White Boar and the Red Dragon, The (22 page)

He was very intrigued and impressed, as always, by Richard of Gloucester’s achievements. News had filtered regularly into Raglan about Richard’s success as a commander of men and as a tactician in campaigns, for the Welsh supporters of the Lancastrian cause had been well and truly routed by this capable young duke and his men. He must be very able indeed, or he could not possibly have carried out such feats!

Would he, Henry, ever be able to achieve so much in the world? Would he ever be able to impress his mother with such achievements? He wished that he could meet this clever Richard of Gloucester again! But that did not seem very likely, given the political situation.

He sighed as he folded his letter. Then a thought struck him. If this long drawn-out war was still going on in a few years, then who knew, he may meet Richard in battle?!

He knew he would be sad to leave the Herbert family permanently, as his departure now seemed imminent. He had grown to love the gentle Ann Devereux. She was more of a real mother to him than his own had ever been, and he had cried with her and her children when the terrible news came of her husband’s execution after the battle of Edgecote. Nobody deserved to die like that after fighting so bravely, whichever side he was on.

He would miss Maude greatly, and he knew she was devoted to him, and that her father had wished them to marry later on—he had even expressed that desire in his will.

But in spite of all this, he found excitement welling up in him at the thought of being reunited with his beloved Uncle Jasper. And at Harlech Castle! He had never been to North Wales. Apart from his brief trip to London to see the king last November, he had never been anywhere much really. It was an exciting prospect!

Southwark, London, Late March/April 1471

Kate was beside herself with joy! A letter from Richard—at last! True, it had been redirected by her mother from Northamptonshire and had been sent at the end of November—but what did that matter? He still cared. He worried about her. Little did he know about her true circumstances! And if he did know, what could he do, exiled in Burgundy with the king?

Warwick still seemed to reign supreme—ruling the poor puppet king Henry with ease. Surely he would go too far soon? For all his arrogance and power, he was not really king. His popularity with the people was waning dramatically. They were sick of the situation—and poor ineffectual Henry—and wanted their true king, Edward, their golden boy, back! Surely Edward must know their mood by now—even so far away at the Burgundy Court in Brugge? And when he decided to act—then Richard would be at his side—Richard would come back! Her heart turned over with the thought of it. And at that moment, she decided to answer him and tell him where she was. But to tell him of his son? Of that she was not so sure. She knew he would be proud of the beautiful boy, and she was sure he would accept the child as his, but what could he do for him—or her—until his brother was restored to power? And this, she felt sure, could not be long delayed. The taproom in the evenings was full of resentful mutterings against Warwick—and more than mutterings—downright anger!

But the anger turned to excitement a few days later. The news spread like wildfire through the city.

Edward had returned—he had landed in the north by the Humber about the middle of March and had been working his way southwards ever since with men, money, and arms given him by Charles, Duke of Burgundy, and was now on the very outskirts of London. He was coming to reclaim his throne! And Richard would be with him! Edward had declared himself king again and sent orders for the mayor and magistrates, telling them to arrest Henry and open the gates of the capital to their rightful king.

But they had also received orders from Warwick adjuring them to hold firm against ‘this usurper, Edward’. They were in a quandary and had not known what to do for the best. But self-interest won the day, as those who had loans outstanding from Edward decided it was best to concur with his wishes or they might never see their money again!

And there was more very frightening news which turned the people’s stomachs with fear, so that their joy at the news of Edward’s imminent arrival was soured—Margaret of Anjou, that she-devil queen, was on her way from France equipped with a large force supplied by King Louis to join Warwick, whom she had reluctantly allied with earlier in 1470, after his persuasive promises to put her husband Henry back on the throne. This he had done, but could he keep him there? Also, he had promised on his honour to be loyal to her son Edward, Prince of Wales, as the next king.

All this could only mean one thing—which no one wanted, having had more than enough of it—war!

