CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Denys could barely wait to see her husband again, to tell him the
shocking plot unfolding before her as she cowered in the
confessional in Westminster Abbey.
"I wanted a private meeting, Your Excellencies, for obvious
reasons," Edward Woodville said, his voice now more resonant. He'd
dispensed with the hushed whispers. "Gloucester has friends in the
council—well, not friends, exactly; just those who aren't willing
yet to adhere to our cause. We need to ensnare Gloucester's
protectorship and bring our new King under our sway.
"But there are those still reluctant to have a boy on the throne.
Why, I know not. Look at who his advisors will be! Why, the
Woodvilles have handled our power with aplomb, if I do say so
myself. Now, the council must needs administer the upbringing of
our lord King Edward the Fifth, and protect him from opposing
factions within the government—namely, The Hog and his lickspittle
henchmen."
"The clergy has always supported you, especially since old King
Harry was overthrown and so unmercifully murdered at the hands of
the Plantagenets," Rotherham spoke.
"If you don't mind my saying, my Lord, it has always baffled the
bishops in the council why the Woodvilles harbor such a bad name,
when the Plantagenets usurped the very throne and may do so yet
again." She heard a few clucks.
"Exactly. To that end, Your Excellency, we want to move swiftly,
slaughter The Hog, and get my nephew crowned on Sunday next."
Woodville took a deep breath she could hear from the booth and
carried on:
"Both my brother Anthony and I have long been staunch sons of the
Holy Church, because of the misfortunes suffered by our family,
not the least at the hand of the folly- fallen Clarence—another
Plantagenet gone to a deserving watery grave. As I have dedicated
myself to the cause of God—I am wearing a hair shirt right now!—I
would be grateful would Your Excellencies reciprocate in
supporting our next King, Edward the Fifth."
"Long live the King!" one of the bishops thundered.
"So, do we have the loyalty of the clergy in this?"
Now Story spoke: "Aye, we shall support you in securing the throne
for King Edward in any way we can, but executing the Duke of
Gloucester—do you truly prefer his head separate from his wiry
body? Take him alive—you will need him as a pawn later on, surely.
I just never could see the sense in killing—"
"On that I must confer with the Queen Regent and my brother
Anthony. But capture him we must. ‘Tis imperative at this point.
Killing him—well, now that I think of it, ‘twould be rather like
sinking to his level, would it not?"
"In any event, my Lord, I speak for the entire church in that we
much prefer a regency with the Woodvilles rather than Gloucester
and his godless cohorts running the government," Alcock spoke
again.
"Have you heard the atrocities laymen committed since Golden Boy
usurped the throne from King Harry? They had divers clergymen
indicted for fictitious crimes, turfed them into prisons and
plundered their belongings whilst they languished. Golden Boy did
naught; lifted not a finger, turned his pretty face ‘tother way.
Now with his brother vying for power, only the devil himself knows
what he's about. I'd rather be safe in assuming the same evil
Plantagenet blood doth run through his veins and get the youngster
crowned forthwith."
"We have been sallying forth with our plan, Your Excellency,"
Woodville replied, a little too eagerly. "And in great haste, for
the longer The Hog holds authority, the more perilous for our
supporters. Now, what I would share with Your Excellencies is our
plan for securing the regency we devised yestermorn: myself, the
Queen Regent, her son the Marquess, my brother Anthony, and
Lionel—" A brief silence as he bowed to the Bishop of Salisbury.
"We're about to surround England—literally." Silence.
Anticipation. She could almost see their pupils dilating.
"I've recently fortified the Woodville fleet with several more
vessels, thanks to the portion of the royal treasure we managed to
procure. We've leased two Genoese galleons, currently the largest
ships in the fleet. They be currently anchored in the Downs,
between the Goodwin Sands and the east coast of Kent. And I am
proud to say, as commander, our fleet is on its way to grand
success!"
"Why, that is good news indeed, my Lord! And you do make a fitting
naval commander; I always said if anyone's sails are full of wind,
yours are," was Alcock's reply to that.
The other bishops nodded and murmured their concurrence.
Woodville didn't reply, only emitted a half-amused ‘harrumph' and
carried on: "The two chartered Genoese galleons remain neutral, in
their wish to avoid offending anyone, but I reckon they harbor
more self-serving motives; one of the ship's captains is an
explorer and I have a feeling he's going to ask us to raid the
royal coffers to finance his expeditions in future."
