarences’ London house. He tossed a coin to the groom who helped him dismount and lead off his horse. He glanced up at the impressive facade of the fortified mansion that had belonged to the dead and attainted duke of Exeter and caught sight of Anne’s pale face at a window on the second floor. He waved, but from his distant position he was not able to see her change of expression from anxiety to one of joy as she shyly waved back.

  He ran up the graceful staircase to the studded front door, which had already been opened for him by the steward. “My lord duke, we are honored,” the grave, bewhiskered old man said, bowing low. “My lord of Clarence is expecting you and will receive you in Duchess Isabel’s solar, if you will follow me.”

  “I know the way,” Richard said kindly, making a note to tell George his steward was getting too old to climb all those stairs in the three-storied townhouse. “I can announce myself, Sir John.”

  A young page was on duty outside the door, caught picking his nose as he waited for something to do. He scrambled to his feet and bowed, recognizing his lord’s younger brother. Richard tousled the lad’s hair and knocked on the door before entering.

  Anne was still at her window seat, George looming over her, and it disturbed Richard that George was gripping Anne’s delicate shoulder a little too tightly. Frowning, Richard wondered whether George had guessed the reason for this visit?

  “Good afternoon, Brother.” Lovely as always, Isabel glided forward to greet him, and he lifted her hand to his lips. She leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek. “For old times,” she whispered, taking Richard by surprise. Then more loudly she said. “We are glad to see you, are we not, George?”

  “If you say so, my dear,” George replied, but his expression was wary. He left Anne only then to stand by his wife, who entwined her fingers in his and rested her cheek on his sapphire sleeve. “Have you come as Edward’s mouthpiece, my lord, or as my brother?”

  “Oh, George, my love, I beg you…” Isabel pleaded, and Richard was heartened to see George’s expression somewhat soften.

  “I am always your brother,” Richard answered him and went towards Anne at the window seat. Smiling, he held out his hands. “Lady Anne, how good to see you again.”

  Still petite, her face had lost its girlhood plainness an
d might now even be considered pretty, he noted, and her body had filled out nicely in womanly places. Now if her nature had not changed, Richard decided he would be very fortunate to claim Anne as his wife. Clearly, the blush on her cheeks and the adoration in her eyes gave Richard confidence that this was no grieving widow. He took her hands in his and kissed her boldly on the mouth. Much to his surprise, he felt his desire stir.

  “I have missed you, cousin,” he said, leading her to a place next to Isabel on the cushioned settle. “I trust George is seeing to your needs?”

  Was that a flicker of unease that Richard observed on her face? But she answered cheerily enough: “His grace, the king, was kind enough to place me in Isabel’s care. George has more important things to concern himself with than my well-being, I’ll be bound. And Isabel and I are happy to be together again.”

  Isabel patted her sister’s knee. “We are, we are,” she said.

  “So, what is the purpose of your visit, Brother?” George interrupted the banter. “You could have had news of Anne from me in council meetings any day last week.”

  Pleased that Anne had clearly kept their correspondence a secret from her guardians, he asked that he might have a private word with George. Once behind the closed door of George’s cabinet, a magnificently paneled room overlooking the gardens reaching down to the river, he chose flattery to open his suit with his vain brother. “Marriage agrees with you, George. You and Isabel seem very happy. I envy you.”

  George was surprised by the warm comment, and he motioned Richard to take a seat as he himself sat down. He lifted the elegant pitcher to pour a glass of wine for his brother, when Richard came to the point.

  “I have come to negotiate with you for Anne’s hand.”

  George’s aim wavered and he splashed some claret on the rich Turkey rug covering the table.

  “Christ’s nails!” he swore, slamming down the jug and shoving a pile of blank vellum out of the red rivulet’s path. “Look what you have made me do.”

  Richard tensed, but chose to tread carefully; he needed to win George over. “I did nothing of the sort, George. Why does my proposal upset you? You have found happiness with Isabel; why would you resent my finding mine with Anne. She is free, and I already know her mind about this.”

  “How?” George snarled, rising from his seat and using a beautifully embroidered kerchief to mop up the spill. “How do you know what Anne wants? I have hardly allowed her to leave the house since she came under my charge. She is my dependent, by Edward’s order. I shall not consent, and there is an end to it.”

  Now was the time for anger, and Richard felt it mounting as he stared at his feckless sibling. He leaned forward on the edge of his seat and pointed an accusing finger. “I know why you do not sanction the match, George. I can see right through your greed and your trumpery. You are as false as you are shallow. As long as you control Anne, you own both Neville sisters’ inheritance. Do not lie, you dog in a manger!”

  George sneered. “Be careful of hypocrisy, Richard. You want Anne for her inheritance, too. Don’t deny it. And it would please your sanctimonious little mind to deprive me of it. Why would Anne want to wed a crookback like you, anyway?”

  George was unprepared for Richard’s sudden lunge and even less prepared to ward off the blow to his cheek from Richard’s fist. Reeling back, George hit his head against the mantle and howled in pain. “You arse-licking puttock!” he shouted. “Get out of here! You will not have her now—or ever.”

  Like his father’s, Richard’s anger died quickly. He made sure George wasn’t bleeding, went to the door and shot his final dart. “I have Edward’s full support in this request. After your treachery last year, you might not want to test our brother’s indulgence again too soon.”