And Kate’s joy turned to anguish at the thought that if there were battles soon, which seemed inevitable, Richard might be badly injured—even killed—and never know he had a son. And she would never see him again. The thought was so unbearable that she threw herself into her work with such a vengeance during the next week or two that she could barely crawl up the stairs to bed each night well after twelve when she had finished the clearing up after the tavern closed. It was the only way to blot out her acute trepidation and concern about what the future might hold for herself and the child if there was no Richard any more. But she kept her ears open for every scrap of news that the tavern patrons tossed about each evening.

The long days went by and then the news was joyous! At least for the Yorkists. Kate knew that she should feel the opposite way at the news of the Yorkists’ overwhelming success. After all, her father and brother had fought on the Lancastrian side for a long time. But she could only feel thankfulness and joy that Richard was safe—at court with his brother, the king, and very near! She had written him that letter telling him she was in London. Surely he had received it by now and must come soon? Edward was reinstated as king at last! There had been a terrible Battle at Barnet, and the Earl of Warwick had been killed! Also, Queen Margaret’s son, Edward, Prince of Wales, had been murdered after the battle—so now Edward had no one to oppose him! Queen Margaret was a spent force, so it was said—in terrible grief over the murder of her dear son, the Prince of Wales—her last hope for the Lancastrians.

It was very late one night when nearly all the regulars had gone and she had already started to clear up but found herself stopping and standing near to listen to a pair of Yorkist courtiers who were far gone in drink and whose tongues were very loose, when one of them, larger and rather older than the other, turning and seeing her there, eyed her up and down in such a lascivious way she felt her flesh crawl.

‘Want to join us, pretty one?’ he drawled, leering drunkenly.

She hastily moved away and started collecting tankards again, but too late—their interest was aroused. It was the last thing she wanted to happen. She usually tried to keep as unobtrusive as possible, but her curiosity had led her into this trap. Was there to be a repeat of that night when she had only just escaped by running upstairs and locking her door? And these men were noblemen—used to having their own way—in everything.

‘Lost your tongue, my lovely?’ the other one chided. He turned to his companion and elbowed him, pointing at Kate. ‘Bit of sport here to end the evening nicely—don’t you think?’

They both laughed and began to rise—very unsteadily, it was true—but with a horrible kind of determination. She hastily put down the tray of tankards and made for the stairs door. But the first one to notice her—not nearly as drunk as his companion—was there first. He stood with his back against the door, barring her way.

‘Not so fast, sweetheart. Do you know who I am? I assure you I usually have my own way when I want something—especially if it’s a woman! That’s right, Richard, isn’t it?’

They laughed coarsely again and the younger man, thinner but dressed very richly in a foppish fashion, nodded his head, ‘True, my lord Dorset—you always get your way!’

Kate realised she knew who this man breathing wine fumes into her face was as he pulled her towards him and began to fiddle with the drawstrings of her bodice. She tried to pull away, her mind working furiously at the same time. This was the queen’s eldest son by her first marriage, the Marquess of Dorset—known widely for his degenerate and lusty lifestyle at court and away from it. No girl was safe from him! And the other one he had addressed must be Lord Richard Grey, his brother—another notorious rake! And she had fallen into their clutches!

And of course, Richard had mentioned their close association with Lord William Hastings, the king’s Chamberlain and best friend—also his boon companion in many a debauched night. He had bewailed the fact that his dear brother Edward, the king, was so influenced by him and these other depraved ones. Edward was very fond of whoring also—as well as drinking—but Richard would have nothing said against him, for he loved him so dearly!

If only Richard were here! He would soon stop their evil intentions—but he wasn’t! What could she do?

Suddenly, she thought she had the answer!

‘I am spoken for, my lord! By someone at court who would not take kindly to what you have in mind!’

Lord Dorset stopped for a moment, withdrawing his hand from her now-open bodice, where he had been fondling her breasts and biting at the nipples. He raised his head. ‘Oh yes, and who could a serving wench like you possibly know at court?’ They both laughed again. ‘Is it the king? I somehow doubt it! Come along, my dear, enough of this. Have you a room here? If not, then you are coming with us!’