"Ballsy of him, hay? I mean, to ask the crown's financial
backing." Alcock addressed the others and they nodded in
agreement.
"Nonetheless, the other vessels are securely in Woodville orbit.
We're quietly launching a few of them off to Calais in order to
secure it, sending a few more up the Thames to blockade the trade
there and send The Hog up the river.
"Some will head north up Scarborough way, and ‘tother way to
Wales. We may even ferry Harry Tudor over if we need some
surviving Lancastrian blood to show The Hog's supporters we mean
business. But I greatly hasten—"
"You, Edward?" Salisbury exclaimed in an exaggerated tone.
"Our mission is to obliterate The Hog and his faction—and once we
control trade, even the Viking navy wouldn't be able to help. They
wouldn't get farther than the Orkneys anyhow!" They all guffawed
in unison.
"Have you sufficient financial backing?" asked Alcock.
"Shall the clergy back up our faith with gold?"
"Er, I was getting to that, Your Excellency. We've got half the
royal treasure on one of those ships out there, with the other
half soon to follow. So I shall call on the church for financial
backing only if The Hog's supporters aren't as easily decimated as
we anticipate. All we need—for now— is your loyalty, and your
silence."
"We'll be as silent as the confessional where we now stand," he
replied, his tone reverent.
Denys' heart was pounding wildly and her mouth was so dry she
could hardly speak.
She forced herself to wait until they were gone, and not the
slightest echo remained.
And she dashed out of there, tearing up the west aisle in the
shadows among the marble tombs and effigies, fleeing the Abbey by
the Great West Door.
She scrambled up onto her palfrey and galloped to the Tower as
fast as its legs could take her.
Just as Valentine quit The Crown and Cushion after a pie and ale
repast, he saw Dove charging up the road towards the Tower, her
hair trailing behind her. Spotting him, she slowed the mount to a
trot and halted as he darted out into the road to meet her.
"Valentine! Oh, thank God!" She reached way over to embrace him
and nearly fell off. "I came to see you this morn and watched you
sleep for hours, oh, my darling."
"I am fine, Dove, truly I am! We shall talk about that later. But
why the haste?" he asked of her, noticing her flushed face and
troubled eyes, a head-dress poking out of a bag hanging from the
saddle.
"I must get to Richard at once! Please wait for me at the house
and do not disappear again, my darling!" she cried, her hand
slipping out of his as she spurred the mount on.
"Wait! I'm coming with you!" he shouted after her but she was
already gone in a swirl of dust. He could tell she wasn't going to
Richard for a game of draughts. Something was amiss, and he had a
right to know what it was. He finally caught up to her at the
entrance to the White Tower. He slid off his mount and tossed the
reins to a groom.
"Dove!" He clutched her elbow as she ran down the corridor past
the guards, who nodded at her and exchanged amused glances as she
sped by.
"Valentine, this is a matter of life and death for all of us!" she
said through spurts of breath as he followed on her heels.
"What in the name of heaven is amiss?"
"I cannot say a word with these people about! But we have little
time…"
Finally they were at the door to Richard's audience chamber. She
pushed past the guards, entered his private apartments and burst
in without knocking.
Valentine could see him standing at the window, one foot propped
up on the seat, studying the Stillington parchment. He'd donned a
doublet, gold Yorkist collar, rings and shoes.
And something else. The crown.
"Richard!" At the sound of his name, he swept the crown from his
head and placed it before him on the seat. He turned as Denys
rushed up to him and grabbed his sleeve.
"Edward Woodville is planning to capture you and execute you and
use the fleet to blockade all the ports and take Calais! He's got
the backing of every bishop on the council! Oh, Richard, I am so
afraid—"
She held back a sob, then swallowed hard as she tried to keep her
composure. Oh, how she needed to be strong, now more than at any
other moment in her life.
"Execute Richard!" Valentine exclaimed. "They could not have found
out this quickly!"
"Found out what?" Denys turned to him, panting with all her
exertions.
"That Edward and Elizabeth's marriage is invalid. Prince Edward is
a bastard son and Richard is King, legally and legitimately!"
Valentine gushed in one breathless spurt.
Denys gasped and, numb with shock, slid into the chair behind her.
