The Stolen Crown: The Secret Marriage That Forever Changed the Fate of England (35 page)

“Don’t mind me, your grace. I simply tell it as it is.”

I knew William Catesby well, which was not to say that I liked him, but he was certainly competent. He’d acted as one of my estate agents for several years and was a man of talent and energy. His chief patron was Hastings, though, and it had been through Hastings that he had come to my attention. I was used to his plain speaking, as he liked to call it, but poor Stillington looked discomfited, even more so when Catesby said, “Well, your grace. Give us some muck.”

“I hardly—Well, for one thing, the king’s marriage to Elizabeth Woodville was made without the knowledge and assent of the lords of the land.”

Richard frowned.

“Not the firmest ground on which to rest a case, I know. More to the point, it was made privately and secretly, in a private chamber, a profane place, with no banns.”

Richard smiled, then frowned again. “Of course, the Butler marriage was secret too.”

Catesby put in. “Let us think back to Warwick’s time, gentlemen. Was it not put about that the Duchess of Bedford procured the marriage of her daughter to the king by sorcery and witchcraft?”

“She was acquitted,” I said.

“By a council controlled by the king. How could it help but acquit her, his motherin-law? Another council, not intimidated by the king, might have reached a very different result. And is it not odd, you think, that the Duke of Bedford—only in his forties—died so soon after marrying

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his young duchess, and that she married that obscure squire Woodville so soon afterward?”

Richard grinned. “What think you, Harry? Was your motherin-law a witch?”

“I hardly knew her.” Some residue of decency made me add, “But no, I don’t believe she was. She was a pious woman, but just very French.

Bedford was in failing health and was under immense strain at the time of his death; his cares aged him, they say. It’s no wonder that his widow looked for a lusty young man afterward.”

“Nonetheless, it may bear looking into,” Richard said. “Well. Go on.”

Stillington said, “There is the question of jurisdiction, your grace. Strictly speaking, the matter of the precontract should be raised in the Church courts, but the resolution might not be a speedy one—and the verdict would not be sure by any means, I fear. If it were brought in Parliament on the grounds of public notoriety, however—”

“Look into that for me, Bishop.” Richard stood and stretched. “I think we’ve done a good day’s work.”

Thus dismissed, Stillington hurried off, but Catesby lingered. Seeing him do so, I, of course, did also. “Well, Catesby? What think you? Do we have a case?” Richard asked.

“With your troops from the North, you won’t need one,” said Catesby.

“Not much of one, anyway. Londoners are scared to death of anyone from up there. Just the knowledge that armed northerners are on the way will throw them into a panic here. They’re a soft lot when it doesn’t involve commerce.

No, I think you have another problem on your hands, your grace.”

“Oh?”

“Hastings. When the news of the marriage hits the council, he’s going to do anything in his power to keep that boy on the throne. Including calling on his followers. Who are numerous, here and in Calais. Plainly speaking, your grace, he could destroy you.”

Richard looked at me. “You mentioned that Morton and Rotherham paid him a visit the other day.”

2 3 6 s u s a n h i g g i n b o t h a m “Yes. It could have been nothing.”

“It could have been treason.” He twisted the dagger he wore at his side.

“Well. Something else to look into.”

John Morton, Bishop of Ely, was a plump man who always made sure that refreshment was on hand for our council meetings. At the last meeting, his servant had brought in wafers so good I’d taken a couple with me when I left to tide me over later between dinner and supper. On Friday, June 13, a bowl of fat, glistening strawberries greeted us as Hastings, Catesby, Morton, Rotherham, Thomas Stanley, Richard, and I filed into the council chamber at the Tower at around nine. The rest of the council was meeting at Westminster, for greater efficiency, Richard had decided.

The berries disappeared quickly. “You must have more brought to us, Bishop,” said Richard affably. “Delicious!”

“There are plenty more where those came from,” said Morton proudly.

“They are flavorful, aren’t they? My gardener outdid himself this year, truly.”

