The Devil in Ermine Page 17

  Russell cleared his throat. ‘Even assuming you may be right in the long term, my lord of Buckingham, nothing will make me change my mind about breaking into the sanctuary.’

  ‘And do you suppose that I , Lord Chancellor, would dare what no one else has dared? I have no argument against the rights of sanctuary but I’ve never heard of children needing sanctuary. Has this little boy committed any crime? No, of course not. By the law of this realm, he has neither claimed sanctuary nor has it been granted to him and I think if the child was asked to make the decision he would tell you that he would rather not be cooped up in there with no room to play.’ I warmed to the crux of my argument. ‘So, my lords, if Prince Richard has not asked for sanctuary, it is not breaking the law to remove him.’ I subsided feeling rather red-faced but saw to my amazement that they agreed with me. Even Hastings did not argue and that made me mighty curious.

  Russell actually smiled. ‘I congratulate on your arguments, my lord. Put in those terms, I see no difficulty, but let us try my way first.’

  WOMEN are so unpredictable. The Queen agreed to Russell’s proposal but begged that her son might stay with her a few days longer because she was nursing him through a bad cold. Russell was so relieved that he accepted the compromise gratefully, not suspecting as I did that Elizabeth might be planning to move against Richard in the next day or so. I knew full well the only thing she ever nursed in her entire life were grievances.

  Russell came to tell us the good news while we were dining with Prince Edward at Aunt Cis’s board. The Prince was pleased and while he was safely distracted showing his grandmother the tricks of the monkey his Uncle Richard had given him, my cousin the future king drew me aside. We agreed then that we should double the guard around Westminster Sanctuary and widen the net we had set to snare Mistress Shore.

  Sweet Mistress Shore! Our men had been waiting to intercept her since the day Hastings had quarrelled with me. But either he was being cautious about who shared his bed or she had been indisposed with her monthly course. But at the end of the week, at last our patience was rewarded. On Thursday just before curfew at nine o’clock Richard’s men followed Shore’s pretty butt to Beaumont Inn, Hastings’ London house, and kept watch until my men took over from them just before daybreak.

  It would not be easy to arrest so famous a woman for treason. Not without a hubbub. That meant we had to plan our interception carefully. Her practice had been to go by boat from Beaumont Inn, where Hastings lodged, to Westminster Palace steps and then up to the sanctuary. Usually a couple of Hastings’ servants preceded her to the quay to whistle up a wherry. Hastings never gave her the use of his barge; that would have been too public.

  That day there was the usual early morning business at the house, servants going about their chores but something more – a rustle, if you like – in the house’s undergrowth. When Hastings’ retainers reached the river, my officer and his men arrested them. Arrested? To be honest, it was more like a few well-directed blows on their heads, then my fellows stripped them of their surcotes and put them on. The lovely Shore did not suspect anything as she left Beaumont Inn. No doubt she was hazily languid with the night’s ardour and it was not until the boat was in mid-stream and heading downstream towards the Tower that she realised. Apparently, the moist cherry lips opened and her bosom rose as she took breath for a scream but my officer clamped his palm against her mouth and his companion held a dagger to her ribs. Her hands jerked up to hurl the basket of sweetmeats she was carrying into the Thames but her aim was miserable and they fell about the bottom of the boat. My captain retrieved every sticky one of them, thank God, and kept them in his lap. It was gusty out there on the water so he made no attempt to search the basket there and then.

  I was waiting at the Watergate of the Tower. Mistress Shore glowered at me with a mixture of hatred and fear as my men hauled her up the steps. I was sure she was as guilty as Hell.

  ‘Today is Friday the thirteenth,’ I told her as we threw a cloak over her head.

  A QUARTER of an hour later I made haste up the lane, past the Wakefield Tower and across the grass to the White Tower, brushing the sugar from my finery. It was beginning to rain, as I remember.

  I had not been idle. There was no time to question Mistress Shore but I dissected each of the sweetmeats. Then I left her gagged and shackled in a room above the Watergate. My men were sworn to deny access to even the Lieutenant of the Tower. All we needed was to keep news of her arrest from seeping across to the upper floor of the White Tower, where the joint meeting between the councils of the Lord Protector and the Prince had already begun.

