Authors: Sandra Worth
She watched him leave. William’s rashness was the reason she had excluded him from their plots, and he did not know her role in the deed at the Tower. Since Richard had as yet made no public statement about the boys’ disappearance, William Stanley, like many others, assumed they had been put to death on Richard’s orders. There lay William’s value: as a weather vane testing the direction of the wind. If a man who had not been deeply committed to King Edward blamed Richard for the princes’ disappearance, so did many others. Clearly, removing the boys—distressing as it was!—had proved a brilliant move. Good Buckingham had done them a great service.
Or perhaps the credit should go to Morton?
she thought wryly. He was the one who first discerned Buckingham’s fear that the princes, if they lived, might one day be restored to the throne and exact revenge for his part in the death of their favourite uncle, Anthony Woodville. Morton had planted the suggestion in Buckingham’s mind early on, without the vain duke ever realising it was not his own idea. The he’d played on the fear until he drove Buckingham to the deed. Clever man!
Her mouth twitched with the need to laugh. By God, Morton deserved a cardinal’s hat for his services! In getting Buckingham to murder the princes he had put Richard in an unenviable predicament. Whether or not Richard exposed the murders, he bore the blame. The princes had disappeared during his watch; that placed the responsibility squarely on his shoulders. Even if he made Buckingham’s confession public, confessions were routinely extracted under torture and lacked credence. Besides, Buckingham had been Richard’s right arm. No one would believe he had acted without Richard’s knowledge.
There was one thing, however… Buckingham had said he thought the younger boy with Edward may not have been Richard of York. She crushed the thought and the unease that accompanied it. If it wasn’t little Richard, who could it have been? Ridiculous. Buckingham was a fool.
Across the crowded room where William Stanley had disappeared, Margaret Beaufort’s sharp eyes caught Richard emerging. She put on her best smile as he approached. Stanley and Bray bowed, and she bent into a curtsy.
“My lord and lady, I am pleased you chose to celebrate Christmas with us this year,” said Richard.
The fact that Stanley had not requested permission to return to his estates since his pardon for his part in Hastings’ plot had been heartening. The powerful baron had great experience of affairs, both military and civil, and had proved himself a valuable asset in Richard’s government. He needed Stanley, but the winning of his loyalty went beyond need. It was a measure of the secret test that he had set himself. The Wily Fox had served Edward loyally for over a decade. If the baron chose to give him his loyalty, it meant Richard had succeeded in proving himself worthy of the Crown he had taken from Edward’s son.
Stanley’s red beard spread into a smile. “You are most kind to invite us, my lord.”
“And why not? We are kin, after all.” Richard regarded Margaret Beaufort. The only child of the deceased Duke of Somerset, Margaret Beaufort, like Richard and Anne, was descended from the great Duke of Lancaster, John of Gaunt. Edmund Tudor had been her second husband and Stanley her fourth. She had borne only one child, Henry Tudor, now a man about Richard’s own age whom he had never met. As for Stanley, it was rumoured that she shunned his bed, having committed her person to God. Richard regarded her a saintly woman, for she had once been blessed with a vision.
“Dear lady, I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but I wish to assure you in the spirit of this holy day, that I hold no grudges and wish only for our amity.”
Margaret Beaufort inclined her head graciously. “I thank you, my lord.”
“Our great-grandfathers, the Dukes of Lancaster and of York, were the closest of brothers and dear to one another’s hearts, so I am told.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
“Fair Cousin Margaret,” Richard said softly, “surely it would please them in heaven to see us put aside the enmity that has rent our houses so grievously?”
“My lord, on my part I shall do all I can to bring about the unity of York and Lancaster, and may God in His Grace grant England the blessed peace for which we all pray.”
A rare smile touched Richard’s lips. His eyes moved from the heavy gold crucifix around her neck to the psalter she held in her hand. Anne was wrong. Margaret Beaufort was a woman of sincerity and good intent, for where there was such piety there could not be malice. “Joy to you, Lord and Lady Stanley… Bray.” He turned to leave. Margaret Beaufort swept into a deep curtsy; Stanley and Bray bowed.
“You did well,” said Stanley to his wife as soon as Richard was out of earshot.