“Then have some more brought, please. And it would be kind to share them with those meeting at Westminster, don’t you think?”

Inwardly, I heaved a sigh of relief. Since yesterday, I’d felt uneasy, worrying about Richard and Hastings. But if Richard was sitting chatting about strawberries, there clearly couldn’t be anything amiss, not now.

Morton’s manservant went out to fetch the strawberries, and we spoke for a while about the situation with Edward Woodville, who had taken his fleet to Southampton. There Richard had sent men to seize him, but Woodville, learning of his brother Anthony’s arrest, had managed to escape.

Reports had it that he had landed safely in Brittany—along with some ten thousand pounds in gold that he had seized from another ship, as forfeit to the crown, while at Southampton. We were all bewailing this loss when Richard excused himself to answer nature’s call.

“I do hope it wasn’t the strawberries,” Hastings said. He popped another one into his mouth.

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“Never,” said Morton touchily. “To the contrary, they are most healthful.”

The door swung open, and Richard marched in.

It was if another being had taken possession of his body. His eyes glowed with anger, and he even looked taller somehow, so rigid he was.

“My lords,” he said. “What would you do if you discovered treason in your midst?”

The answer seemed to be an obvious one, so much so that we all simply sat there staring. But Richard clearly expected an answer, so Hastings finally said, in a light tone, after gulping his strawberry, “Why, arrest the traitor, of course.”

“Correct, Lord Hastings. Then, come! Arrest the traitor.”

A dozen armed men sprang into the room and seized Hastings. “What the devil is this?” he sputtered as they tied his arms and legs. “Gloucester, have you gone mad?”

“You will deny you have been plotting against me, and Buckingham, and all of the blood royal?”

“Deny it? Hell, yes! I was the one who urged you to take on the protectorate, have you forgotten that? What ails you?”

Morton stood. “My lord protector, there is the gravest misunder-standing here!”

“Yes, there is—in trusting you! Arrest him too. And Rotherham.”

Morton and Rotherham stared at each other as men grabbed them from behind. Then Rotherham thudded to the floor in a dead faint.

Hastings jerked in my direction. “Buckingham! You tell him. We’ve done nothing treasonous. Nothing—” His face suddenly changed. “Christ,”

he said softly. “This is about that business you saw me about the other day, isn’t it? That Eleanor Butler strumpet?” Hastings’s face was ashen. “This whoreson Gloucester means to take the crown for himself!”

“Take him out! I’ll have his head. Now!”

“No block,” the youngest of Richard’s guards squeaked.

“Improvise!”

Hastings was fighting now, trying to break free of his bonds. “You’ll

2 3 8 s u s a n h i g g i n b o t h a m not take the crown from Edward’s boy, not while I’ve breath in my body!

Someone let me near him. I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him!” They jerked him backward, began to drag him out of the room as Richard watched impassively. “For God’s sake, Ned! Forgive me! I thought it best for the boy that Gloucester take over. I only wanted the best for him. Never in my life did I think—” Hastings’s voice broke into a sob, and then strengthened again as his heels cleared the threshold. “A curse on you, Gloucester, and Buckingham as well! A curse on you, and upon your sons!”

“Take Morton and Rotherham to cells here,” Richard commanded. “Let Hastings have a priest if he can stop babbling long enough to confess.”

“Good work,” said Catesby. He nodded and put the last of Morton’s strawberries in his mouth.

Richard sank into a chair and bit his nails. I sat rigid in mine.

A quarter of an hour later, two of Richard’s men appeared, carrying a sack. Without saying anything, one of them pulled an object out of it.

I looked upon the head of Lord William Hastings, Edward IV’s best friend, who’d whored with him, shared exile with him, fought with him, triumphed with him. Then I vomited on my shoes.

xvii

Kate: April 1483 to June 1483

How can i describe the months after the fourth King Edward died? It was as if the world went topsy-turvy, not once but over and over again.

