White Boar and the Red Dragon, The (14 page)

‘But you will go back to court nevertheless and be with them when you are better—which will be very soon,’ Kate said brokenly, tears coming unbidden and coursing down her cheeks. ‘They will have your company, even if you dislike them—and I will not—who…’ She turned away, wiping her eyes with her long sleeve.

‘Who what, Kate?’ he inquired, gently taking her in his arms and kissing away the tears. ‘Who what?’

‘Who loves you, my lord!’ Kate burst out. Then a paroxysm of sobbing claimed her, and she pulled herself up and out of his arms, running from the room to her own, where she threw herself on the bed and lay sobbing quietly, until sleep overtook her at last, calming her troubled heart.

Her mother found her late in the afternoon, coming to see why she was not helping her in the dairy.

‘Do you ail, girl?’ she enquired, sitting on the edge of the bed and feeling Kate’s forehead.

‘No, Mother, but I am very tired,’ Kate said. ‘I am sorry I have neglected my duties in the dairy. I will come now and help you.’

‘The young duke is asking for you. Please go and see what he wants.’

Very hesitantly, feeling that she had revealed too much—far more than she intended—about her feelings for Richard and made a fool of herself, Kate went to his room. He smiled with real pleasure as she entered.

‘Why did you run away, Kate? Are you afraid of me?’

‘No, my lord. But I said too much.’

‘You only said what I wanted to hear. I prompted you to it when you were distressed. I am sorry if I upset you.’

‘I was upset because I knew I loved you and that you would soon be going away.’

‘Did you not believe that I could love you too?’

‘Oh, my lord, how can that be possible? I am not a great lady.’

‘I told you that I do not like “great ladies”! It is you I like, you I want—you I love! Kate, come to me, here!’ He held out his arms and she ran into them. It was like coming come after a long journey far away.

For both of them, it was a magical time—discovering each other—forgetting the existence of everything except their love—there seemed to be nothing else that mattered.

But it could not last. Kate knew that. It was an impossible dream. Sooner or later, the outside world would intrude—wrench them apart.

The messenger, who Richard knew was inevitable, arrived at the end of October. He had been questioned repeatedly by the king, when he took the original message to him about his brother’s whereabouts, using a relay of horses. When he at last admitted that Richard was ‘with a lady’, Edward laughed heartily and commented, ‘Let him enjoy her while he may! I am glad he has discovered the charms of ladies at last!’ Being a great womaniser himself from an early age, he had often worried that the boy seemed to be a very late developer where the ladies were concerned.

But now Richard was needed urgently to go to Wales and quell the new Lancastrian uprisings in Cardiganshire and Carmarthenshire.

‘The king demands your presence at court as soon as may be and told me to ride like the wind. I’ve worn out several horses doing it!’ the messenger asserted breathlessly, holding out a letter with the king’s unbroken seal upon it. Richard thanked him, then Kate told the man to go down to the kitchens for some refreshment, then to the stables for a strong, fresh mount before departing.

In the message, Edward informed him that he had appointed him Constable of England and Constable of North Wales.

‘The king really appreciates you, Richard!’ said Kate in admiration. ‘Such important positions! Do such great responsibilities not intimidate you?’

‘Sometimes. A little,’ Richard admitted. ‘But he has no one else that he can trust. He knows that I am bound in loyalty to him. What really does upset me is the realisation that I must leave you—though I was expecting the summons any time. The king must be obeyed. And he needs me.’

‘I need you too,’ said Kate quietly.

‘I know, my love, but there is no help for it. I must leave immediately!’

‘Will you return?’

‘Of course. Just as soon as I have sorted out this Welsh crisis.’

‘But that could take weeks—even months!’

‘But I have no choice, Kate. You do see that, do you not? I am the king’s right hand. He depends on me for so much—always has.’

Kate sighed and nodded. ‘I understand. But it will be so very hard to lose you when we have only just found each other.’

‘You are not going to lose me—ever. I will write as often as I can. But I do not know how long the letters will take or how long I will be. Wales is a long way away.’

