A Rose for the Crown (81 page)

“Oh, Richard! The king! He has grown so . . . well, fat.”

Richard chuckled. “Still bold, my lady! Aye, Anne was shocked when she saw him again in Pontefract. She had not seen him since we left London in ’seventy-two.” He lowered his voice in anger. “I think his friend Will Hastings has much to answer for. But enough of Edward. How is it
with John? ’Twas a happy moment when I saw him in the crowd yesterday. He is a strong boy, is he not?” Richard was eager.

“Strong and kind and . . . oh, just like you!” she exclaimed. “He is a precious child, and ’twill break my heart to part from him.” Her chin trembled, but she took a deep breath and said, “But a promise is a promise, and I pray he will make you proud. He knows what is to happen, but for one so young, ’tis difficult to comprehend. Be kind to him, Richard.”

Richard nodded. “Certes, I will. Anne is looking forward to meeting him . . . and you,” he said, looking at her and wanting to tangle himself in that beautiful hair. His wife had indeed paved the way for John’s entry into their household, telling Edward about his half brother and assigning a nursemaid to him. He had not been quite truthful about Anne’s interest in meeting Kate. When the subject was raised, she had arched her eyebrow and said, “We shall see about that” before returning diligently to her needlepoint. Richard had not insisted.

“No,” was Kate’s emphatic response. “’Tis too hard for both of us. You shall take John to meet his new family alone. ’Twould be embarrassing for all if I were present. I beg you to understand, Richard. Besides, there is the possibility that John might cry when he leaves me. He would not want anyone to see him for a ninny. He and I will part here in the town when you come to claim him.”

Richard nodded. “’Tis for the morrow, Kate, if you can bear it. Tonight is the funeral vigil, for which I must return anon. Tomorrow the obsequies will be over, and John will be greeted by the family in a happier mood. My mother especially wants to meet him. She has forgiven me my transgression, as she calls our liaison.” He grinned. “She says she will treat John no differently from her other grandchildren. And you cannot believe how excited my little Ned is about the arrival of his brother. I wish you could meet him, Kate. He is all Anne and I could have wished for in a son.

“But forgive me, how could I forget to tell you how delightful I find my daughter! ’Tis well with her, I think. She is happy with my sister and her brood. But ’twas unnerving to see how like you she is,
ma belle.
’Tis best she is not of Anne’s household. She would be too dear a reminder.”

Kate smiled. “You will find a fine husband for her, will you not?”

“When the time comes, of course I shall.”

She was bursting with questions about Anne. Part of her wanted him to admit his was still a marriage of convenience, but the tender way he talked of his wife told her it had evolved into more. Indeed—and she felt a stab of jealousy—he looked happy. Fortunately, Rob’s return precluded the hurt of hearing this from Richard.

Rob grinned down at them. “The damsel is avenged.”

Richard’s mouth lingered on Kate’s hand, and then he swung himself into his saddle.

“Anne will be anxious if I am not back well before the vigil,” he said apologetically. “I shall come again tomorrow. At the inn?”

“Nay, ’tis too public, Richard. Let us meet on the road to Fotheringhay. Then you can ride away with John and I will not hear if he weeps. Where shall we meet?”

K
ATE HAD NIGHTMARES
that night. She dreamed of her attacker. His ugly face leered at her. He knocked her down, and as she lay on the ground, he turned to grin at someone else. It was John, rooted to the spot, crying, “Father! Father!” The man grabbed the boy, who screamed in fear. Kate tried to get up but could not. Her body was as lead. “Give him to me!” she screamed. And she awoke to find Molly shaking her.

“’Tis naught but a bad dream, mistress. Calm yourself, I pray you, and drink this.” She offered Kate a cup. “John is restless, too. He is afeared to go, poor mite.”

“I know. But what shall I do? ’Tis Lord Richard’s wish, and ’tis best for the child. Richard will be kind to him, you can be certain of that. In a few days, John will forget his fear. Ah, but Molly, how can I ever forget the joy of mothering such a boy?” Kate let the tears roll down her cheeks, and for the first time in her long service, Molly wrapped her brawny arms around her mistress and held her close.

R
ICHARD HAD CHOSEN
a big chestnut tree a mile from the town. He was standing by his horse, both Rob and Francis keeping him company, when Kate’s little group trotted up. Molly and Wat kept a discreet distance on their mount. John was seated in front of his mother, and he stared curiously at the trio under the tree. His eyes traveled over all of
them and settled on Richard. He recognized his own features in the man in the deep blue riding doublet. This was his father, he felt certain. He held tightly to his mother’s hand.

Richard could see Kate had been crying. He recognized the blotched look on her cheeks and the redness of the over-wiped nose. However, she was composed now and smiled at the company, nodding a greeting to Francis and Rob.

“God’s greeting to you, Kate,” Richard said, approaching her horse. He reached up and touched her hand. “All’s well with you today, Kate?” She nodded, grateful for his concern. Louder, he said, “And is this handsome young fellow my son John? Will you let me lift you down, boy?”

John turned his face up to his mother and she smiled. “What do you say to your father, John?”

The boy bowed as low as he could in the saddle and said, “God give you greeting, my . . . lord duke.” He faltered, not able to say “Father” as Kate had taught him.

Richard was quite satisfied. He lifted the child into his arms and astonished the boy by smothering him with kisses. John giggled but then wiped his face with his sleeve.

“Please. I hate kissing . . . my lord.”

“Not ‘my lord,’ John, but ‘Father.’ You and I will be the best of friends, you shall see. Your mother tells me you are already an accomplished swordsman. You shall have to show me all that you have learned when we get home.”

