A Rose for the Crown (84 page)

“How was London, Father?” asked Jack’s eldest daughter, Isabel, seated in the window embrasure. “Is the king at Westminster for the season?”

“Aye, sweetheart, he is.” Jack’s face was grave at the mention of Edward. “I have to confess, I like not Edward’s humor at present. He is grossly fat, and he cannot keep his hands away from Mistress Shore. ’Tis an insult to the queen, but she bears it with fortitude.”

“Perhaps she is happy to be relieved of her bedroom duties, Father.” Daughter Margaret Wyndham tittered. “She has been more than a little busy in continuing the York family line.”

The company laughed, but Jack was still grim. “His grace should look to his health. We do not need another boy king. England is stable at present, but I fear for us if the crown is on a child’s head. I pray for Edward’s safekeeping every night, and so should all of you.”

His words were ominous. The hairs rose on Kate’s neck. How would Edward’s death affect Richard? she wondered. The young Prince of Wales had lived for years apart from his father at Ludlow Castle, in the care of his uncle, Anthony, Lord Rivers. It would indeed be an unsettling time if there was no strong hand on the helm of state. It might plunge the country back into civil war.

Jack had spoiled the festive mood, and it was not long before loud yawns persuaded most present to seek their bed. Kate shivered as she stepped into the snow that was falling gently on the hard ground. A servant accompanied her to her door with a torch, and she was glad to dispel her gloomy thoughts in front of a blazing fire in the kitchen with Molly, Wat and her kitchen servants. After a rousing version of “Wassail,” she climbed the stairs to her chamber.

“God keep the king safe,” she added to her nightly prayers.

J
ACK HAD FURTHER CAUSE
to complain about the king. One evening, he arrived back from London in a rage. Margaret coaxed him into a chair by the fire and took off his boots. Margaret’s gentlewomen sat apart from the couple, but the family and Kate gathered round to hear his grumblings.

“Not only does that boy have the title,” he said, referring to the little Prince Richard, “but he now has the entire Mowbray inheritance, thanks to an act Edward made those fools in Parliament agree to. It does not sit well with me, I must tell you.” He ran his fingers through his iron-gray hair and asked for wine.

“Perhaps you could talk to the king, love,” Margaret suggested. “He may not fully grasp the significance of what he has done.”

“Ha! That man is wilier than all of us, Margaret. Nay, he may be a lecher and a glutton, but he is not a fool.”

W
ILY OR NOT
, Edward proved no match for the Lord’s will. On April 9, 1483, after contracting a chill during a boat ride, King Edward the Fourth breathed his last at the age of forty-one at Westminster Palace in the presence of physicians and shriving priests.

Jack was not present at Edward’s deathbed. He received a message at Tendring from Lord Hastings on the fourth day of April that the king
was ill, but as the letter gave him no sense of urgency, he tarried until the seventh before setting off for London. He arrived as the bells were tolling the king’s passing.

Margaret was shocked when she read Jack’s letter dated the twelfth. Her cry of dismay disturbed Kate’s reading and brought several of the family into the tower solar. Margaret told them what had happened.

“My dearest wife, God’s greeting to you. I have black news. The king is dead. He died a few hours before I reached London. Last evening I dined with Will Hastings, and now I will tell his tale. Two days before Edward’s death, Will was summoned to the royal bedchamber along with other members of the council who were close by. Will described the insufferable smell of the room, ‘ ’Twas as if the Grim Reaper himself was there, his fetid flesh stinking the air and putting the fear of God in us’ were his very words. Edward’s face was green-gray and puffed as a bullfrog’s. Between labor’d breaths, he charged all those present to put old quarrels aside. He asked them to swear fealty to his son and keep his kingdom safe. The queen sat close, her cheek to his hand, and their children stood close by, weeping. He exhorted them to love one another, and then he told them he would name Richard of Gloucester Protector of the Realm. At these words, the queen raised up her head, and Will said he saw her stare intently at her son, Dorset, across the bed. That lord’s expression told her that he was not happy with his stepfather’s decision.”