And so he departed, with Kate trying very hard to hold back her tears—and wondering how her life, utterly changed since their meeting, could now be borne alone.

Raglan Castle, Gwent, 28 January 1470

Woking Old Hall,

Surrey

20 January 1470

My Dear Henry,

I send you fondest wishes for your thirteenth birthday on 28 January. This is a very important birthday, as you are entering your teenage years and are really no longer a child, but a young man!

This should reach you by then, even allowing for the terrible conditions of the roads at this time of year.

The presents I am sending you this year are very special indeed, to mark the fact that you are growing up fast! I know that you will be thrilled with them! When they come, you will see why I am now asking you to treasure them and use them well—for they will be very useful to you, hopefully for years!

If only your birthday did not fall in mid-winter, which always makes it quite impossible for me to journey all that way in bad weather to see you. It is sad, but I am just not in good enough health to attempt it. I always seem to be making excuses for not being there for you, as a mother should be, but you at least understand now why we could never be together when you were very small. King Edward willed it so, God rot him!

I long for the time when this usurper will be ousted and Henry, the rightful king, is back in power. Then you will be able to come and live with me openly and with no fear.

I will be thinking of you on your birthday and sharing your excitement in spirit as you receive your special presents!

Let me know as soon as you can how you are and how you spent your birthday, although I can guess already what you will be doing immediately you get your exciting presents!

Your loving mother,

Margaret Beaufort,

Countess of Richmond

Henry put down this latest letter from his mother with his head whirling in anticipation. It had taken a week to arrive, and this day was his birthday. He could hardly wait to see what these special presents were! She had been sending him presents every birthday for some years, but they had never been very exciting, though he had dutifully thanked her for all of them, of course.

But these sounded different, exciting, to be treasured and used well for many years! What could they be?

Raglan Castle, Gwent, 28 January 1470

Woking Old Hall,

Surrey

22 January 1470

My Dear Henry,

By now, you will have received your special birthday presents, if you are reading this note which accompanied them.

Do you see what I meant when I said that you would treasure them and should use them well?

Again, best wishes for your birthday, my son. I wish that I could be there to see you receive the presents, for I know that they will mean much to you. You are no longer a child, so I have chosen them bearing in mind your approaching manhood. I know you will appreciate that.

Enjoy them—but also learn to master them both so that they will give you good service for many years.

Your loving mother,

Margaret Beaufort,

Countess of Richmond

Henry read this note the messenger had put into his hand very quickly, as the man had produced a long, leather-wrapped package. He bowed and handed it to Henry, who unrolled it expectantly and then shouted with delight.

‘Maude, Anne! Come and see what Mother has sent me for my birthday—isn’t it splendid?’

And indeed it was, a small but perfect sword of shining steel, its hilt gleaming with jewels, the scabbard inlaid with intricate patterns of gold and more precious stones. He pulled it proudly from the scabbard and waved it around in the air, then pretended to fight an adversary, lunging and feinting as he dodged from side to side, the two younger Herbert children watching excitedly, clapping in admiration.

‘You look like a knight, Henry!’ cried Anne.

Maude nodded. ‘One day, you’ll be doing this for real!’ she said.

The messenger spoke again, stopping Henry as he swung the sword round and round. ‘And that is not all, my young lord. Here is your other present!’

At his words, a young groom came forward leading a magnificent Arabian stallion. It was docile enough, but its muscles rippled with latent strength and it tossed its head proudly.

Henry ran straight to the beautiful creature and began to caress its soft nose and stroke the glossy back. He had no fear of horses; his friend Davydd had taught him to ride at Pembroke Castle when he was only five. But none of the horses there—or here—had ever been his alone.

‘I shall call him Owen, after Owen Glendower, my brave ancestor! I have heard about him and read his exploits many times. This is the most splendid horse I have ever seen! I want to ride him at once. Please to help me up!’

The young stallion had a new saddle and reins of superbly wrought Spanish leather; the saddle was embossed with the coat of arms of the House of Richmond, and the stirrups were of solid silver.

