The Court of the Midnight King: A Dream of Richard III (34 page)

While Hastings assumed the lawyer was spying upon Richard for him, it was actually the other way round.

“The councillors are apprehensive,” Catesby continued. “They perceive my lords Buckingham and Howard as too influential. They’re alarmed by the abrupt downfall of the Woodvilles. They have doubted your intentions from the beginning; my sounding out of Hastings will no doubt have confirmed their suspicions, and thrown them into panic.”

Richard laughed. “Panicking at their own consciences? What have I done all this time, but made arrangements for Edward’s coronation? And I’d crown him gladly; but where are their assurances of my fair treatment in the future? I’ve my son and lands to think of. Parliament won’t extend my protectorship beyond the coronation. Edward Woodville has fled to France, the queen sits stubbornly in sanctuary, and Hastings is plotting against me.”

The only colour in his face came from reflected firelight. The glow seemed to reveal the subtle workings of his soul that were usually concealed. “They are narrowing my choices. I believe this situation leaves me no choice at all.”

Catesby cleared his throat. “I have more to report, your Grace.”

“Yes,” said Richard, pacing again. “I’m sorry, William, continue.”

“I understand Lord Hastings’ circle has increased. In addition to the Bishops Rotherham and Morton, Thomas Stanley was privy to their last meeting.”

“Stanley!” Howard exclaimed. “Ye gods, it must be serious for him to choose one side or the other.”

Lovell asked, “Did Morton have that bony clerk with him, Fautherer?” Catesby nodded. “Then I swear there are two of him. Every time I see Margaret Beaufort, he is with her, too.”

“It grows worse,” Catesby went on. “They discussed arresting you. Lord Hastings is so worried that he’s even willing to join forces with the queen, whom he loathes, to thwart your supposed designs on the throne.”

Richard looked up with eyes like stone. “Have you proof? If he went to see her, I would have been told.”

“He sends Mistress Shore as a go-between. She goes in and out of sanctuary dressed as a nun. No doubt the subterfuge enables her to see the Marquis of Dorset.”

Raphael said, “I would have thought the queen hated Jane Shore.”

“Not necessarily,” said Francis, shaking his head. “Elizabeth knew Edward’s proclivities and tolerated them. Since she couldn’t persuade him to give up his favourite harlot, she befriended her instead. And they share a common grief, of course.”

“In any case,” said Raphael, “what would she care, as long as Mistress Shore is a useful messenger? I suppose the queen and Dorset have thoroughly groomed her to persuade Hastings to their side.”

“Gods, you’re right, Raphael,” Richard said near his ear, making him jump. He looked icily furious. “Catesby, I thank you for this.”

“I’m sorry to bring such displeasing news. Slay the messenger if you must, but it was essential you be told.”

“I’m angry, William, but not with you, nor anyone in this room. And I’ll show my gratitude for this, believe me.”

“I’ve a further report,” Catesby said quietly, looking down at his steepled hands. “I learned, just before I departed my house this evening, that Hastings and Bishop Morton went to the young king and expressed their concerns about you.”

“They did what?” Richard loomed over the table, white and dangerous.

“And the young king replied by instructing them to do everything in their power to remove you as Protector.”

Ratcliffe shot to his feet, all florid outrage. John Howard said, “Christ!” Then there was heavy silence, filled – in Raphael’s eyes – with a mad dance of fire-demons.

The door opened and a servant announced the Duke of Buckingham. No one responded. The duke made his usual impressive entrance in a swirl of blue, red and gold, like some mythical prince. Still no one acknowledged him. He frowned.

“Have I arrived at an inconvenient moment, my lords?”

Richard finally spoke, addressing Catesby.

“Good. Now I know precisely where I stand.” He patted Ratcliffe on the shoulder. “Sit down, Dick. Harry, welcome. Excuse our bad manners. You’ve arrived at the best moment possible.”

Confident again, Buckingham strode in and kissed Richard on both cheeks. “I’ve found him.”

“Who?”

“The man who has the proof. Bishop Stillington.”

