Treason

by Meredith Whitford

  Pale, Stanley said, ‘You need not doubt my loyalty, Your Grace.’

  ‘Good. But consider well that your request to go home now makes you suspect in men’s eyes.’

  Almost inaudibly Stanley said, ‘I do consider that. I wish to – to consult with my brother.’

  ‘Very well. You may go. But so greatly will I miss your presence that I must have some substitute. Send your son Lord Strange to join me in your place.’

  ‘Sire, I shall. The moment I arrive home I – ’

  ‘Oh no, my lord. You may not leave until Lord Strange is here.’

  ‘Then I will send for him at once, Your Grace.’

  When Stanley had bowed himself out I said, ‘Do you think he means to turn against you, Richard?’

  ‘I don’t know. How many times have the Stanleys turned their coats in the past thirty years? Five? Ten? But on the whole I think self-interest will keep Stanley loyal to me. And I will be holding his eldest son and heir as a safeguard.’

  ‘The Stanleys between them could put as many as ten thousand men in the field. They are probably the biggest single factor. And our sweating friend is married to Tudor’s mother.’

  ‘I know. But what am I to do, Martin? Arrest them all on suspicion? That wouldn’t uncover all their agents, but it would give Tudor cause. I suspect Stanley’s brother. And I think he wants to go home to discover precisely how deeply his wife is implicated. I think – I hope – that self-interest will prevail and he’ll stay loyal. Now send for Kendall, would you? It’s time I wrote to London to have the Great Seal brought here.’