“I did not lie,” said Margaret Beaufort under her breath. Her mouth twisted into a cold smile. “I am indeed doing all I can to bring about the union of York and Lancaster.”
~ * ~
Chapter 10
“The blameless King… cast his eye
On each of all whom Uther left in charge
Long since to guard the justice of the King
….and found them wanting.”
After the Twelfth Night feast in the White Hall of Westminster, Richard sat at his desk, going over papers in his bedchamber. Anne watched him from the corner of her eye as a lady-in-waiting brushed her long fair hair and another scented her with rosewater. There was a subject she had wanted to broach with him all Christmas but she had not yet dared to bring it up. The moment was never right. She sighed inwardly, wondering if it would ever be. Richard allowed himself no respite from work and would labour through half the night unless she found a way to stop him. The morning would bring another exhausting day; another late night. Quietly she had the servants set a pallet, a tray of spiced wine, and Richard’s favourite cheese by the fire. She came up behind him and kissed the back of his neck.
“Nay, lady love,” he chuckled. “I can’t concentrate when you do that.”
“’Tis my aim,” Anne smiled, taking his hand and drawing him away.
“Lady, I have orders to sign for men, arms, ships; letters from kings to answer; appointments to decide—you must not tempt me away—”
“All can wait a day, Richard. They’ll not know the difference, I promise you.” She dismissed the servants and drew him to a silk pallet. She unbuttoned his grey velvet doublet trimmed with fur and silver tissue, untied the silk shirt beneath, and laid them aside. Averting her gaze from the ugly jagged white scar from his injury at Barnet that had left his right shoulder slightly lower than the left, she massaged the hard-corded muscles of his back with smooth kneading movements. Richard gave a deep sigh of pleasure.
“See, you were tense and badly in need of a woman’s touch.” She helped him into a brocaded robe and handed him a goblet of spiced wine. He planted a kiss on her smooth brow.
“My Flower-eyes.”
“My King Arthur,” she smiled. “In all ways but one.”
“And what way is that?” demanded Richard gruffly.
“You have a son and heir.” Her eyes misted.
“Aye, I know, sweet heart… As soon as we can, we’ll go north, but I fear that can’t be until after Parliament meets in January.”
Two more months before she saw Ned again! She sipped her wine, trying not to let her heartache show. Rain pattered gently at the window and the fire roared, sending out warmth and light. Such a lovely fire, but soon it would consume all its wood, she thought with a stab of inexplicable sadness. She leaned forward, picked up a small log and threw it into the hearth.
“Anne,” Richard said, munching on a slice of his favourite cheese, “do you care to hear my plans for Parliament?” He leaned back on an elbow. “The realm is restless, Anne… Strong measures would secure it quickly, but I’ve decided that’s not the right way to go. I know you disagree and think I should not have pardoned the Stanleys, but I have good reason for leniency. Though, of course, to discourage treason, I must draw the line somewhere, attaint some of the rebels—”
“And their wives and children, Richard?”
He reached out and gently traced the outline of her cheek with his knuckles. “Nay, Flower-eyes. Their wives and children shall not be left penniless. I do not punish innocents.” Anne kissed the ringed fingers against her cheek.
“As to my policy, I’ve decided to be as lenient as I can with the traitors, in part because I have no stomach for ruthless measures; in part because I wasn’t born to the throne. I came into it—some say unjustly—so I must prove them wrong, Anne. I must
earn
my right to rule by winning the hearts of my people—and those of my enemies. I hope to do that by showing forgiveness and correcting injustice.”
Anne found it strange that Richard should doubt himself, yet she had often noted that those who were truly good were never assured of their own goodness, while others, banal and wicked, held themselves in high regard, confident of their own worth. “Your right to the Crown is unquestioned, Richard, both by merit and inheritance. I know you’ll win England, as you’ve won the North.”
“The North is a small region and I had ten years to do it, Anne. England will take a very long time. Yet time is what we do not have.”
A log fell from its high perch in the hearth with a crack like thunder and split into two, shattering the tranquillity of the night. Anne gave a start but Richard, absorbed in thoughts, didn’t notice.
