The Stolen Crown: The Secret Marriage That Forever Changed the Fate of England (20 page)

“How?” I swatted at my cheek. “Edward—I mean, the king—would never let me.”

“But I can.”

He led me to a tent and left me waiting outside while he spoke to someone within. In just a moment or two, he emerged. “Come on, Harry.”

Inside the tent sat what remained of the cream of Margaret of Anjou’s army—my uncle Edmund, Sir Hugh Courtenay, and Sir John Langstrother among them. My uncle was sitting between a couple of guards, evidently lost in his own thoughts. He was a young man, only in his early thirties, and good-looking; thanks to his long exile, he would die without ever

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having taken a wife. Rousing himself, he gave me a cold stare as I was led to where he sat. “So, a little Yorkist come to gloat. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

This was too much. “I’m your nephew, Harry, Duke of Buckingham, and I didn’t come to gloat. I begged for your life, as a matter of fact, but the king wouldn’t grant my wish. I came to see you for my mother’s sake, because you’re part of my family. But if you’re going to be like that— well, then, go to hell. To hell with the king and the whole sorry lot of you.” I cannot overemphasize the immense satisfaction that all of these consignments to the world below gave me, but as I turned on my heel, I did suspect that Richard at my age would have managed this business more eloquently.

“Wait. For God’s sake, boy, wait. I’m not in the best of humors at the moment, you see. Make some allowances for circumstances. Come back, and we’ll talk. Please, Harry?” He half smiled at me as I returned to stand warily beside him. “Not language that I expected to come out of a lad with such an angelic face.”

I shrugged, hoping it made me look less angelic and more manly.

“You look like Meg, I see now.”

Meg? It took me a moment to realize he was speaking of my mother.

I’d never heard her called this; it belonged to a long-ago time when the Beauforts were flying high. “I suppose.”

He gave a wry smile. “And you favor me, too. Though my face has become less angelic with the years. Along with the rest of me.”

I had been schooled at court in the art of polite conversation and was fairly adept at it (despite the coarseness in which I had just engaged, which I assure you was not the doing of my tutors), but none of my training had prepared me for this encounter. Now that my uncle was speaking to me, what did one say to a man whose head would be off in a couple of hours?

Especially to a man whom I had just cursed? My uncle, however, must have understood how I felt. “Sit. How old are you, Harry?”

“Fifteen.”

1 2 8 s u s a n h i g g i n b o t h a m “Did you fight here?”

I nodded. “Here and at Barnet.” Something made me confess, “I didn’t distinguish myself, though. I was in the reserves here and never did all that much. At Barnet I was knocked out and missed most of the battle.”

“We all have our bad days, and you’re very young,” my uncle said kindly. “You’ll improve. I suppose you’re still a ward of the crown?”

“Yes, and I hate it. I want to live on my own lands so much, to be my own master. I’ve not seen any of my estates since I was little.” It occurred to me that my uncle, who aside from his present circumstances had long ago lost his own inheritance through his family’s attainder, might not find my plight especially moving. “I know that must sound like a trivial complaint to you.”

“It’s a quite natural one. What lad doesn’t want to be out on his own?

You’re married, aren’t you, to one of the Woodville girls?”

“Yes. Kate—Katherine.”

“No use asking if she came with a dowry, then. Is she pretty, at least?”

“They say she is very fair.”

“They? Surely at fifteen you have an opinion. What do you think?”

“I think so, too.”

“Then that’s all that matters. And Meg? How is she?”

“She’s married again to Richard Darell and they have a daughter. I haven’t seen her since my younger brother died. The king discourages contact between us, you see, because—”

“Because of her Beaufort brothers? I should think that obstacle will be soon removed entirely,” my uncle said, with perfect composure.

“But there is another reason.” My voice dropped to a whisper, and I found myself telling him what I had never told Richard, and never wanted to discuss with Kate. “There are times when the demons come upon my mother. Once she even tried to make away with herself and her young child.”