  And nothing more would he say about Stanley. Lord Strange arrived, and to my surprise I found him a modest, likeable fellow. Edgy, though, and no wonder. He knew he was hostage for his father’s loyalty, and I think he was none too sure of that loyalty. Nothing was said, of course; we were all on the best of terms.

  ~~~

  In the second week in August we moved for a couple of days to Beskwood Lodge, out in Sherwood Forest. No sooner had we arrived there than John came running to find me. ‘It’s Mother! She’s here!’

  ‘Here? Whatever for?’ Of course I thought at once of our other children. Martin was safe here with me – now thirteen, he had begged to be allowed to come as my page, and over Innogen’s disapproval I had allowed it – but the others were at Middleham, and we had heard there was sweating sickness in the north.

  ‘She said she has to go to Bruges, there is something wrong in her wool business.’ John shrugged; trade was a dreary matter to a lad of fifteen when England was in arms against an invader.

  ‘Perhaps she has come to ask my permission to go. Wonders will never cease.’ John laughed, for he knew I was soft as butter with my wife, I don’t have it in me to be a domestic tyrant.

  I found Innogen drinking cold ale with Richard, Martin attending upon them. ‘Darling!’ she said, kissing me. ‘Martin, it’s so tedious, it seems I must go to Bruges.’

  ‘So John tells me. What’s the matter?’

  ‘Oh, so annoying! I’ve thought for a while my agent there wasn’t being quite honest, and now I’ve had a letter – the agent has absconded with six months’ takings, there is no one competent in charge. Martin, I have to go, it’s not something I can deal with by letter. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Of course not. I’m surprised you didn’t simply go.’

  ‘Oh well, it seems it might take some time to settle matters there, I may be away a month or more. I wanted to see you, darling.’ Butter wouldn’t have melted in her mouth. ‘And to see my boys. Are they behaving themselves?’

  ‘Mo-ther,’ Martin groaned, as boys do at this sort of maternal remark.

  ‘They’re being splendid, ‘Richard said. ‘And no, Innogen, if it comes to battle they’ll be left well behind, I won’t see them in any danger. Have you seen the new book from Master Caxton?’

  ‘Le Morte D’Arthur? Not until now.’ She picked up the volume lying by Richard’s hand. ‘By Sir Thomas Malory. Is the book good?’

  ‘Excellent so far as I’ve read.’

  We chatted on like this, of literature and the wool trade, until time for supper.

  We were going inside when a messenger crashed his sweating horse to a halt in the courtyard and ran up to Richard.

  ‘Your Grace – news. Tudor has landed at Milford Haven in Wales.’

  Richard held still, his face expressionless. ‘Ah. So it has come. In Wales? So, we will see.’

  ‘See what?’ Martin asked as we followed Richard indoors.

  ‘See how reliable are all the Welsh promises of loyalty to the King.’

  But Martin was too young to conceive of the sort of treachery we feared, and he ran inside scoffing.

  It was late by the time we chased the boys off to bed and could be private. It was a warm night, thick and muggy, so no one thought anything of it when Richard suggested we ride in the forest. He adroitly dismissed the usual attendants, and only the three of us went. When we were away from the Lodge, in a clearing deep into the forest, Richard reigned in his horse. ‘Martin, I wrote to Innogen asking her to come.’

  ‘I thought there was something. All that chatter about Malory... what’s wrong?’

  ‘I want Innogen to take my nephews abroad.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Yes. She can easily do it, you see, without arousing suspicion, she is often back and forth to Bruges. Will you allow her to do it?’

  I glanced at Innogen. She nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘Of course. But Richard, how?’

  He looked about as if suspecting spies lurking in the trees. By tacit consent we rode on, our horses’ hooves and the jingle of the bridles covering our words. ‘You know Sir Edward Brampton?’ Again I nodded. He was Portuguese, a Jew who had converted to Christianity, and he had been a close friend of King Edward. As is the custom in such cases the King had stood godfather, and Brampton had adopted the King’s Christian name. I knew him as a thoroughly reliable fellow. Clearly Richard thought so too, for he went on, ‘Brampton is in my confidence about this matter. He’s an experienced seaman, and clever. I trust him. And he has a vast acquaintanceship in Europe. As we speak, there is a ship about to put in down the Yorkshire coast. Brampton will get my nephews to the ship; Lincoln is in on the secret, of course. No one else knows. If you two agree, Innogen can hurry off to Bruges to see about her business there. She’ll take a servant and a couple of apprentices: Brampton and the boys. No one will wonder at her going, it will seem an ordinary business journey.’ He pulled off his hat, rubbing fretfully at his forehead. ‘It’s not a perfect scheme, but it’s the best I can think of. The boys will go to my sister Margaret, of course.’

  I thought about it. ‘Yes. And of course we agree.’ But the import of the plan battered at me. ‘Richard, you don’t believe – do you think this is necessary?’

  He looked straightly at me, smiling a little. ‘I hope it is not. I haven’t given up, Martin; I haven’t despaired. I’ve never yet lost a battle. Who knows, Tudor might turn tail and flee again. But I’ve been too trusting in the past, I’ve left too much to chance and my faith in other people. But if Tudor should defeat me, or if I should die, those boys are at risk. Tudor will have to marry Bess to shore up his claim to the throne. The moment he marries her, her brothers are dead. I’m taking no chances.’

  ‘I see. Shouldn’t you send Bess away too?’

  His face went quite blank. ‘If Innogen can convince her to go: certainly. But I doubt she will. We did not,’ he said with pain, ‘part on good terms.’

  There was nothing to say to that. We turned our horses’ heads about and began the ride back to Beskwood. ‘I’ll do it, of course,’ said Innogen, ‘and gladly.’ None of us spoke the rest of the way back.

  In bed that night, Innogen asked me, ‘Sweetheart, what of the Stanleys? Richard told me of Lord Stanley needing so urgently to visit his home.’

  ‘I don’t know. We suspect Sir William, we’re in doubt about Lord Tom. The thing is
, of course, their lands run from Wales to the north. They could raise the whole west for Tudor.’

  ‘Hmm. Who has Tudor got with him?’

  ‘His uncle Jasper Tudor, of course, and the Earl of Oxford. Barkley and Arundel, I believe. Our friend Tom Grey, Dorset, was left behind in France as surety for Tudor’s French loans.’

  ‘An interesting reversal of fortune. Will Tudor pick up much support in Wales?’

  ‘Some, of course. Rhys ap Thomas has vowed Tudor will have to pass over his very belly to get by him. The Vaughans and the Herberts are blocking the northeast ways out of Wales. Tudor might yet give up. Though I doubt it. Darling, since you must leave tomorrow, must we spend tonight talking of Tudor?’

  ‘Why, no,’ she said, and began to kiss me.

  I remember that night’s lovemaking so clearly. Innogen was thirty-five and had had seven pregnancies. It showed in the fine lines around her eyes, in the slackened flesh of her breasts and belly, in the grey strands in her hair; but to me that night she was as beautiful as the girl I had first made love to sixteen years before. I loved her, and I told her so as I wound my hands in her hair to pull her hard down on top of me. I loved her forever.

  She had to leave early in the morning. Richard left Kendal frantically scribbling letters to Norfolk and Surrey, to Northumberland, Sir Robert Brackenbury, Francis Lovell, all the men who would bring troops to him, and strolled out into the courtyard with us.

  ‘I hope your business in Bruges prospers, Innogen. Safe journey.’

  ‘It will be. And yes, my business will go well, have no fear.’ She turned away to kiss Martin and John. ‘God keep you safe, my dear boys. I will see you soon.’ Abruptly she turned back to Richard. For a moment she stared hard into his eyes, then she took his face between her hands and kissed his mouth. ‘I love thee, Richard Plantagenet. May God have thee in his keeping.’

  ‘And thee, my dear.’

  It was time for her to go. We embraced, and I helped her up into the saddle. She said a sweet farewell, but as she turned her horse’s head towards the gateway I saw that tears were streaming down her face.

