A Rose for the Crown (98 page)

Kate managed a smile. “God’s greeting to you, too, Richard. Forgive me for my untimely visit, but this could not wait. Perhaps we could sit.”

“To be sure, Kate. Come, sit by me.” He led her to a padded bench. “What is it that brings you so far and at such a time?”

She took a deep breath and told him. She watched him physically
crumble as she related the tragic death of their daughter, and she caught him to her when he let out a moan that pierced her heart.

“I am so sorry, Richard! How could I simply write to you of this? I had to tell you myself. Please understand. I needed to grieve with you. She was born of such love between us, I could not bear to have you hear in any other way.”

Kate was composed. She had done her share of crying. Now it was Richard’s turn. She stroked his hair as his tears fell on her gown.

“Ah, my sweet Katherine! Never was a father prouder of his poppet.” He abruptly wrenched himself from her and stared at the crucifix on the wall. “Now I know I am cursed. God has marked me, and I know not why.”

“Richard, Richard! You must not believe this. ’Tis a bad omen for your fight with Tudor. Katherine will watch over you. She is with God, she will tell Him of your goodness, fear not. You must be strong. You must guide your men to victory. You need God’s help for that. You cannot believe He has abandoned you, or your quest is doomed.”

She took a piece of velvet from her pouch and gave it to him. “Take this. Carry it with you when you fight.”

He saw the package but his eyes could not focus. He sat looking at it for several minutes while he took control of himself. Finally, with trembling fingers, he unfolded the wrapping. Lying on the silky fabric was a lock of Katherine’s auburn hair, still shining and supple as though alive, tied with two ribbons, one of murrey and one of blue. He touched the hair reverently, refolded the velvet and tucked it into his doublet. He got up and poured himself some wine. Kate was relieved to see he appeared calmer. But once again his mood deceived her, for after drinking the entire contents in a single draught, he flung the cup against the wall, narrowly missing the crucifix.

In a voice that came from the dark place in his heart, he groaned. “I have nothing to live for, Kate. I have lost my wife, my son, my brothers, my nephews, and now my beautiful daughter. I swear to Almighty God I do not care if I live or die! He has forsaken me!” He thumped his fists against the wall. “I wish Richmond would come through that door this very moment and put me out of my misery!”

Kate leapt to her feet and spoke to his back, remembering a similar scene when he had told her of the death of his nephews. “Sweet Jesu, Richard, do not say such things. You have a son who adores you and another who will be proud of you when I have the courage to tell him. And you have me, Richard. I love you as much now as in those wonderful days when we were together. I have never forgotten nor ever shall the sweet love we bore each other. I have tried, oh, how I have tried, but God will not purge me of my sinful love.” The floodgate open, she was unable to stop herself. What did she have to lose? “Oh, I am so foolish to have told you of our daughter now. I should have waited until after your victory. I confess, ’twas selfishness that drove me here in such haste. Forgive me. I would not add to your pain.”

Richard turned and faced her, his hands longing to draw her to him. Both felt the magnet and both resisted its pull. It was too late to begin again. His eyes met her steady gaze, and she saw the love in them. It was enough. She turned to go.

“Know that you will ride with me too,” he said, slowly pulling the
écu
on its worn string out of his shirt. She turned back, amazed that he still wore her simple gift. “I cannot lie to you, Kate. I grew to love Anne for her gentleness and steadfast devotion. But you have always been with me. Every moment I spent with Katherine and John I spent with you. As for John, no father could wish for a finer son. His future is sunny. If I win the day against Tudor, as soon as he is sixteen, he will take his place as Captain of Calais. I have you to thank for John. I could not have endured losing him so soon after Ned, and so I refused him the right to fight in this battle. Now I am doubly happy I refused.” He paused and dropped the coin back under his shirt. “As for Dickon. If I am victorious, you and I shall go together to tell our son who his real parents are, I promise you. And he shall know that he is a king’s son and was born of the love we shared. I shall not forsake him, Kate.”