“First I shall explain why I have taken the throne,” he said, “for I want everyone to understand. Beyond that, I propose to turn Parliament into a body representing all the people instead of letting it remain as it is: the King’s High Court. That I shall do by the enactment of an entirely new body of laws—”
Anne’s glance strayed to a book on Richard’s desk,
The Vision of Piers Plowman
by William Langland was a tale about a weary wanderer who falls asleep and dreams of a better world where the corruption and injustices of daily life are laid bare and remedied. The cover was plain and unadorned, and the pages well worn by use. The book was one of Richard’s favourites, and clearly he had heeded its plea.
She turned her gaze back on Richard. His enthusiasm was contagious. His eyes shone, his deep voice resonated. How she loved that wonderful voice! It was almost like listening to music, so fluid, melodic, and tender. She roused herself from her thoughts, forced herself to concentrate on his words. He spoke of banning benevolences, of limiting the powers of bailiffs, of dealing with unscrupulous sellers of land who sold the same property to more than one buyer. He spoke of statutes to correct economic injustices and protect innocent men from abuses of the law. At first she listened uncritically, then a disturbing thought began to form.
“You realise that many nobles and gentry will disapprove of your measures?” she said.
“Aye, to give justice to the poor, I must take power from the mighty, many of whom have used the system to prey on the weak.” Fidgeting with his signet ring in the old manner from his childhood, he twisted it around his finger. “But I must hope there are enough men of good will to outweigh those who will resent me for doing what I know is right… what I feel compelled to do.”
“If—the Saints forfend!—there were another battle, you would have need of all your barons. Can you afford to alienate them, given the narrow margin of support left to you, my love?”
“I’m well aware of the perils of my policy. But I can’t condone what I know is wrong, yet by doing nothing, I condone it. Therefore, I have no choice.”
“You can’t right all the wrongs in the world by yourself.”
“Who else is there?”
When she said nothing, Richard took her hand. “The strong must serve the weak, Anne.”
King Arthur.
Aye, it was what she had seen, and loved, in Richard from the very first. She squeezed his hand in understanding. “As his lady said, Sir Thomas Malory would have approved of your kingship, Richard.”
For a long while they sat together, gazing at the dancing flames, drinking the spiced wine. The doubts faded and she found herself once more savouring the tranquillity of the night, unwilling to bring up the subject on her mind. Then the Abbey bells chimed one, reminding her of the lateness of the hour. She set her goblet down. “Richard, there is a favour I would ask of you, though you will not like it.”
He chuckled, regarded her tenderly. “My silly Flower-eyes, why should I not like it?”
“It regards the queen.”
“The queen?” He released her hand and sat very still for a long moment, his grey eyes hard as flint. He heaved an audible breath. “Forgive me, Anne… What would you ask of me that concerns Dame Grey?” Richard had taken to calling Bess by her first husband’s name to drive home the point that Bess Woodville was never truly wed to Edward.
“Her daughters have been in Sanctuary since May. Seven months, Richard. The three oldest—” She broke off, plaited and unplaited a fold in her white shift. “I was their age when I was in France.” Richard took her hand and pressed it to his lips. Anne rushed on before she lost her courage. “It’s hard for them, Richard. They’re young. They wish to dance, to wear pretty gowns, to be admired by young men. Instead, they’re locked up in an abbey—” She forced back the memories. “They must be so lonely. I would make them welcome at court. Can you not persuade Bess to let them leave Sanctuary?”
“You know I’ve tried. She’s a stubborn woman. She thinks I’ll do her harm and I can’t make her believe otherwise.”
“Because she thinks you’ve harmed her sons. There is a way to persuade her.”
Anne met his eyes, and he read her thoughts.
“I’m responsible for Edward’s death, Anne. I can’t let anyone know little Richard lives—especially his mother. It would encourage her to plot again, and if Tudor found out the boy was alive, he’d try to harm him.”
“’Tis a boon you’d do Bess to let her know her son lives. It would change everything between you… Richard, I know. I am a mother.”
The fire crackled and hissed. Richard stared at the rain-spattered window, watched a droplet weave a path down a dark pane. With great difficulty he’d smuggled the boy north and kept him safe all these months. He hadn’t exhibited him even to give the lie to Buckingham’s rebellion and Tudor’s rumours, because that was dangerous for the child. Now Anne was urging him to let little Richard risk a journey back to London that was fraught with peril and might well cost him his life. Or might hearten his Woodville mother to scheme again for the throne.