‘No, it is not the king, but someone else in very high office! You touch me and I have only to inform him and—’

‘And what? What could he do to me? Whoever he is or isn’t? I am one of the king’s closest friends. Whoever this mystery man is you say protects you cannot prevail against the king, who is always loyal to his friends—whatever they do! Admit that you are lying! Come now! I cannot wait a moment longer to sample your charms—neither of us can!’

Kate squirmed in horror. What was this—they both planned to take her? She had to speak!

‘It is Richard, Duke of Gloucester, the king’s favourite brother!’

‘Little Dickon? So he’s found out what it’s all about at last, has he? Began to wonder if he ever would! You should hear his brother George of Clarence on the subject! Even Edward—at times! Worried about him, they were! And where did Dickon meet you then, my sweeting—and more to the point—when? He’s been in exile in Brugge quite a while and only returned a few weeks ago!’

‘It was in Northampton, where my father’s manor is. I helped him when he had a fall from his horse on the road nearby and injured his ankle,’ she stopped. She feared she had said too much already. After all, this man was no friend of Richard’s.

She wished she had never had to mention him. But there was no other way to extricate herself from the dreadful predicament. Surely Richard would not mind?

‘Ha, so that’s it! That was when young Dickon discovered the fun to be had with a pretty woman? Which you undoubtedly are, my dear! Edward will love this! Seem to remember he mentioned something about Dickon’s stay in Northampton last autumn. I cannot wait to tell him! And I am sure Dickon won’t mind sharing you. He has good taste!’

They both laughed uproariously, and Kate, her one defence—so she had thought—proved useless, felt hard put to it not to cry. They were deriding Richard—they had no fear of him or his position. She was lost!

‘But—you say your father is a landowner. So what in the name of God are you doing here? Come. Admit it’s all a pack of lies, girl!’

‘It is all true—but I came here because…’ she stopped, biting her lip. She had nearly gone too far and mentioned the child.

‘Well, why? Following Richard, was it? Couldn’t do without him?’ They laughed again. ‘Imagine—love-sick over sickly little Dickon!’ Dorset sneered.

‘Who cares about Dickon? We’re here now and he’s not! Let’s get on with it. What he doesn’t see, he’ll never know about. She certainly won’t tell him what we do!’ Grey laughed.

‘You’re right, Richard! He wouldn’t touch her with a bargepole—afterwards!’ Laughing coarsely, Dorset grabbed her arm and began to drag her towards one of the long wooden settles.

‘We’d all be more comfortable in your room, wench—but if needs must, this will have to do!’

As the two of them determinedly pushed her down on the wooden bench and began to pull up her skirts and petticoats, Kate screamed repeatedly, hopelessly. ‘God, help me! Help me!’

Suddenly, the stairs door flew open and the big, burly landlord and his wife burst into the room.

‘My lords, leave her alone, I beg you! Kate is a barmaid only—she works here just to support her baby! She does not go with the patrons. I told her many times she could make more money that way—working after hours, like, but she wouldn’t have any of it. There are plenty of other girls here will only be too happy to satisfy your wishes. Let me call them and you can take your pick!’

Dorset and Grey had let Kate go at his words, an incredulous look on both their faces.

‘Her baby? Now there’s a bit of news to titillate the king!’

He looked at Kate. ‘Is it Dickon’s then?’ Kate was silent, her head drooping, busy rearranging her clothes.

‘It is, by God! It must be! Dickon’s little bastard! He’s got one at last! About time he joined the club! I cannot wait to tell Edward! You, my dear, will keep for another time,’ Dorset directed at Kate. ‘Maybe you’ll be more amenable then. Could be to your advantage, you know. We pay well!’

‘I don’t want your money. I’d rather starve!’ Kate retorted, spitting directly at his face.

‘Hoity-toity! So Dickon’s your one and only then? You should find out what a real man can do for you! Come on, Richard, to court! This bit of news cannot wait! Edward will lap it up! What a turn-up for the books! Dickon’s got a woman at last!’ Lord Dorset planted a kiss on Kate’s bosom, and the two of them left—both laughing. Kate shuddered thinking of what could have happened. Maybe the very mention of Richard had protected her after all—even though they both seemed to despise him as a man.

Westminster Palace, May 1471