  ~~~

  We returned to Nottingham Castle that day. There was no telling which direction Tudor would take out of Wales, or how quickly he might advance. Richard ordered his commanders to muster at Leicester with all haste. One of the men so commanded was Lord Stanley, who was stationed with his men to the east of Shrewsbury, his brother a little further north. If they held loyal to Richard, they alone should be able to prevent Tudor penetrating far into England.

  On Monday the fifteenth, the Feast of the Assumption of Our Lady, Lord Stanley sent a message that the sweating sickness prevented him joining Richard. And that night Lord Strange tried to escape.

  It was Richard’s nephew Lincoln who told us, and took us to the room where Strange was being held. The man drooped between two guards, his hands bound and blood drying at the corner of his mouth. He was dressed in the clothing of a lower servant, with one of the King’s badges on his jerkin. Richard’s lips thinned at the sight, and he lifted a knife from the table. Strange’s eyes widened with fear as his King walked towards him with the knife in his hand, but Richard only looked at him in contempt and said, ‘We’ll have that off, for a start,’ and slid the point of the knife under the stolen badge, cutting the hasty stitches and flicking the badge to the floor. Strange sagged with relief.

  ‘Explain yourself,’ Richard said.

  ‘Need I?’ Strange asked wearily.

  ‘Probably not. You have somehow had word that your father and uncle have gone over to Tudor. Or did you know it all the time?’

  ‘No!’ cried Strange, and they stared at each other. ‘Your Grace, yes I have had a message... My uncle Sir William is for Tudor. Sir John Savage too. You know Sir Gilbert Talbot is also?’

  ‘Yes. Who else?’

  ‘Rhys ap Thomas.’

  That cut Richard; he had trusted ap Thomas. ‘He said Tudor would have to pass over his belly... I daresay he meant it literally.’

  ‘Yes. He submitted himself to Tudor as rightful king. Lay down and invited Tudor to walk over him.’

  ‘Which is something I have never asked of any subject. Go on.’

  Strange hesitated, then almost defiantly burst out, ‘Tudor is through Shrewsbury.’

  ‘Right into England without let or hindrance. Who else is for him?’

  ‘That’s all I know of, Your Grace. Tudor has been advised not to try for London.’

  ‘I see. And your father?’

  ‘Is loyal to you. I swear it.’ There was a long silence. Richard’s eyes never left Strange’s face. ‘What – what will you do with me?’