Margaret paused and looked around the room. She needed to know all could be relied upon. Only Kate was not kin. Satisfied, she read on quietly.

“I do not trust that man as far as I can heave him. And the news will sit even less well with Lord Rivers at Ludlow, I will wager my life. ’Tis to no avail, all heard the king’s wish, and I for one am pleased with it. The kingdom will be well tended in Richard’s hands until young Edward be crowned, of course, which will not be long, if the queen has her way. She fears Gloucester’s power, it is said, and would rid herself of it at the first opportunity. The king will be interred at Windsor, and I have the honor to carry his banner in the procession. I shall return to Stepney and give you instructions then, dear wife.
I must be here to welcome the new king when he comes. The lord protector will surely ride into the city with him. I shall expect you to be by my side for that ceremony, Margaret, so make preparation.”

Margaret chose not to read Jack’s tender farewell to the gathering but folded the parchment carefully and tucked it inside her bodice. Everyone sat in stunned silence. They had all experienced the commanding presence of the king, and it was hard to imagine the vibrant, magnificent monarch no longer in their world.

Jack attended Edward’s funeral, which began at Westminster and ended in burial in the yet-unfinished St. George’s Chapel at Windsor—the final setting of the Sunne in Splendour.

W
HEN
M
ARGARET
and her entourage trotted between the stone pillars into the courtyard of the Stepney mansion, London was still reeling from the events of the past two weeks. When circumstances forced the council to set a new coronation date, Jack sent a messenger to Tendring telling Margaret to delay her journey to London. He did not elaborate. Margaret knew her husband would explain all when she arrived.

An unexpected letter from John arrived a day after Jack’s, begging Kate to come to London, for he was to ride south with his father and join his cousin, the new king. Kate had not seen her son for seven years, and her heart leapt with longing. She would travel with Margaret and be a guest at Stepney.

Looking at the size of the Howard retinue, Kate wondered where everyone might be housed. She need not have worried, for Jack lived in state on the outskirts of London. He liked being away from the hustle and bustle of the city. His house was bordered by tranquil fields to the north and the river to the south. Jack always enjoyed the river ride to London or Westminster, although he was often teased for living in the wilderness of Wapping.

Jack cheerfully greeted the travelers at the steps of the magnificent town house. “Well met, well met! Margaret, my dear wife, I greet you well.”

He had kisses for all, including Kate. Then he took Margaret’s arm
and led the way up the short flight of steps, through the great oak door and into the hall. Like Tendring, the town house was richly furnished, comfortable and exuded the warmth of its owners.

“What has delayed the coronation?” Margaret asked Jack at supper, once grace had been said, hands washed and wiped with white linens. “When is it to be?”

Those around the head table looked eagerly at Jack for the news.

“You cannot believe all that has occurred this past month.” He shook his head and smiled at the expectant faces. “Let me begin at the beginning, or at least, after Edward’s burial.”

Jack described the extraordinary events of April. He was deliberate and fair-minded. “It appears no one informed Gloucester—the Lord Protector—that his brother was dead for nigh on ten days. ’Twas Hastings who finally sent for him to come south with all speed—and to bring an army.”

“An army? For what reason? Who was there for Gloucester to fear?”

“’Twould seem Hastings suspected the queen and her family had designs to secure the king’s person and set up a regency, my love. The council preferred to abide by Edward’s will and wait for the protector before making decisions. Happily, Gloucester ignored Hastings’ demand, for it would not have looked right for the protector to advance on London with such a display of might. Instead, he sent to Rivers at Ludlow, exhorting him and the young king to meet him at Northampton on the twenty-ninth of April so all could proceed to London together. That way, the Woodville faction would no longer control the king. Rivers dallied a few days and amassed two thousand men to accompany them.” Jack snorted. “More than enough to accomplish a triumphal ride into London, I would think.”

Cat’s husband, John, let out a whistle. “Two thousand!”