“Thank you, Richard.” Impetuously, she took his face in her hands and kissed his mouth. “I shall pray for your safety and for a great victory. God keep you, my dearest love. Farewell.” She turned and went slowly to the door.

“Adieu, ma rose,”
he whispered.
“Adieu.”

*   *   *

T
HE CHURCH BELLS RANG
out over the city the next day calling people to Sunday high mass. Those attending at St. Mary de Castro were surprised to see their king stride in and make his reverence on one knee before making his way down the long nave to the high altar. There he received the priest’s blessing, was given Holy Communion and moved to the side of the chancel, where he prostrated himself on the floor. Several of his commanders also kneeled for the blessing and silently moved to a side chapel. Not until after the bells pealed and the townspeople had left did Richard lift himself up. He joined with his companions and walked out into the sunlight. A roar of approval greeted them. Most of the congregation had stayed to get a closer view of the monarch and show their support. Richard looked about him curiously but acknowledged the cheers with a smile and a wave. Later in the day, the bells rang out again, this time accompanied by fanfares of trumpets and the steady beat of drums. Men tumbled out of taverns, brothels and stables, heeding the call to arms. Those who had seen Richard’s scouts gallop through the South Gate in the morning had spread the word that Henry Tudor was marching towards the city from the southwest. The king was preparing to leave Leicester and establish an advantageous battle site.

Kate wanted to see Richard ride out to victory and yet dreaded the possibility it might be her last sight of him. Finally, the excitement in the streets proved irresistible, and she left Edith behind as she ran for a good view. Most of the crowd was gathered around the castle entrance and near the West Gate, from which the road wound over the River Soar. Thousands of armed men were massing for the march out of the city. The noise was deafening and Kate hurried away from it.

The Soar created an island at that point in its flow. Kate had noticed two smaller bridges on the other side of the island during her explorations with Edith. She pushed her way through the melee, over the main bridge, along the marshy path to the stone Bow Bridge. Only a few spectators had bothered to go that far, and she sat on the wall, leaning on the large end-stone. An old woman was babbling to herself nearby. Poor thing, Kate thought, watching her. She was filthy and her gown was in tatters. Kate took a farthing from her pouch and threw it to her. “God keep you, my good woman.”

“And God keep you, mistress.” The hag grinned, showing her toothless
gums. She bit the coin and shoveled it away somewhere in the rags she wore. “The king be coming, bain’t he?”

Kate nodded and returned to her own thoughts. It was then she saw the magpie hopping along the side of the road that led to Kirkby Mallory.

“Good morning, Mr. Magpie, how’s your wife?” Kate muttered, blanching. Such an omen directly in Richard’s path. She crossed herself and spat at the same time.

The woman cackled when she saw the bird. “One for sorrow, hee, hee, ha, ha! Dickon of Gloucester, you’d best be taking t’other bridge!”

“Hold your tongue, you old crone! Perhaps ’tis a bad omen for Tudor,” Kate said.

“York, Tudor,” she grumbled, “it be all the same to me, lady. I still have to beg, no matter whose arse is on the throne!” Her next words were drowned by a fanfare, much closer this time.

Kate was right to choose the stone bridge. The archers and men-at-arms marched to the wooden bridge, swinging south from behind the trumpeters. The heralds and pursuivants, all honored members of the king’s household, led the mounted royal party, which was headed for Bow Bridge and crossed a few feet from Kate. Richard followed, the sun glinting on the polished metal of his armor and caparison of his horse. White Surrey’s tail was all that could be seen of the courser, for it was covered from head to hoof in a protective mantle bearing Richard’s arms and badge of the White Boar and the Lions of England. Richard wore his helmet, encircled by the crown, the visor raised. The colorful tabard over his armor was blazoned with the royal arms. He held his battle-axe across his saddle. Someone had given him a white rose, which he had fixed to a strap on his armor. Behind him fluttered the standards and pennants that would be rallying points during the battle. He glanced down at the people on the narrow bridge, who were only inches from him, and saw Kate. On a whim, Kate had discarded her wimple that day and simply wore a gauze veil over her loose hair. Richard’s smile told her that her daring amused him.