My uncle sighed. “During her fits of melancholy?”

“Why, yes,” I said.

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“She had them even as a girl.” He patted me on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Do you think
I
could run mad?” I dared to ask him.

“You look sane enough to me, Harry, and your father and your Stafford grandfather were a level-headed pair.” He grinned. “If you’ve anything to worry about in your Beaufort blood, it’s foolhardiness. God knows there’s a lot of that to spare.”

We talked for a while longer—a little about my uncle’s years in Burgundy, which he remembered with fondness, a little about my mother as a girl, but mostly about myself. I would not have monopolized the conversation in that manner, but it seemed to be how my uncle wanted it to go, so I deferred to his wishes. He asked me about mundane things—my studies, my knightly training, whether I wanted to go abroad, whether I liked music, whether I preferred hawking or hunting, the lands I would inherit, which castles I thought I would spend most of my time in. Not since Grandfather Buckingham died had any man bothered to talk to me thus, and I chattered on as if this were a perfectly normal talk between uncle and nephew. Not once did we speak of Lancaster or of York or of the battle that had been fought. When there was at last a pause in our conversation, I blurted, “Perhaps I should try again for your life. This time I’ll grovel to the king. I’ll offer him my lands, anything. I don’t want you to die!”

My uncle laid an arm on my shoulders and pulled me closer to him.

“You would beg in vain, Harry, even with the kind offer of your lands.

Stay here instead. Your presence does me good.”

We sat there talking quietly for a precious few more minutes. Then there was a clatter, and the king’s men barged in. “All’s ready. Come along, all of you.”

I helped my uncle up—I had seen that he had a fresh wound in his leg that would make it difficult for him to stand without assistance—and supported him until he could get his balance. He thanked me, then slid a ring off his finger. “Wear that as a remembrance of me, and give Meg my love, if you can do so without grieving her too much.”

1 3 0 s u s a n h i g g i n b o t h a m Not trusting myself to speak without tears, I nodded.

“And when you come into your lands, I’d like you to have some masses said for my soul. You’ll do that?”

“Every day,” I managed.

Two of the king’s men surrounded my uncle, and I stepped back reluctantly as they led him off. “Harry?”

“Uncle?”

“Meg ought to be proud of you. God keep you.”

The trial was purely a formality—not that anyone had expected anything different. Richard played his part in the show with becoming gravity, and moved through the proceedings as though he’d been doing it all of his life.

My uncle sat through the business with a look of cool detachment on his face, which changed only to show a glint of relief when it was announced that the king would not exact the penalty of hanging, drawing, and quartering reserved for traitors.

So forgone had been the conclusion, the scaffold was ready and waiting at Tewkesbury’s market cross when the dozen men were led out to execution—the first one I’d seen. It was something that a man was supposed to watch without flinching, and I managed it, not wanting to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me betray any girlish emotion. The prisoners were beheaded in reverse rank; my uncle, as the head of the army, had to wait until all of his followers died. None of the condemned men made any speeches; a few prayed. The executioner held up each head as the deed was done but made little to-do about it. There wasn’t much of an audience except for Edward’s army and a cluster of townspeople.

My uncle was looking around for something as he waited his turn, and I knew it was me he sought. I moved my cap ever so slightly, until he saw me. Then he smiled faintly, knelt and placed his head on the block, and prayed. In a stroke, the male line of the House of Beaufort was extinct.

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After my uncle’s execution, I slunk off, not wanting anyone’s company.

I wandered through the town of Tewkesbury, through the wooded areas around it, all the while paying very little attention to my surroundings.

Finally I made my way back to the market cross by which my uncle had been executed just hours before. The scaffold had already been knocked apart. Its remnants, and the bloody ground surrounding it, were the only signs of what had happened there.

I stood there staring for a while. Then, heedless of the passersby, I fell to my knees and wept, until presently someone knelt beside me and put an arm around my shoulder.