“When Gloucester arrived in Northampton on the appointed day, he found the king’s party had already moved on a dozen miles to Stony Stratford. Duke Richard was puzzled and angered. He sensed Hastings’ concern might well have been correct. He was surprised, therefore, when Lord Rivers himself rode into Northampton—alone—and gave the duke cheerful greeting and stayed to dine. By then, Harry Stafford of Buckingham had joined his cousin Gloucester. Rivers told the dukes he had
moved ahead simply because there was not enough room to accommodate both his and Gloucester’s retinues in Northampton.”

Margaret interrupted again. “But Northampton is twice as large as Stony Stratford. And more capable of entertaining a king for the night. It would seem my lord Rivers wanted to arrive in London before the lord protector. Am I right?”

“We cannot tell, Margaret. All we know is that Gloucester and Buckingham perceived Rivers’ action as suspicious. Rivers found lodging for himself in the town for the night, and at dawn he was awakened by men of Gloucester’s guard and was arrested.”

Everyone began talking at once. “Arrested?” “A conspiracy?” “Gloucester was right!” “Rivers deserves what he gets!”

Margaret put her finger to her lips. “Hush, children, let your father finish.”

Jack took a well-earned drink and waited for silence. “Richard rode to Stratford and found the king already setting out for London with Sir Richard Grey—you recall he is the queen’s younger son by her first husband—poor old Tom Vaughan, young Edward’s chamberlain, and a large detachment of armed men. So it must have seemed to Richard that Rivers gave orders for the king to leave without waiting for the lord protector, despite his sweet-talking the evening before. The first thing Richard did upon seeing the young king was to leap from his horse and swear fealty to the boy on bended knee and with all formality. Then he comforted Edward for the death of his father and took him back to his lodging place. There he did reveal the nature of the devious plan by his uncle Rivers and his mother, the queen, to avoid a meeting with the lord protector and enter London without him. Edward, ’twas said, shouted loudly at Richard and demanded to see his uncle. However, Rivers was already under guard and on the road north. Gloucester then arrested Grey, Vaughan and Richard Haute—nay, Kate, ’twas Sir Richard, not your cousin—and they, too, have been sent north. It took many hours to convince Edward that his father had named Richard protector of the realm and that his uncle Rivers and even his mother were conspiring to circumvent that command. Eventually, the boy calmed down and realized his duty. ’Twas not easy, I am sure, but Richard is a kind man, and I am certain he explained it well.”

“Aye, he is kind,” Kate could not help murmuring. “And he has a son the same age. He would know how to talk to Edward.”

“But Rivers arrested! ’Tis astounding news, Jack,” Margaret said. “How did the queen react? The council?”

“Ha!” Jack’s expletive was derogatory. “Her grace took to her heels and ran into sanctuary at Westminster the minute she heard. Her brother, Bishop of Salisbury, joined her. Her rascally son Dorset removed the king’s treasury and took it—and as much as they could carry from the palace—with them into sanctuary. In their panic to secure it for themselves, they ordered a large hole to be knocked in the side of the abbey for easier access. Such upstart nobodies, what could you expect?”

The company was shocked. Margaret took to fanning herself with a trencher left on the table. It was all too unbelievable.

“As if the taking of the treasury was not bad enough, Elizabeth found herself confronted with that old fool Rotherham, our chancellor and saintly Archbishop of York, who was now in a panic and fearful of a plot by Lord Hastings to overthrow the government. He rushed to Westminster”—Jack paused for effect—“to deliver the great seal of England into her keeping.”

“What?” cried the group in unison, knowing the great seal gave the holder fiscal and legislative powers.

Jack relished the reaction. “Aye, you heard right. The queen had the seal in sanctuary, and we councilors were none too pleased. When Rotherham realized his folly, he hurried back to Westminster and took it back again. Such a dithering idiot! You can believe he is no longer in possession of it, we saw to that. However, what is worse is that we have been forced to take sides, it seems. As the late king’s most trusted adviser, Hastings has the support of most of the noblemen from Edward’s court, including me. The queen has her supporters, and then there are the lords spiritual—a more grasping group of churchmen you have yet to encounter.