  ‘I don’t know. But you will write to your father, my lord, here and now. Tell him that you tried to escape and were apprehended. Tell him that you have told me what you know. Tell him that by tomorrow his brother and Savage and the others who have aided Tudor will be proclaimed rebels and traitors. Tell him that if he is loyal to me he must prove it by coming to me with every last man he can raise, at once. And tell him that you are hostage for his loyalty. Tell him that your life is in his hands. Write, my lord.’

  For some time there was no sound in the room but quickened breathing and the scratching of Strange’s pen. At last he held out the letter to Richard, who read it through, nodded, and said, ‘I’ll send it with some token your father will trust. Your ring, perhaps.’ Trembling, Strange tugged the ring off his finger. Closing his hand over it Richard said, ‘You realise your life goes with this letter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Very well. You’ll be kept under guard.’ He signed to Lincoln to take the man away.

  ~~~

  Francis Lovell arrived next day. Coming up from the south he had gleaned a little news about Tudor’s advance. ‘Marching under the Red Dragon banner of Wales. The heir and hope of Cadwallader. Brutus and Arthur are mentioned often, even Uther Pendragon. Most glorious. A new identity for every area. Outside Wales he’s the last hope of Lancaster.’

  ‘Perhaps I should remind people,’ said Richard dryly, ‘that I am not only Duke of Lancaster but a good deal more Lancastrian by birth than Henry Tudor. Come to think of it, I’m Earl of Richmond too.’

  ‘So you are. Can you muster some Welsh blood too?’ Then Francis’s brittle levity drained away. ‘Richard, I have to tell you this. Tudor is issuing proclamations – ’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But do you also know he is styling himself King of England? His proclamations are headed ‘By the King’ and he signs them Henricus Rex.’

  It was the only time in those days I saw Richard angry. Angry – he lost his temper more violently than I had ever seen, as violently as ever his brother had done. It was Tudor’s casual insolence that did it, that sneaking assumption of rights he had done nothing to earn. You do not become King by saying so. By right of victory in battle, yes, but not even then is one truly king until the anointing with Holy Chrism. Not by vaingloriously saying so.

  And all at once Richard received another blow. We were at Beskwood again, trying to keep cool in the open air of the forest, when two riders approached.

  ‘It’s John Sponer from York, and John Nicholson, I think. I have sent for men from York, but – ’

  ‘Your Grace.’ The two men tumbled wearily from their horses and knelt before Richard. ‘Your Grace, we’ve ridden as fast as we could from York – the city sent us.’ Sponer’s thick Yorkshire voice was sorely puzzled, even hurt. ‘Your Grace, we are sure you have good reason, but the York Council is worried... Your Grace, we heard days ago that this Tudor has landed and you are gathering men: so why haven’t you sent to York for men?’

  Richard turned so white I thought he would faint. I gripped his arm. He said, ‘I always turn to my men of the north, before all others. Has York had no word from – from anyone?’

  ‘No, Your Grace.’ I think Sponer understood at once, from that hesitant question. ‘Of course there’s this sickness about up there,
but it didn’t prevent us... No. No word.’

  Tonelessly Richard said, ‘I wrote to Northumberland some days ago, telling him to bring in his own men and a contingent from York. I had trusted him to do so. I need my men from York.’

  ‘We are ready, Your Grace,’ said Nicholson. ‘The Council has issued orders, every man is to get his weapons and armour ready to move at an hour’s notice. It was all put in hand after yesterday’s Council meeting. They only need the word. I’ll ride back at once.’

  ‘Please. I leave for Leicester on Friday. Could the York contingent be there by, say, Monday?’

  ‘We’ll be there Friday,’ Nicholson promised. Richard smiled faintly.

  ‘Monday will do. God bless you. Heaven bless my men of the North.’

  Later Francis said, ‘So Northumberland’s turned traitor too.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Perhaps – Richard!’

  ‘Yes, all right. He has always resented me. But what can I do? He’ll plead the sickness in the north, say his message to York inexplicably got lost or delayed – Sponer told me Northumberland’s wife died only a couple of weeks ago, he’ll plead his bereavement. I can prove nothing. Unless he simply fails to bring his men to me.’