Sacrifice (3 page)

   Cruel necessity
, he thought,
if I must stain my soul a little for the sake of the realm, then so be it. 

  
A herald and an armed escort were duly despatched to Ludlow, carrying the suggestion that Rivers meet the dukes at Northampton instead of marching directly to London.

   The herald returned the next day with the earl’s response. Richard had spent another restless night, plagued by fears and lurid dreams, and was relieved beyond measure when he heard that Rivers had taken the bait.

   Rivers, along with the young king and his escort of Welsh archers, had arrived at Stony Stratford, a few miles south of Northampton. They might have continued on to London, but Rivers chose to accept Gloucester’s invitation. Leaving Edward behind, he rode to Northampton with just a few retainers for company.

   Richard possessed considerable powers of being pleasant. When Rivers arrived, smiling and spattered with mud from the road, he helped him dismount and led him by the hand inside the tavern, where a meal was laid out. Buckingham was already seated and punishing the wine, but rose and greeted their guest with a warm handclasp and a slap on the back.

   “Simple fare,” barked the young duke, spreading his hand to indicate the bread and cheese on the table, “but we are simple men, eh, Gloucester? Used to hard words and straight dealing, as befits men more used to the battlefield than the council chamber.”

   Richard winced. Buckingham’s manner was gratingly insincere, and his experience of war minimal. Rivers, by comparison, had fought at Towton and Edgecote and led a military expedition to France.

   If Rivers objected to Buckingham’s oily insincerity, he kept it well-hidden, and accepted the seat offered him with good grace.

   As usual when confronted with handsome, well-made men, Richard felt a twinge of jealousy. God had seen fit to send him into the world misshapen, small and weak and ill-favoured.

   He had striven all his life to overcome his physical flaws. Even as a child, he insisted on trying to master horses far too big for him, and trained twice as hard as his brothers in the tiltyard.

  
I must not let my feelings cloud my judgment. I must be cold and logical. What I do, I do for the benefit of the realm.

  
Richard took his seat at the head of the table and accepted the cup offered him by a servant.

   “My lords,” he said, raising the cup, “to the King. Long live Edward V.”

   Rivers and Buckingham echoed the toast and drank. A convivial evening followed. Richard smiled, and cracked jests, and traded anecdotes about the wars in England and his brief campaign in Scotland. All the while he toyed with his wine and ate little, though Buckingham got swine-drunk and insisted on plying their guest with more drink than was good for him.

   As the evening wore on, Richard struggled to maintain his cheerful façade. A rising tide of guilt and self-loathing was threatening to wash over him. Rivers’ sheer lack of guile, his good faith and absolute trust in his hosts combined to make Richard feel sick. He had a natural talent for deception, but preferred to pretend otherwise.

   At last the wretched evening came to an end, and a couple of squires were sent for to help Rivers to his bed. He went, laughing and singing snatches of an old hunting song, leaning drunkenly on the broad shoulders of the two young men.

   Richard sat and listened to Rivers’ wayward tread on the stair. He scowled at Buckingham, who had hiccups.

   “Be quiet, you fool,” Richard hissed, “what manner of ally are you?”

   Buckingham stifled a belch and loosened his straining doublet. “A wiser one than you think,” he replied, “I had to play at hail-fellow-well-met, especially with you sipping primly at your wine like a damned nun. Rivers is an intelligent man. He might have suspected something if we both remained sober.”

   Richard had to concede the point, though did so with ill grace.

   “Time to retire,” he said, rising suddenly, “we must be up at cock-crow tomorrow. Remember?”

   Buckingham lolled in his chair. “Oh yes,” he said, reaching for the wine jug, “I remember very well. Shame to waste the dregs though. Goodnight, my lord.”  

   Richard left him to it, and made his way to his bedchamber, which was situated next to Rivers’. He sat up most of the night, his mind churning as he listened to the drunken snores in the next room.

   “His last night,” Richard said under his breath, staring into the tawny light of the single candle he had left burning beside his bed, “his last night as a free man.”

   The glow cast obscene shadows on the walls. Devils and imps from the bowels of Hell, emerging at night to play on the fears of mortal men. Richard recognised them from the previous morning. This time he did not shrink away.

   “Come, then,” he said, raising his hands to add his own frightful silhouette to the dancing shapes, “come and gather round me. I offer up the whole of myself, body and soul, for the sake of England.”

   He kept his eyes fixed on the steadily dwindling flame. At last it flickered out, and the shadows closed over Richard’s head.

   When the first light of morning stole through the shutters, he rose, pale and haggard from lack of sleep, and soft-footed down the stair to the taproom.

   There his retainers were waiting. Six men, burly and grim-faced,wearing his livery of the white boar and armed with swords and daggers. Buckingham was also present, red-eyed and nursing a headache, but otherwise none the worse for wear.

   All seven looked to Richard for the order. To his shame, he hesitated. The words thickened and stuck in his throat.

   Curse my weakness! Fool! Degenerate! Infirm of purpose!

  
He stammered, coughed, and tried again. “It is time,” he croaked, turning away from their doubtful stares, and led the way up the steps.

   Rivers’ squire had been bribed not to lock and bar his master’s door. Richard shoved it open and stood aside to let his retainers pour in and take the man in his bed, seizing his wrists and dragging him from his sleep.

   His eyes snapped open, and he looked around in total bafflement. The proud and dignified nobleman was gone, replaced by a pathetically vulnerable figure in a wine-stained nightshirt, his thick black hair tousled and disordered.

   “What…what?” was all Rivers could say. He was still mazed with drink, and had to be held upright to face Richard.

   “Anthony Woodville, Lord Rivers,” said Richard, his voice as stern as he could make it, “I arrest you on suspicion of treason.”