“Gods, Harry, are you sure?”

“He’s here. May I bring him in?”

Raphael, confounded by this exchange, watched as Harry Stafford ushered in the prelate. Stillington was a tall, stooped man with a mournful face and a nervous manner. His simple white robes hung loosely on him.

“What news?” said Buckingham, shutting the door behind him. “What have I missed? You all look ready to do murder.”

“Yours first,” Richard said coolly.

Buckingham gestured to the bishop with a triumphant air. Stillington hesitated, said, “Er, my lord duke, in private, if it please you…”

“This is private,” Richard answered. “These are my friends. Please, be seated.”

Raphael jumped up and held chairs for the newcomers. Richard sat next to Buckingham, opposite the bishop.

“What is it?” asked John Howard.

“Something Edward once told me,” said Richard. “Long before he married Elizabeth Woodville. I was nine or ten and he was in his cups, of a mind to instruct me in the ways of women. He spoke of a noblewoman so virtuous that in order to seduce her, he had to go through a form of marriage with her. He roared with laughter as he told this tale.” Richard looked pale as he spoke. “Doubtless I laughed with him, and admired him for it. It was only in later years that his behaviour struck me as dishonourable. But I wondered, did the ceremony truly take place, and if so, would it not make his marriage to Elizabeth Woodville invalid?”

Stillington’s lower lip trembled. “Just so, my lord. Edward married Elizabeth bigamously. Their wedding was not only rushed and secret, but unlawful. He was already joined to another woman. I know, because I was the one who joined them.”

Buckingham grinned triumphantly. The rest sat stunned. Gloucester was rigid, his eyes narrow. “Who was she?”

“Lady Eleanor Butler,” Stillington said unhappily. “Perhaps King Edward had true intentions towards her at the time. Certainly she would allow no sin to take place; and so I formally betrothed them, which ceremony, followed by consummation, as you know, is as binding as marriage, so he was not free…”

“Yes, your account could not be more clear.”

“True intentions?” Buckingham exclaimed. “I think not. Edward cast her in a nunnery when he’d finished with her!”

John Howard put in, “Lady Eleanor Butler died some years ago, did she not?”

“She was, er, very much alive, my lord, when he made his dishonest marriage to Dame Grey,” said Stillington.

“Yes, but after her death,” said Howard, “all he had to do was to remake his vows to Elizabeth and their union would have been legal. Why did he not?”

“How could he?” Richard said. “It would have been hideously embarrassing, especially to the queen. Perhaps she didn’t even know. He would have had to admit bigamy, go through another ceremony, and have his children declared legitimate by Parliament. Much easier to let the matter lie and hope no one found out.”

“Still, better to endure some embarrassment than to leave your sons illegitimate and disinherited,” said Lovell.

Richard put his head in his hands. “Oh, gods, Edward!”

“I thought this news would please you,” said Buckingham, crestfallen.

Gloucester raised his head, struck the table with an open hand. Stillington jumped. “Please me? To hear that my brother’s married life was a sham, all his children bastards, and that we have suffered the depredations of the Woodvilles for nothing? It doesn’t please me. Nor does it surprise me. It makes me despair to be part of my own family.”

“The only worthy part,” said Buckingham.

“However.” Richard exhaled. “It’s done. I asked for the truth and I can’t claim to be amazed.” He leaned towards the bishop. “Your Grace, would you swear the truth of this in public? Or swallow the secret and take it to the grave?”

Stillington’s lip quivered. “Whatever you command, Lord Protector, I shall do.”

“Good. You’ll find me most grateful. For now, say nothing, and await my word.”

After Buckingham had shown Bishop Stillington out, Richard sat with his elbows on the table, hands clasped. His forefingers tapped silently together.

“We needn’t tell anyone of this. I can silence Stillington. We can purge our memories, seal our lips, make masks of our faces. We can go forth and put young Edward on the throne, all as it should be, while I do what little I can to curb the excesses of his family. But….”