  The cobbles were slippery in the drizzle and I was breathless as I arrived at the foot of the outside wooden stairs to the keep. I paused as if to catch my breath, taking off my gloves. It was the pre-arranged signal to Tom Howard, who was in charge of Richard’s escort that morning. He was with two of Richard’s northern captains, Pilkington and Harrington and some dozen White Boar men outside the royal lodging. They were laughing and talking as if nothing was untoward, but he was watching for my signal and came across instantly.

  ‘Good morrow to you, my lord.’ His voice carried cheerfully. I nodded at the question in his eyes.

  ‘It is a very good morning.’ Then I said softly, ‘I want you and your men up outside the Council Chamber in a few moments. No fuss and no noise, you understand?’

  Tom was no fool; he wanted to inherit a dukedom. ‘Leave it to me, my lord.’

  Meanwhile I hurried ahead up the narrow twisting stairs as fast as I could. The meeting was already in session. The guards would have let me through instantly but I gestured to them that I wished to recover my breath. I was listening. Hastings was there. I could hear him telling the others some tale of how he had met an old acquaintance by chance on the Tower’s wharf, and that the last time they had met he had found himself in some sort of danger.

  I thrust the halberds aside and burst in. Hats and mitres swung round on me with an array of amazement and disapproval.

  ‘My lord of Buckingham!’ exclaimed Richard, like a schoolmaster, interrupted by the arrival of a late miscreant pupil. ‘Whatever is the matter?’ I could see concern in his eyes, concern that a rising had broken out, that we were already outnumbered.

  ‘Gloucester, I must speak with you!’ My voice was passionate.

  He turned courteously to the long table of faces. ‘Excuse me for a few moments.’

  Outside the chamber, he almost had a fit at the array of soldiers clogging the stairs and crowding into the antechamber. He glanced at Tom Howard and then at me.

  ‘What in God’s Name—’

  ‘We have the evidence we need. Read this!’ I said, pulling the small drawstring bag from my doublet. Spread wide, it revealed the tiny scrap of vellum surrounded by the broken honeyplum. Richard took the tiny ball wonderingly, opened it out and scanned it twice, dismay growing in his eyes. It was a promise in Hastings’ hand. A promise of reassurance to Elizabeth. ‘We arrested the harlot Shore this morning,’ I told him. ‘She was taking that message to the sanctuary.’

  Richard’s gaze was hard now. Immediately, he swung about to one of his secretaries who was in attendance in the antechamber. ‘Ask Sir William Catesby to come out here.’

  Catesby came through the doorway, took one look at Richard’s stern visage and the armed men beyond, and swallowed hard.

  ‘I want a second opinion,’ snapped my cousin brusquely. ‘Is that Hastings’ handwriting?’

  Catesby’s fingers shook as he examined the tiny scrap of vellum. He nodded nervously but we needed to creak the words out of him.

  ‘I should say so, yes.’

  ‘But could you swear it?’ demanded the Lord Protector. Catesby’s Judas eyes met my cousin’s hawklike scrutiny.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So be it,’ replied my cousin, biting his lip. There was no time for reconsidering. In a low voice, he gave Tom curt instructions, then he and I returned to the meeting. Catesby hung back,
preferring to wait outside.

  We took our places with obvious heaviness of spirit. Hastings watched me with dislike and I could not resist licking my sticky fingers, but he seemed unaware of the cannon shot about to explode around him. Richard looked ill as he faced them, as grey as he must have looked when the news of King Edward’s death had come to him at Middleham.

  ‘There is a plot to destroy myself, my cousin of Buckingham, and those amongst you whose friendship I hold most dear.’ His gaze swept sorrowfully over them but his eyes probed for signs of guilt. Bishop Morton raised a surprised eyebrow, Archbishop Rotherham shifted uneasily and sweat dribbled down the forehead of Lord Stanley even though that it was a cool, damp morning. At the end of the table Doctor Oliver King, the Prince’s tutor, peered at us above his spectacles and swallowed hard.

  ‘Who are they then?’ prompted Hastings. He always hated silences. ‘Let them be justly punished.’

  Richard looked at him in sorrow. ‘The Queen, her son Dorset, her brother the Bishop of Salisbury, my brother’s harlot, Shore, and others.’ Hastings dropped his gaze to the table. ‘They have tried to paralyse the proper form of government in this land and they have sought to countermand my brother’s will. You, Morton, Stanley, Rotherham and Doctor King are bloody traitors.’

  Morton had spine. Indignation quivered in every fold of his jowls but Stanley could not help looking to Hastings.

