“Support for a cause of his own, Richard?”
Richard’s face had become hardened. “If he is untrue....” He forced himself to put together a painful picture from the memories of a lifetime. “Buckingham hates the Woodvilles, but he’d use them too. It could be he seeks the crown for his own. He’s descended from Thomas of Woodstock, youngest son of Edward III, and Edmund Beaufort, grandson of John of Gaunt. It has always been rumored he exemplifies the Act of Parliament which legitimized the Beauforts. But in his copy, they are not banned from the succession, as later copies do. Bishop Morton would remind him of all this, and Morton has many friends.”
“Richard, go to London. Meet Buckingham and find out. If all is well, why live in this agony of doubt?”
He seemed not to have heard. “The Welsh are always unpredictable. Restless and eager to fight. I shouldn’t have let Buckingham come under the influence of Morton, a wily man. Yet, God’s nails, why would he betray me?”
Anne thought of her father, Warwick. “Power. The eternal thirst for power.”
“Anne, the Kingdom will destroy itself if this cycle of betrayal isn’t broken.”
“Yes. Go to London, Richard.”
Richard was ready to leave the next day. Anne was to wait at Middleham with Ned for the present, so as not to risk Ned’s new strength on the journey, or the wearing protocol of Westminster.
They parted at Sheriff Hutton. Ned and Anne walked with Richard as far as the Chapel of St. Nicholas in the Church of St. Helen’s at the village edge. Recently finished, it had a quiet serenity. The three of them stood in that small, peaceful place and embraced while the carved angels smiled down. Little was said. Soon Ned and Anne would join Richard in London. It would only be a brief parting.
Ned promised to grow taller and study hard. Richard kissed his wife. “Anne, when next I see you, I’ll have our world on a straight course again.”
He thought to reassure her, as though she could not see the inner darkness behind his eyes, the fear of what might be. She remembered her mother, smiling, as her father sailed from France to England, to his death.
“Richard, I am confident you can do whatever needs doing.”
He too smiled as he rode away with a retinue from York. He waved and called a cheery goodbye. The Yorkshire wind carried his voice back to the chapel entrance, a long, drawn farewell.
The same luminous, mellow, autumn sunlight shone on Brecon in Wales, but Henry of Buckingham didn’t notice. Ever since the July coronation, the voice whispering “Kingmaker” inside his head continued to roar, constant as the Usk River, pounding as cannon fire. He couldn’t deny the truth of these inner taunts. He was the most splendid figure in the Kingdom, more Plantagenet than the King.
John Morton, Bishop of Ely, watched the restless Duke. “A shame you’re not on the throne at Westminster, Henry,” he said smoothly. “Sometimes fate needs a push.”
“I’ve already pushed fate to the limit,” he said with a guilty overtone. “I hate the Woodvilles.”
“So do we all.” Morton went on eating the ample fresh food spread out on the board before him. His countenance sweetly meditative, the Bishop of Ely decided the Duke lived well at Brecknock Castle. Chewing slowly, the Bishop recalled his long years of service to Margaret of Anjou and the Lancastrian cause. Richard would never forgive him for the part he played in the aborted plot against him. As often before, his mind reverted to the gray-eyed Tudor in Brittany. Henry Tudor’s claim to the throne through the Beauforts’ bastards was even senior to Buckingham’s. He picked the tender meat from the bones of roast swan. “I’m sure many look to you for good leadership, my Duke. The Lancastrians know your family shed blood in their cause.”
Buckingham raised a quizzical eyebrow. “What are you trying to say, Morton?”
Bishop Morton smiled. “Somehow I keep thinking of you as King, Henry. An old man’s foolishness.”
“And who else would be so foolish?” Buckingham waved his hand through the empty air.
“I know of men who have said as much to me. They served under Edward IV. They know a King when they see one.”
“Names?” Buckingham thought his skull would burst with the inner pounding.
Morton nodded, “Sir John Cheyney of Wiltshire, a powerful warrior. He was Master of the Horses for King Edward, but his position was given to Richard’s James Tyrell. Piers Courtenay, Bishop of Exeter is an old friend of mine. Percy of Northumberland waits for a chance to resume his true authority in the North. And of course, there is Lord Stanley. His marriage to Margaret Beaufort, Henry Tudor’s mother, definitely leaves him open to persuasion.”