“Home? Are you coming to Haute Manor with us?” John asked, his face a picture of delight.

Richard acknowledged his slip and shook his head, crouching down to John’s level on the ground. “’Twas thoughtless of me, John. Nay, you will know
my
home, and it is my dearest wish that you be happy there.” His sincerity was not lost on John, and the boy looked into the serious gray eyes and decided to trust him, just as his mother had done in the woods at Chelsworth many years earlier.

“Yes . . . Father.” John was determined to be brave. He fingered his dagger nervously, and he suddenly made the connection. “This was a gift from you?” he asked, lowering his eyes to it.

“Indeed it was, son. Do you like it?”

“Oh, truly I do! ’Tis my greatest treasure,” John cried. The ice was broken.

Rob helped Kate down, and she busied herself talking with Richard’s friends. She thought it would take her mind off the impending separation.

“He is a fine boy, Kate,” Rob said. “He will make Richard proud.”

“We shall all watch over him, Kate, fear not,” Francis assured her.

Richard took his son’s hand and walked a little way down the road, telling John about his new family and especially about his half brother, Edward. “And your sister, Katherine, is waiting by the gate to greet you.” By the time they returned, John’s eyes were shining with anticipation. He was ready to go.

Wat untied the small bundle of John’s possessions, fastened them to Francis’s saddle, and returned to help Molly down. Wat solemnly shook John’s hand and bowed. “Good fortune to you, Master John. We’ll not soon forget you at Chelsworth.”

“Farewell, Wat. You promise to look after the kittens for me?”

Wat nodded and retired to take the two horses’ bridles.

Molly went on her knees to enfold the child to her. She was sobbing without restraint, and it was John who wiped her tears and told her to behave herself. He giggled. “Or Mother will be very cross!”

His parents both laughed, and their eyes met in a brief, tender recollection of times spent together. Kate took a deep breath and Richard stepped back, leaving mother and son to say their farewells.

“My dear son, never was a mother more proud than I. Carry my love with you wherever you go, for it shall never leave you. Be a good, kind boy and obey your father. And remember what I told you—” She did not have a chance to finish, for the child had precipitated himself into her arms, almost knocking her over.

“I don’t want to go, Mother! Do not make me go! I want to go home!”

Kate could no longer hold back her tears. She reached her hand out behind John’s back for Richard, who hurried to take it. Then he gently lifted the boy out of his mother’s embrace and held him close.

“You shall go home to Chelsworth again, fear not, little one. Come, will you not ride with me a while. ’Tis a fine beast we have, don’t you
think?” Richard spoke softly as he carried John to his horse. Slipping him into the saddle, he sprang up behind the boy, blew Kate a kiss and wheeled the animal around. In a second, they were galloping away sending clouds of dust into the purple sky.

Kate saw only a black hole of emptiness. The pain that pierced her was visceral and caught her off guard. She fell to her knees and let out a cry of anguish.

“John! God keep you, my son!”

20
Suffolk and London, 1477–1483

L
etters from John became sporadic and more stilted as time went on. Kate was astonished by the speed with which John learned to read and write after joining Richard’s household. Richard wrote for him in the first two years, and Kate alternately wept and laughed over the boyish descriptions of his new life. Richard was thoughtful not to dilute or embellish the boy’s words, so she could hear John’s voice. It was comforting. She learned of the sad fate of George, duke of Clarence through a letter from John. That vainglorious prince could not resist from plotting yet again to wrest the crown from his brother. This time, it was rumored, he meant to use magic and sorcery. He had even put about a preposterous story that Edward was a bastard, born to his mother in Rouen as the result of a tryst with an archer. It was too much even for the indulgent Edward, who clapped George into prison late in the year of 1477.

“We all go to London for the marriage of my cousin, Prince Richard, to Anne Mowbray after the Yuletide celebration. My brother Ned and I will ride with the Lady Anne in her carriage. My uncle George is now imprisoned in the Tower, Father says. He spoke treason of the king, my uncle.”

Richard had added a postscript at this point giving the details of the charge and declaring his intention of staying after the wedding to plead with Edward for Clarence’s life.

“For he is truly boil-brained, Kate. He knows not what danger he is in, I am sure. I cannot forgive him for what he wrought with Anne, but I cannot bear to see one brother execute the other. ’Tis a terrible sin. I must find a way out of this.”

It appeared that Richard was unsuccessful in his quest. By the middle of March, the whole country was buzzing with the news that Clarence had been put to death one bone-chilling February day in 1478. “Drowned in a butt of malmsey wine, they say,” Martin came back from Lavenham with the news. Kate discovered later how that tall tale had evolved.

“Poor George,”
Richard wrote in another postscript to John’s later enthusiastic description of his time in London.
“He was terrified of dying, and Edward contrived to make it as easy for him as possible. He arranged for George to be rendered stupid in his cups—unfortunately nothing uncommon for George—and then poison to be administered. He was put into a malmsey butt only to preserve his body for the long journey to Tewkesbury, where he is now buried with Isobel. ’Twas the saddest day of my life, Kate. Edward would not speak to anyone for days following.”

Those poor children, Kate thought when she heard of George’s death. The two orphans, Edward and Margaret, had lost their mother at the end of 1476 of a wasting sickness. They were now in the king’s keeping. Edward’s decision to execute George did not sit well with Richard. Although his loyalty to his brother was not shaken, it did serve to hew a significant slab from the pedestal on which Richard had placed him. Even though Edward had made him Great Chamberlain, for the next four years Richard deprived the court of his presence and made the journey south only for a few important occasions.