“Easy, old man. Easy.”

Much of what I did years later, I suspect, can be attributed to that one moment—that when Richard sat beside me and held me next to him as I cried my heart out. We must have presented quite a spectacle—two well-dressed young men smack in the middle of the marketplace, one bawling like a baby while the other supported him—but Richard paid it no mind.

Only when I had exhausted my store of tears and lay almost limp against his shoulder did he raise me. “Come. Let’s get some food and drink in you.

You’ll feel better.”

Wiping my nose on my sleeve, I let Richard lead me away. We had walked in silence for a while, me still mostly leaning against him, when he said, “There will be no display of their heads, Harry. The king is going to pay for your Beaufort uncles to be buried with all due honor at the abbey.”

I tried to gather together a little dignity. “How kind of him.”

“Well, it is, considering the alternative, and they’ll be in fine company, with all of the old Earls of Gloucester and our Clare ancestors. It is meant to be a mark of respect, Harry. Take it as such, is my advice.”

I blew my nose. “I suppose I can understand what you said earlier about the king having no choice about my uncle Edmund. But I miss him.”

Richard tried not to smile. “Miss him? Harry, you spent less than an hour with the man in your entire life.”

1 3 2 s u s a n h i g g i n b o t h a m “I know. But we got on well. I shall miss him all the same.” I crossed myself, and Richard kindly followed suit.

We went into a tavern—after the shock of the battle, the merchants of Tewkesbury had rebounded nicely enough. Richard ordered us ales and meat pie. As we tucked into our food, which I found did indeed improve my spirits, I began to realize how much I had missed Richard during these past months. Even after he had returned to England, he’d hardly had a chance to speak to me, so busy was he with the king’s affairs.

I took another deep drink of the ale. Perhaps in my famished state, it went to my head a bit, for I dared to ask Richard, “Now that the Lady Anne’s a widow, are you thinking of marrying her?”

Richard looked surprised. “I did tell you that I would probably marry her, didn’t I? You still remember that?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, I’d like to. I don’t think Ned can possibly object now that Warwick’s dead. And, of course, if she’ll have me.”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

He shrugged. “Edward of Lancaster died in fair battle, but at the hands of York. Women can bear a grudge. And she was set to become queen of England in her time. Duchess of Gloucester might seem a comedown after that.”

“She’d be a fool not to have you, Richard, queen or no queen. Any woman would be a fool not to have you. She’s not worth the having if she refuses you.” I banged my knife to emphasize my point.

He grinned at me. “Christ, I’m fond of you, Harry. I wish to God that I’d had you instead of Clarence as a brother. Or maybe just as another brother. The younger brother I never had.”

“Sometimes I think of you as the older brother I never had,” I admitted, my cheeks burning in the dim light of the tavern.

“Really? Then…”

With a quick, graceful gesture, Richard flicked his knife across my finger, drawing blood, then did the same to his. “Hold it next to mine until they merge. There.
Loyaulte me lie
.”

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“
Loyaulte me lie
.”

“We are brothers in blood, Harry. From henceforth we are all to each other. We help each other, support each other, uphold each other in our time of need. If it be necessary, we’ll die for each other. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Having carried out this solemn rite, we continued in a more common and far less solemn rite of brotherhood—drinking far into the evening.

With what I know now was my usual poor head for drink, I was thoroughly intoxicated when we left the tavern, and even Richard was somewhat tipsy, as I had never before seen him. On the way to our respective tents, we encountered William Hastings heading toward his tent, accompanied by a busily dressed woman who very clearly was profiting from our stay at Tewkesbury. He nodded at us as we wound toward him, arm in arm.

“Your graces. Good night to you.”

“Shesh a beauty!” I announced approvingly for all of Tewkesbury to hear. Richard, laughing, clapped me on the back.

Hastings (dismally sober) looked at me and shook his head. “Do you need some assistance getting the Duke of Buckingham to his tent, perchance, your grace?”