“That whey-face shrew hopes only for her son. We’re talking of my chances, Morton.”
“Of course,” Morton hastily went on, “but there is also the Marquess of Dorset who’s in hiding; Lionel Woodville, Bishop of Salisbury; and all the Woodvilles.” He saw Buckingham’s anger. “Use them Henry, then discard them. A fitting finale to the injustice done to you by the Woodvilles through your marriage bed.”
Buckingham banged his fist down on the table, causing the plates to jump. “I need a great army, not a few men. You don’t know what deed I’ve done already in this game. I risk my neck. You, my churchly plotter, risk nothing. How do you plan to bring all this about?”
Morton looked about, his voice was a whisper. “Peter Blois, the new chronicler at Croyland Abbey in the Fen country near Ely is my man. With his help, I’ll start a rumor that Richard III murdered the Princes and that’s why they disappeared. Rumor spreads through England like wildfire. It may even be true.” He stopped and looked closely at Buckingham. The Duke had become ashen. “Now the country is not sure. I’ll change their ignorance to speculation. They’ll revile the man who killed the sons of Edward.”
“You think of everything.” Buckingham managed to swallow some wine. In his own thoughts he mused, “Why should I just be Kingmaker, when I can be King?”
Morton lifted a cup. “To you, Henry, and your cause. Richard III is doomed by hearsay, picked to death by gossip. Gather your men. The crown awaits.” The Bishop’s left hand rested on his leather purse at his side. In the purse was a letter from Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond, assuring him her son Henry was prepared to descend on England with 15 ships and five hundred Bretons, courtesy of Francis of Brittany, as soon as Buckingham stirred internal turmoil? Morton’s hand rubbed across the soft leather. Henry Tudor had a mind like his own and would be a man worthy of his service. He smiled all the more pleasantly at the handsome face of his tool, Henry, Duke of Buckingham.
IV. CHAPTER 5
Richard was not long on the road toward London with his retinue, when a messenger sent by John Howard, Duke of Norfolk, intercepted his party. Richard’s worst fears were realized when Norfolk informed him that widespread rebellion was occurring in Kent, instigated by the Duke of Buckingham. Norfolk said he would take steps to quell the uprising and attend to the defenses of London, but the King should make haste to raise an army.
In dismay, Richard thanked the messenger and, through him, forwarded instructions to the Council in London to send out a call to arms and order the citizens to prepare to meet the threat of Buckingham’s movement against the Kingdom. His Chancellor was to send the Great Seal to him forthwith. As he had taken no military with him on his Progress, he ordered his army to assemble at Leicester.
On October 21, Richard arrived at Leicester and immediately conferred with both Lord Stanley and Percy, the Earl of Northumberland, who had accompanied him on the Progress. “How stands our situation?” he asked of Lord Stanley.
“Sire, a large contingent has responded to your summons to arms, including some three hundred men from York who are at your service.”
Richard was heartened by the large army before him and was especially pleased at the arrival of so many men from York. “And what of Buckingham?” he inquired.
Percy described the extent of the rebellion. “Buckingham has unfurled his banner at Brecon i
n the Welsh Marches, and most of his support is in the southern counties, Midlands, and the West Country.”
Richard was gratified for the support expressed by Percy. He was also confident and pleased with Lord Stanley. Despite Lord Stanley’s part in the conspiracy against him, Richard felt that his trust in him was well placed. “Then we will move south to Coventry and keep the rebels from joining Buckingham. From there, I will send a detachment to the defense of London and move against Buckingham.”
At Coventry, the King received good news. A courier sent by the Duke of Norfolk had arrived. The messenger was exhausted from a long, hard ride. “M’Lord, the Duke wishes you to know that London is secured. His men also guard the way across the Thames from the east and occupy Gravensend.”
At a time of widespread insurrection and betrayal, Richard was buoyed to learn of such loyalty. “Rest yourself and upon your return, convey my appreciation to the good Duke for his quick and timely actions. It will help our cause greatly that I need not send any of my men to London, as I planned.”