   Rivers gaped stupidly. His brow furrowed, and his mouth worked frantically. One of Richard’s guards slapped a hand over it before he could speak. That, too, was pre-arranged.

   “We will not listen to this traitor’s lies,” said Buckingham, from his position well to the rear, “they pollute the very air.”

   “You have conspired against my person,” Richard continued, stiffly and mechanically, as though reading from a script, “that is, the person of the Lord Protector of England. By doing so you conspired against the state, and our lord king. There will be no need for a trial. I find you guilty on all counts.”

   Judge, jury and executioner. Richard had taken them all upon himself, though he would not personally wield the axe that severed Rivers’ head from his body. That would be done later, by a headsman in the courtyard of Pontefract Castle.

   Rivers’ death was but a formality. As far as Richard was concerned, he was dead already.

   The prisoner struggled to break free, to be heard, jerking his head from side to side. Another of Richard’s retainers seized him round the waist. Together the three men ran Rivers against the wall and knocked the wind out of him.

   “Take him away,” Richard said dismissively, “he does offend my sight.”

    They dragged him out and down the stair, leaving Richard and Buckingham alone.

   Buckingham rubbed his hands. “A good start,” he said happily, “now for Edward.”

   With Rivers safely trussed up and tied to a horse, the two dukes rode the ten miles to Stony Stratford, where Rivers had left the young king and the bulk of his retinue.

   Speed was of the essence. There were two thousand Welsh soldiers at Stony Stratford, and they wouldn’t hesitate to take up arms in defence of Edward if they thought he was in danger. Richard had a mere four hundred men. Buckingham had none save his squire and attendants.

  
It must not come to a fight,
thought Richard,
there must be no exchange of blows or hard words. I am the Lord Protector. I merely seek my rights, and to rid this realm of traitors.

  
Richard needed to think and act fast. In his mind, he had already persuaded himself that any threat to the Protector’s well-being constituted a threat to the realm, and was therefore treason.

  
Fear, combined with lack of sleep, made him nervous. He chewed his bottom lip until it bled and kept his horse at a hard gallop, outstripping his retainers as he urged her up the highway of Watling Street.

   In the event, all went smoothly. Suspecting nothing, Rivers had camped his men in and around the town. Most were still in their beds when Richard and his followers clattered down the main street.

   At the southern end of the street was The Rose & Crown Inn, where Edward and his retinue were lodged. Richard brought his lathered horse skidding to a halt and tossed her reins to one of the startled halberdiers at the door.

   “I wish to see your master,” he said in the curt tone he reserved for underlings, “now.”

   The halberdier looked at the duke, and at the reins in his left hand, and back again. “His…his majesty is still at breakfast, my lord,” he stammered, “we weren’t told to expect guests.”

   Richard smiled thinly. “I have come to surprise him. My nephew enjoys surprises. Announce me.”

   The halberdier knew better than to argue. He nodded at his comrade, who after a moment’s hesitation vanished inside.

   Richard slid from his horse and waited impatiently while the beast was led away to the stables behind the inn. Buckingham and six retainers waited with him. Their prisoner, still bound and gagged, was kept well to the rear, guarded by ten mounted archers.

   “I’m not used to being kept waiting,” complained Buckingham, stamping his feet against the morning chill, “not even for a king.”

   “You know nothing of kings or how to serve them,” Richard replied caustically. Buckingham scowled, but it was true: Edward IV had thought little of the young duke, and promoted other men above him, even in regions of the country where he had vested interests.

   I will have to watch this one
, thought Richard. Starved of favour and office in the previous reign, Buckingham was hungry for power. He was a useful tool, but Richard meant to keep him on a tight leash.

   To his surprise, Edward came outside in person to welcome him, escorted by the halberdier and an elderly knight named Sir Thomas Vaughan, treasurer of the royal household.

   Richard eyed Vaughan with hatred. The old knight was another of his targets, a close friend of Rivers and companion in treason.

   It pained him to look at Edward. Though just twelve years old, the boy was already the spit of his late father, tall and strong and fleshy, with long berry-brown hair, parted in the middle. Not yet stretched on the rack of adolescence, he was somewhat lean and lanky, though his broad shoulders hinted at the strength to come.

  
His father was lean, once. A great knight ruined by kingship. For all his might, he could not uphold the burden of a crown.

  
“My lord of Gloucester,” said Edward, dabbing at his lips with a napkin, “what means this? We did not expect you.”

   His voice still had a childlike, fluting tone, and he regarded his uncle with little enthusiasm. Richard was dismayed but not surprised by Edward’s coldness. The prince was entirely under the influence of the Woodvilles.

  
A mere puppet. God help England when he is crowned. I should have insisted on taking him into my custody, but my brother was blind to the ambitions of his wife’s kin. 

  
Now for it. Richard cleared his throat, and looked for assurance to his retainers. Their bodies were clothed in steel under their coats displaying his livery of the white boar, and swords and daggers hung from their belts.

   “Dear nephew,” said Richard, adopting a grave countenance, “my apologies for the disturbance, but stark necessity brought me here. Your Highness is surrounded by traitors. One of them is already taken, but there are others.”

   Richard pointed at Vaughan. “Arrest Sir Thomas,” he ordered. Three of his retainers clanked forward.

   The old knight’s raddled face turned white, and his hand dropped to the eating knife at his belt. He was otherwise unarmed.

   “Careful, sir traitor,” warned Richard, “draw steel on my men, and they have my permission to kill you where you stand.”

   Vaughan’s fingers closed around the hilt of his knife. He did not draw. His shrewd eyes took in the armed men closing around him, and then fixed on Richard and Buckingham.