The groom held his hands interlocked for Henry to vault up on to the horse’s back, which he did in a moment.

‘Now give me my sword back!’ he ordered the messenger, who had taken it for him while he mounted. Henry then held it up triumphantly with his right hand while manoeuvring the reins easily with his left, urging the eager horse into a trot, then into a lively canter round and round the courtyard.

The messenger who had brought the horse to Raglan stepped forward and held up a hand. ‘Have a care, my young lord. Do not ride him too fast. He is but recently broken in and does not know you as his master yet. Ride him gently at first and let him get used to you on his back, then he will do your bidding for life. He is gentle, but very strong and lively and could throw you if you push him too much at the moment.’

Henry nodded and slowed a little, but not much. He was lost in his own world of knights and battles. He was King Arthur, Sir Launcelot, Owen Glendower, and Alexander the Great on Bucephalus—all rolled into one.

He slowed down at last, leapt off, slid his new sword into its shining scabbard at his side, patted Owen and declared, ‘These are the most wonderful presents anyone could have! Please tell my Lady mother I am thrilled with them, when you return, and that I will care for both of them and use them well, as she asked me to.

When I grow up and become a man, I will ride to war with my knights and if—when—I become king, I will ride Owen at the head of my armies—he will be the bravest warhorse ever!’

The two men turned to each other, eyebrows raised, wondering who had put such big ideas into the little lord’s head.

Gwent, South Wales, February 1470

Richard of Gloucester and Francis Lovell rode side by side on their tired and mud-splattered horses, letting them amble at will along the narrow hillside track which served as a road in those parts. It would be impossible to move any faster anyway, as the thick mud underfoot and the many deep water-filled ruts made it dangerous going, not to mention the everlasting rain.

His new position of Constable of South Wales, recently bestowed by the generosity of King Edward, had made this journey necessary. He had to show himself to the people. This he had also tried to do in North Wales in November, after being appointed Constable of that region, with the same difficulties as now—the appalling weather.

Richard took his new duties seriously and was determined to carry them out to the best of his ability. He missed Kate and thought of her often—but his duty came first. He had just been at Pembroke Castle, which came under his administration, as Earl William Herbert was dead.

And now they were out of Pembrokeshire and about to leave Breconshire and go into Gwent, for they were on their way to Raglan, the Herbert’s castle, to see Anne Devereux, Herbert’s widow. Richard wished to thank her personally for her husband’s part in capturing Harlech Castle from the Lancastrians in 1468 and for his great bravery at the Battle of Edgecote last July, after which he had been captured by the Earl of Warwick, the victor, and executed. Also, he wished to extend his sympathies to her in her widowhood.

He was not bound to do this, but felt that, as he was in South Wales, he must.

‘How far are we from Raglan, my lord?’ enquired Francis, wiping the streaming rain from his eyes for the hundredth time. ‘Have you any idea?’

‘At this rate, in this weather, who knows? As the crow flies, it is not far, according to the maps available, but they are very unreliable, and these endless winding mountain tracks will make it twice the distance.’

He looked around briefly to where the rest of his men rode disconsolately in single file, stretching back as far as his eyes could see on their even more miserable horses.

‘What a country!’ grumbled Lovell. ‘I don’t think there’s been one dry day since we arrived here three weeks ago!’

‘It is February, Francis. What can you expect? Soon we will be entering the Great Forest, and it should be more sheltered there. We are very exposed on these open mountain sides.’

‘They are called the Brecon Beacons, I believe? I’m sure it is beautiful here in summer, but in mid-winter…’

‘A month ago, we would have had to contend with heavy snow. At least it’s all thawed now! Cheer up, Francis. We cannot be far from shelter. The first farm we come to, we will beg a night under cover—a large, cosy barn would be ideal. Tomorrow, we will press on through the forest, down into the valley of the River Usk, and follow its course to Abergavenny. After that, the distance is short. We should be at Raglan Castle in a few days, barring catastrophe.’