Lord Stanley agreed. “Now that the threat of attack from the Kent and Surrey rebels is lessened as a consequence of Norfolk’s actions, we can move south immediately against Buckingham’s army.”
Richard took Stanley’s advice, and marched south to Wiltshire, prepared to confront his friend, turned traitor. But the battle never came. More good news from Wales revealed that only a few men joined Buckingham’s march, and as he moved eastward from Brecon, he not only faced fierce storms washing out roads, but he was attacked along the way by Welsh Chieftains who cut off his lines of communication and raided his lands. His passage was also blocked by Humphrey Stafford, whose men destroyed bridges in his path, and occupied key passes. Widespread desertions from his army set in, and Buckingham was abandoned by Bishop Ely who fled to Flanders. In panic, Buckingham was forced to give up his cause and go into hiding.
While Richard was savoring his good fortune, Percy rode up to him with a look of concern. “Sire, one of the scouts I sent to the West Country reports that two ships of Henry Tudor have been seen in the Harbor of Poole on the southwestern coast. There are certain to be more nearby in preparation for a possible invasion.”
Richard suspected now that Henry Tudor was in collaboration with Buckingham and was being armed by Francis of Brittany. He turned to Percy. “Dispatch a force of five hundred men to that area immediately. We will take the main army into Salisbury and enlist more men there to prevent an invasion.”
Upon entering Salisbury, Richard learned that the Sheriff of Shropshire had brought Buckingham there, having been turned over to him by a servant when he was in hiding there. In desperation and in the hope that Richard would spare him, Buckingham pleaded for a meeting. His message implied that he would have information on the Princes that the King would be anxious to know.
Richard was furious, still unbelieving that Buckingham had betrayed him despite the trust and generous gifts of land and titles. “Tell the traitor I cannot abide his presence, and that he can bare his soul to a priest I will send to him. Perhaps the Lord may forgive him, but I cannot.”
The following day, Buckingham was executed in the town square.
Richard was relieved that the rebellion was ended, and was moved by the loyalty and commitment of Lord Stanley and Henry Percy. To balance the treachery of Buckingham, he felt the need to reward them for their service against the traitor. “For your faithful and unselfish support, Lord Stanley, I appoint you Constable of England in the stead of the Duke of Buckingham and grant to you his castle of Brechnoch. And Percy, for your dedication and loyalty, I appoint you, henceforth, Great Chamberland of England.” Both men seemed pleased by the honors.
The next day, Richard marched toward Exeter to confront the imminent invasion of Henry Tudor. As he advanced, his army continued to get broad support from the common subjects, as well as from the barons and nobles. What Richard did not know was that the two sighted ships of Henry Tudor were all that was left of the 15 that sailed from Brittany, the others having been scattered by storms during the Channel crossing. Even these two ships had departed upon learning that Buckingham was dead.
On November 8, the King entered Exeter without opposition. The Courtenays, the Marquess of Dorset and their main followers, had deserted and fled to Brittany. Without using any of his own forces, Richard had put down the rebellion and thwarted an invasion. While in Exeter, he restored calm and order in the rebellious counties; then returned to London by way of Salisbury and the Kentish coastal cities.
On November 25, the victorious Richard was escorted into London across London Bridge by the Mayor of London and some five hundred cheering citizens. There was peace in the land once again as the King returned with the Great Seal, and placed it into the hands of Chancellor Russell at Westminster. As overwhelmed as he was by his reception, Richard’s only thoughts were of Anne and his son at Middleham.
IV. CHAPTER 6
Brown and seared moors of Wensleydale surrounded Middleham in the darkening November days. Looking out upon them to the south Anne read Richard’s letter from London and hated Buckingham and all the little men who grasped for greatness. All they could accomplish was suffering and destruction.