"Why must you be so hasty, Val, I am not King yet! We haven't even
set the coronation date," Richard said, putting down the
parchment.
He turned to Denys, fixing his eyes on her. "So, start from the
beginning, Dove, and tell me how you came by these rumors."
"Nay, not rumors. I heard them all conspiring in Westminster
Abbey. Saw them all with my own eyes."
Richard and Valentine cast meaning glances at each other.
"Did they say exactly how they plan to capture me?"
She shook her head. "Can we escape back to Yorkshire tonight or
will that be too late?"
"Has he launched any ships yet?"
"Have you declared yourself King publicly?"
"Blast it, Dove, stop asking questions and answer mine! That is an
order!" His eyes aglare, he took a slight step forward and the
chamber fell into stony silence as Denys bowed her head in
recognition of his command.
She took a gulp of air. "I'm sorry. My mind is in such turmoil."
Richard motioned her to carry on.
"They've got their ships anchored in the Downs, between the
Goodwin Sands and the east coast of Kent. And they've got two
Genoese galleons that are neutral. They're planning to take
Calais, hasten up the Thames, blockade every port from here to
Scarborough—and kill you!" This time she couldn't hold back the
tears.
The ever-composed Richard picked up a tankard and flung it across
the chamber, but she could see he deliberately aimed for the bed.
"This is the last straw!" He heaved a deep breath. "I'll have
every one of them for this, those ill-breeding maggots! There
won't be a Woodville corpse that's not rotting on the bottom of
the Channel when I'm through with them!"
"Dickon—wait—" Valentine grabbed Richard's doublet.
Richard plucked his hand off like a piece of lint.
"Oh, bollocks! I've waited as long as I could wait!" He began
circling the chamber and Valentine followed. She was getting dizzy
watching them.
"Just listen to me for one moment, Dickon. Arresting and trying
the entire Woodville lot and their sailors, sinking their
ships—'twill make you look nothing like the benevolent lord you
want to be to these Londoners. Nay, Dickon—do this:
"Offer all the soldiers and sailors who desert the fleet a
pardon—forgiveness is much more effective than just slashing
throats and sinking boats. Such a virtuous and praiseworthy act
will turn them into your loyal, devoted subjects. They don't want
to fight the best general in the kingdom! Think of how noble,
righteous, and admirable this will make you look! You'll be as
adored here as in the north!"
Richard stopped circling and finally sat in the window seat.
"Admirable, you say?" He crossed one leg over the other, grabbed
his ankle.
"Nevertheless, I hereby declare Edward Woodville an enemy of the
state and am putting a price on his stinking head."
"Good enough, but will you follow through with my suggestion?"
"Very well, then, my most trusted councillor: How do we tell them
they've been pardoned? Send the message out there in the beaks of
falcons?" Valentine, tapping his finger on his chin, continued
circling.
"Hmm—actually, there is only one way. We must simply approach
close enough to Woodville's vessels and spread the news of the
offer of pardon." Richard was listening intently. Denys didn't
dare say a word.
"We?" Richard finally asked.
"You need summon the bravest generals you can muster, equip them
with boats, have them sail up to the fleet and yell to them that
they'll be pardoned if they lay down their arms and disburse
forthwith. Simple, Dickon. Ever so simple."
"Aye, I could use a few hundred more supporters."
‘Twould be most humiliating to the Woodvilles as well. That may be
simpler than rounding them all up and whacking off their heads.
Quite messy, too, I daresay."
Richard scowled. "All over the bloody Channel."
"This is a delicate and audacious venture and you need men with
brass—" He cupped his crotch in his hand and gestured, then
remembering his wife was present, pretended merely to scratch.
"—er—with pluck."
Richard looked up at Valentine and let a smile play upon his lips.
"Don't let me interrupt your, uh—plucking, Your Delicacy."
"Well—" Valentine gave an exaggerated shrug and laughed.
Denys couldn't stay silent any longer. "Valentine, this doesn't
sound very safe. I mean—'tisn't a battle in the true sense; ‘tis a
peace mission, but remember who you're dealing with here. They are
as cunning a den of foxes as you will ever meet."
"Fret not, my darling; we'll secure the formidable backing of some
worthy sea dogs. That Portuguese swashbuckler, Dickon—what's his
name?"