He drew a breath and went on softly, “Even if my Protectorship were extended, in four years’ time Edward will reach his majority. Already he has asked Hastings to destroy me. Shall he not take his revenge on me, for removing his uncle and half-brother and all his beloved servants? What I did was necessary, but he’ll never understand that, and certainly never forgive. He’s a clever boy, calculating and vengeful like his mother. If they are not making war upon me within the year, it will be a miracle. As with George – they’ll take my lands and slaughter me.”

“Gods, no!” Francis Lovell cried in disgust.

“If I were unmarried, it would matter less. I’d as soon go into exile, and sell myself as a mercenary to fight the Turks. However, I have my wife and my son to consider. Must I stand by and see my son lose his inheritance, birthright, future, everything that should be his?” Richard paused, his voice darkening. “Do you know how many times Edward asked Parliament to grant him money for war? Then there was no war, and the queen’s family grew a little richer.

“Cursed is the day that Edward my brother feigned marriage to Elizabeth Woodville.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Why should I exert myself to put her bastard upon the throne, at my own son’s expense? I’ll die before I see a Woodville government of this realm.”

Buckingham placed his hand on Richard’s forearm, too familiar.

“If you won’t say it, I will. You must take the throne. This is your means to do it. Your legitimate, legal means. The boys are bastards.” His green eyes shone.

“I know. And I expected to feel glad, but…” Richard rose from his seat and stood in front of the fire, inky against the flaming glow. “I can still pull back,” he said. “It’s not too late. At this moment I am the most powerful man in the kingdom. Do you think I wish to give that up on the twenty-second of June at Edward’s coronation?”

“No, and nor should you,” said John Howard.

“But if I go on, you must all come with me. One more step, and we turn their nervous rumours into truth and there’ll be no going back. Don’t think for a moment this will be easy. Start, and we must go on to the bloody end.”

Buckingham was the first to move. He went to Richard and fell to his knees, his hair spreading over his shoulders in a sun-coloured veil. His fervency was strangely disturbing. Catesby was next, then Raphael with Lovell beside him, then Howard, Ratcliffe, Tyrrel and all the others swearing fealty. Raphael’s heart drummed furiously. This was terrifying, and he could hear Kate talking of branches in the path, but this was the only path he could see, richly glistening with rubies. Or blood.

Richard looked down at them with tears in his eyes.

“You are the king, Richard,” said Buckingham. “The rightful king.”

###

Anne was asleep, the lights burning low in her chambers. Her women were abed, or undressing; all but Katherine. If anything was said about her comings and goings, she knew how to silence gossipers with a basilisk stare; but she was always as discreet as possible. She slipped out of the door to meet Raphael, only to find her way blocked by a dark figure in the corridor outside.

She started. It was Richard, alone and so quiet she hadn’t known he was there.

Recovering, she made a minimal curtsey out of habit. A safeguard, to renew the wall of distance between them. She went to open the door to the duchess’s apartments so he could go through, but he didn’t move.

“How is Anne?” he asked.

“Tired out,” Katherine answered. “Asleep.”

“Then I won’t disturb her.” Katherine pulled the door shut and stood waiting for him to go. He didn’t move. He asked softly, “How does she seem to you?”

“She’s anxious, and not very happy,” Katherine replied frankly. “She misses her little boy. And I believe she’s troubled by rumours that she may rather unexpectedly become queen.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed, glittering. Their stony light reminded Katherine of why people were sometimes so afraid of him. He had a way of freezing, as if he’d turned into a demon-winged statue. She’d made many impertinent comments to him in her time, but now she feared she had finally overstepped the mark.

“Anne isn’t one to let idle rumours trouble her.”

“But is the gossip idle? Only one man can answer that, but I imagine I’d as soon get blood out of a rock as I would get the truth from you.”

Richard looked hard at her. He didn’t seem the same man who’d given her the Spanish mare; he was guarded and pre-occupied, as grim as she’d ever seen him. Then he gave a dry smile. Moving closer to her, he murmured, “Are you surprised that I’ve thought about it?”