I mourned the late king for days. I knew his faults, as a man and as a king. I deplored his killing of the sixth Henry, his unfaithfulness to my sister, his refusal to give poor Harry the responsibilities due the Duke of Buckingham, but I also loved the man who had honored my sister in every way except for faithfulness of his body, who had comforted me after John’s and Papa’s deaths, who had made me a duchess at age seven. I mourned his death doubly because no one had expected it. True, the king had not cut the fine figure he had as a youth—but dead, at age forty?

And then came the news that my brother Anthony, my nephew Richard Grey, and the young king’s chamberlain, Thomas Vaughan, were under arrest. Anthony, one of the most learned men in England, who’d served the House of York for over twenty years. Richard, who had tamed his wild ways and was turning out to be an excellent administrator in Wales—the king had told us so. Old Thomas Vaughan, who had carried the infant Edward around at court as proudly and as lovingly as if he had been his own son. And they had been arrested at the orders of that creature Gloucester—and at those of my own husband.

I had never liked Gloucester, but my dislike for him had been strictly personal, based on the supercilious way in which he’d always treated me.

Yet I had known him for a loyal man, faithful to his brother the king.

2 4 0 s u s a n h i g g i n b o t h a m But how loyal could a man be who arrested men appointed by the late king himself?

Then came the news that my sister was in sanctuary, my nieces and nephews with her, my brothers there or in hiding. The king’s coronation had been postponed, and Gloucester had made himself protector.

I could not sit in Wales waiting to hear what happened next. Though Harry had told me he would send for me when the time had come to go to London for the coronation festivities, I decided not to wait. Harry might not like it, but I was coming to join him in London.

To my dismay, as my men drew close to London, they learned that the Duchess of Gloucester was making the same journey as I and that our paths would inevitably join soon. As she took precedence over me, it would have been the height of impropriety not to acknowledge her, so when I settled down—irony of ironies—in Northampton where she was also staying, I dutifully sent my respects and was duly invited to dine with her.

What do two duchesses speak of, when their husbands are allies and when one duchess’s husband has sent the other duchess’s relations to prison? We spoke of our children, naturally. She described her little Edward’s education and knightly training with great pride, and I described my little Edward’s education and knightly training with equally great pride—leaving out my younger son and my two girls so as to not seem that I was rubbing in the fact that I had four children to her one. When that topic was worn to death, we discussed what we were planning to wear to the coronation of yet another little Edward, being very careful to compliment the other’s appearance a few times as we did so. We discussed the shortcomings of a few of our staff. We discussed our flower gardens and our herb gardens. In short, we discussed everything except for what was uppermost in our minds.

Only after we were parting for the evening did I dare to ask, “My lady, has your lord given you any indication of what is going on in London?

What on earth does it all mean?”

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The Duchess of Gloucester shook her head. “We shall soon find out, I daresay.”

As expected, Harry’s greeting was not an enthusiastic one. “What in the world are you doing here? I said I would send for you.”

“And when would that have been? Christmastide? Harry, what is going on? Why are my relations in prison? Why is my sister staying in sanctuary?”

“Your relations are in prison because they were plotting against Richard.

They might have been plotting against me as well. Your sister’s in sanctuary because she was involved in the plot and is afraid to leave.”

“Harry, I cannot believe that.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Harry said with the air of one reasoning with someone either very young or very stupid. “Now, how are the children?”

“They are well.” I was not to be deterred. “What proof does this Richard of yours have of a plot?”

“The Duke of Gloucester has his spies, and he displayed cartloads of weapons stockpiled by your kin. Kate, I’m sorry, but it’s their own folly that brought them to this. Not mine, not Richard’s. But I am certain that Richard will be merciful. As for your sister, she’s free to come out whenever she sees fit to grace us with her presence. We are prepared to swear an oath as to her safety if she has any fears, which she shouldn’t have.”

“Can I see her?”

“No. Being allowed to see her family as normal can only encourage her to stay there. But I’m sure she’ll see reason soon.” Harry’s hand suddenly landed on my breast, and he pulled me close to him. “Now that you’re here, I must admit that I’ve missed you,” he said coaxingly.