“Incorrigible, bold lady!” he said under his breath, and he urged White Surrey closer to her. In a moment of intuition, he reached inside his shirt and lifted the
écu
over his head.

Kate gasped. “No, Richard! ’Tis your talisman,” she whispered as the curious crowd looked on. “You must wear it, I beg of you!”

“Katherine’s lock of hair will protect me, Kate. But just in case, I want you to give this to Dickon. ’Tis all I have here and now, but if I do not return, he will have something to remember his father by.”

He bent as far as his armor would allow and handed it to her. When he rose up and White Surrey jerked forward, Richard’s mailed foot grazed the large stone, causing a spark.

“Arrrgh!” shrieked the crone, pointing to the stone and at Richard. “Another omen!” She turned to the crowd. “That same stone he struck with his foot will be struck again on his return to the city, but this time with his head! King Richard will die in this battle. That is my prediction!”

“Out of my way, woman! I will not hear your rantings.” Richard had turned pale, however, and there was a trace of fear in the last look he gave Kate, for the old woman did look like a witch.

“’Tis Hawise of Leicester. She is a soothsayer, a teller of fortunes,” a man in the crowd called. “They say she has the sight.”

Kate flinched, but then she tried to dissipate the tension—for several in the company, including Jack and his son, Thomas, had heard the woman’s pronouncement—by waving gaily and blowing Richard a kiss.

“God save your grace!” she shouted, and the others on the bridge took up the cry.

She blew Jack a kiss and then Rob and Francis. Her heart pounded faster when she spotted her son sitting proudly on his horse, the Lovell coat of arms and dog badge on his tabard. He waved at her, his eyes wide with surprise at her apparel. He could not remember ever seeing his mother’s hair loose before.

“Stay safe, John,” she called. He nodded and reached down to take her outstretched hand as she whispered, “I shall wait here to know. Send word if you can. Promise me?”

“I promise. God keep you, Mother,” he murmured, and sat up again.

Fortunately, there was only a handful of citizens who could have heard her exchanges with Richard and John, but she did not care. She returned to her perch and watched the rest of the procession with a heavy heart. The hag’s prediction had terrified her. The magpie, the removal of the talisman, the wise woman’s story—she was now certain it all added
up to disaster for Richard. She felt helpless. What could she do? Run after him and tell him to take flight? It would be absurd, and he would look foolish. Turning tail was not in his nature, she knew. He must defend his crown and his land, even if he died in the attempt.

It was an hour at least before the last of the thousands of men rode or marched over the bridges and onto the dusty road to Market Bosworth. She saw them through a haze, her thoughts riding with the man at their head, his pale face and sad eyes etched on her memory. The townspeople returned to their homes, and Kate allowed herself to float along with them. She wandered blindly into a church and kneeled on the cold stone. She took the
écu
from her purse and, using it as a rosary, begged Father, Son and all the saints to keep her love safe.

S
HE DID NOT WITNESS
Richard’s return into Leicester. The first to flee from the field were members of Jack Howard’s vanguard, broken in an early stage of the battle by the news of their leader’s death. They hurried back to Leicester, a distance of some eight miles. The yeomen archers ran through the streets, crying their news.

“The king is slain! And with him our noble lord of Norfolk and many others. The day is lost! Richard Plantagenet is beaten!”

The city was stunned. No one expected the upstart invader to vanquish the host the king had mustered. The odds were certainly against him. What had happened out there on Redemore Plain, they wondered. Their faces grim, they filtered down the lanes and streets to the West Gate and beyond to wait for the answer.

The Wygston family stood on the street with Kate and Edith, straining to hear the cry. When they did, Mistress Wygston broke down and wept at the soldiers’ words. Kate stood in stunned silence. Then all went black, and she fell to the ground. Roger Wygston carried her into the house, where she gradually regained consciousness, puzzled by the ring of anxious observers. She accepted ale from Edith, for in truth she was extremely thirsty. She took a draught. Then she remembered.