  For the first time, Richard wondered at his motives for wanting Anne. Was George right? How would people interpret this betrothal? He shrugged it off. Why should he care so much what other people thought. After all, this issue was minor when compared to the dark deed he had perpetrated in the Tower that haunted him every single day. He had begun to believe, after that, he could handle anything Fate might throw his way.

  He strode back to the wharf, satisfied he had Anne’s consent and dismissing any doubts he could not accomplish this next step in his life, despite George’s threats.

  Richard confided in Rob that George might stoop to anything to thwart Richard’s plan to win Anne. “I did not like the way he treated her. She was intimidated—almost fearful. Poor girl, she was manipulated by her father, forced to marry Edouard, and now she is under George’s controlling thumb. I doubt he will let me near her again.”

  Rob was thoughtful. “You say Isabel greeted you warmly? Why not enlist her help? Surely she wants to see her sister happy?”

  “You may be right. Isabel might champion us. Sweet Jesu, I am glad I was not born a girl. The fair sex may seem to us to have an easy life, but in truth they are shackled to the will of whichever man has charge of them. No wonder so many of them end up taking the veil.”

  Rob guffawed. “Ever the philosopher, Richard.” More seriously, he offered, “Shall I be a go-between for you? I could pay my respects to Anne and find out when George may be away from home.”

  Richard and Rob had not counted on Isabel’s loyalty to her husband, and she would not send for Anne when Rob turned up on Thames Street. “My husband has gone to Bisham,” she said, referring to one of the inherited Warwick manors. “You must treat with him when he returns, Rob. Forgive me, but I know my duty.”

  “Will you give Anne a letter at least? I wish to extend my condolences to her on the loss of her husband.” Rob’s innocent expression convinced Isabel, and she nodded.

  “I will send for parchment and quill,” she said, “and then you must go.” She stood to the side as he put pen to paper, but when he stopped mid-greeting and stared at her, she shrugged and went to the door. “Thank you for your visit, Rob.”

  As soon as she had left, Rob scribbled the requisite few lines of sympathy, but then folded Richard’s letter inside his own and put his seal on it. At least Anne would know that Richard cared. How this was to be resolved, he had no idea, but he was well acquainted with Richard’s stubbornness. Glib, shallow George was no match for Gloucester’s level head and determination.

  Dearest Richard, Anne wrote in her tiny, neat script, if you are as determined to have me as I am determined to have you, then God will help us. We will all be together at yuletide, as the king has invited us to Westminster, so we can meet there. George will not dare refuse to let us talk with Edward watching, will he?

  Richard agreed, but Christmas was a good month away, and he was tired of George’s bullying. He had stayed away from Coldharbour House for long enough, he thought, as he was ferried to Thames Wharf one chilly November day. Pushing off from Baynard’s wharf, he was reminded of the scene there many years ago when he and George had fled to Flanders and Meg stood with a distraught Traveller watching them go. Traveller! Dear old Traveller, I hope one day we will be reunited in some pleasant place, Richard thought sadly. He had nursed his faithful old hound who had succumbed to a sudden sickness in the bowels not three days since. Richard had stayed with him all night and had finally administered the deadly tincture that had put the suffering animal to sleep. “Who shall I confide in now, dear old friend,” he had whispered, cradling the dog’s big head in his arms one last time; the wolfhound had given comfort during those black moods for many months.

  Richard forced his focus back to his journey. He worried that his brother would take out their quarrel on poor Anne. His protectiveness towards his young cousin was something he curiously had not felt with Kate, who had demonstrated her independence well enough. He had arranged for an annuity to help with expenses for the children, and he was grateful for Jack and Margaret Howard’s generosity towards his beloved mistress. He begged God nightly to forgive him his illicit love for Kate and for the lie they both had lived in allowing Kate’s wastrel husband to beli
eve the two children were his. Richard knew he must honorably dissolve his liaison with her, but, as with most young men, a divided heart was a guilty obstacle.

  It was easy to blame a sudden shivering on the cold wind, but it more likely came from a dread of confronting this unpleasant task. He must do right by Kate and tell her in person, but how much simpler to write a letter. He had to admit that, as well as their physical passion, he would miss her sunny nature and fearless candor. She was the only woman who made him laugh out loud, and her loving acceptance of his growing deformity allowed him to forget the cursed affliction if only for a few hours. And how he treasured her badly written letters. He smiled to himself; if only she could write as well as she sang, and—made love. He sighed. Nay, the passionate letters must stop once he married Anne; he would restrict himself only to those that concerned their children’s welfare. He was confident Kate understood their love affair was destined to end, and he vowed to resolve the matter. He must go to Anne’s bed with a clear conscience and stay true to his matrimonial oath. But could he free his heart from Kate? At least, unlike Edward, he had stayed true to only one mistress.

  Seeing Coldharbour’s towers now peeking over the leafless willows by the river reminded Richard of his mission and that George, for all his faults, had been faithful to Isabel and also frowned on Ned’s lusts. It was one of the few things they had in common these days, Richard thought ruefully. For the rest, they could barely be civil together.

  By the time he clambered out of the boat and walked through the mansion’s gardens undetected by the Clarence’s steward, he had made up his mind that if all went well with his quest to wed Anne, he would send for Kate. Having negotiated to rent a magnificent townhouse of his own from a wealthy merchant in Bishopsgate, he was looking forward to setting up his own household. He could safely talk to Kate there.