Richard would never trust so easily again, for Buckingham had indeed betrayed him by revolting. The letter described how the Duke had led a ragtag army of malcontents that dissolved in ruin and internal discord. How Buckingham had fled in disguise, was captured and brought to Salisbury where on November 2 he was executed in the market place. This much Richard’s secretary Kendall had written from personal dictation. In Richard’s own neat hand, however, were the simple sentences, which hurt: “I should not have believed in trust. It vanishes like morning mist in the sun of self-interest. Buckingham was a traitor. In all ways a traitor.”
She read those lines many times. She must go to him, she decided. This interlude at Middleham was just that, an interlude between the storms. He needed her. In every word she felt this. She needed, as well, to learn whether Edward’s sons were dead or not.
Anne made arrangements for the trip to London. Father Michael and her mother would manage Middleham. Ned would stay with them and continue his studies.
Ned was deeply disappointed. “You promised I could go to London.” His thin cheeks flushed.
“Perhaps in the spring, Ned. It’s a miserable journey in winter. The roads flood. It tempts ill-fortune.”
Father Michael cajoled Ned. “This year it’s time for you to be the boy bishop on St. Nicholas Day. You wouldn’t want to miss that. You get to carry sweets and pennies for everyone.”
Ned wavered. “You promise I’ll come to London in the Spring?”
“Yes, Ned. Keep warm. Eat as much as you can. You must become stronger.”
He looked at Anne with a new, almost adult, awareness. “You’re not so strong yourself mama.”
“But I am, Ned,” she lied. “I have had this cough off and on for years. You’ll have a whole lifetime to enjoy London.”
Parting was hard. Ned stood waving on the wall beside the southeast tower. He looked so small. Anne kept turning back to see him, and he was always there, until Middleham dipped behind the rise of the dales.
In London, Richard received Anne warmly. To take her mind from events of the past two months, he presented her with recently acquired jewelry from Italy. He held the pearl drops up to her ears, smiling thoughtfully. “Pearls for Christmas Anne? The Genoaese merchant swore by St. Peter that the jewels were fit for a Queen. Do you agree?”
She stirred the glittering piles of precious gems about on the black velvet cloth. “The diamonds are filled with rainbows. Never have I seen stones so finely cut.” She picked up one and turned it to the light. “Clever Italians. No one can shape a stone as they do. So you’d deck me in gems, Richard?”
“All you desire, my Love. You outshine them all with your beauty.”
She laughed. “You’ve discovered my weakness. All women have whims. With some it’
s headdresses, other belts. For me it’s jewels, especially those with fire.” She pushed aside some beryls and sardonyx and picked up an amethyst. “I fancy this for you, Richard. A royal stone, purple as the thistles of Wensleydale.”
“Anne, choose only for yourself.”
She looked down at the pile of exquisite brilliance. She’d been in London three days, and Richard hadn’t mentioned Buckingham or the missing boys. Everything in London seemed just right. Their private solar at Westminster, the one they called the Emerald Chamber, was green as Spring. The country was stable. Prosperity was evident everywhere. London festive. Yet in Richard she sensed a haunting uncertainty.
The Queen held up a sapphire. “Let’s send this to Ned. It’s the color of his eyes. He can have it set to wear on his cap when he comes.”
Richard put aside the stone. “Now, Anne. You must choose.”
“Richard, I need the truth more than jewels.”
“The truth is ugly. Reality is a burden. Why should you bear any part of it?”
“Because I find it very difficult to live knowing only bits and pieces of something which brings you so much pain. I love you, Richard. The suffering shows.”
He gazed down at the jewels. “Isn’t it enough to be Queen?”
“You’re more to me than the crown.”
“Anne, what would you know? Buckingham dreamed of being King. He hoped to get support from the Lancastrians in Wales with the aid of Bishop Morton. He conspired with the Woodvilles and Francis of Brittany. Henry Tudor was to invade England. He admitted all this to my secretary Kendall without prompting.”
“And Edward’s sons?” This was a question Anne asked haltingly.
“Buckingham begged to see me, Anne. I would not. So I sent a priest. God forgive me, it wasn’t a real priest. The Duke confessed to him that the boys were dead. He dared not claim the throne with the boys alive. He meant to persuade the Woodvilles that I’d done the deed.”
Anne of Warwick The Last Plantagenet Queen Page 30