  ‘What have I done to injure any of you?’ shouted Richard. ‘Hastings!’ The cry was wrenched from him. ‘You were my friend. How have I offended you?’ He flung the message scrap before him.

  Hastings’ eyes never left my cousin’s face as his fingers blindly found the leather scrap. As he lowered his head to read it, his eyes flew wide in horror.

  Outrage and anguish laced my cousin’s voice. ‘Hastings, Hastings, how could you side with that witch Elizabeth and that strumpet Shore against me?’

  ‘No, no!’ exclaimed Hastings, shaking his head vehemently as he recoiled from Richard’s fury. ‘I am no traitor!’ But under cover of the board, we did not know he had drawn a dagger. ‘If there be a traitor here, it’s you!’ He lunged at Gloucester.

  ‘Treason!’ I roared.

  Lord Howard leapt up to grab Hastings’ mantle. Tom’s men burst in, swords drawn and there was a fine old scuffle because we had not made it earlier clear to them who they were to arrest, and everyone was yelling, with myself bawling orders at Tom, trying to make myself heard above the din.

  Hastings drove the rondel upwards but Richard managed to swerve and grab his forearm, forcing the blade away, though it took all his strength and being shorter, he was at an awkward angle. I was too far away to help. It was only when Lord Howard managed to get his arm round Hastings’ throat that Richard was able to force the dagger from his grasp. The guards seized Hastings, pinioning his arms behind his back.

  My cousin righted his chair and collapsed in it, gasping. ‘Take him away!’ he commanded huskily, pointing at Hastings. ‘I never want to see his face again.’

  ‘You heard!’ I ordered.

  ‘You!’ Hastings’ venom fell on me. ‘You fucking spawn of Satan, this is all your doing.’ I gave a nod to the soldiers and they dragged him out towards the stairs.

  My cousin’s shoulders sagged. It was over. His brother’s friend had betrayed him. His anger was spent.

  ‘And what of these, your grace?’ asked Pilkington, prodding Morton none too gently to his feet. Stanley had been grabbed from beneath the table and looked quite foolish, his hat over one eye and his cheek bleeding. Rotherham’s face was furious. Either arm held, Oliver King politely requested that one of the soldiers find his spectacles. Morton was humming, as if he did not care a jot. A pity Dead Ned had never set the precedent for lopping bishops.

  From his chair, Richard studied his prisoners like a weary god on Judgment Day and then he straightened his head, turned his face to me and said with a cold loftiness. ‘Cousin, will you see that these traitors are taken away and closely kept?’

  ‘With pleasure,’ I smirked, overseeing the hustling out. ‘I’ll have the Lieutenant of the Tower find you the best quarters, gentlemen.’ I gave Master King a slap on his thin back that sent him staggering. We still could hear the curses coming from Hastings further down the stairwell. It would have been a dog’s job getting him down and right hazardous. The stairs twisted like a rope and he was not a small man.

  I came back brushing my hands. Richard had subsided onto the carved chair and had buried his face wretchedly in his shaking hands. Lovell’s hand was on his shoulder, and Howard was declaring what everybody needed was strong liquor. I grinned and hurried downstairs after the clanking guards. I caught up with Hastings’ escort in the guardroom on the ground floor where they were waiting for the Lieutenant of the Tower to allocate a cell.

  ‘Find a priest to shrive ’em and fetch the executioner!’ I barked.

  Hastings flung continual obscenities at me while Stanley shook and wet himself. The priest arrived in a hurry.

  'Get this traitor outside,’ I growled. ‘He can say his confession in the rain. It won’t make any difference, will it?’ The priest gave me a furious glare and followed the struggling Lord Chamberlain.

  I turned my attention to Stanley. My fingers grabbed the opening of his cote and jerked his large bulk towards me. ‘You fool!’ I sneered. ‘Shall you be next?’

  He spluttered and writhed within my grasp, begging for his life.

  ‘Your life!’ I flung him away from me into his escort’s clutch with an oath. ‘Well, you shall have it. I shall intercede with the Lord Protector on your behalf. Loose him.’ They dropped him and he sagged between the soldiers. ‘You are lucky that you never came so close to Gloucester, Stanley. He finds it easier to forgive his enemies than his friends.’ I jerked my head meaningfully towards the door they had dragged Hastings through. ‘See that Lord Stanley is more comfortably housed than the others,’ I ordered. Stanley beseeched God to shower blessings on my head.

  I pulled my mantle about me and stepped outside.

  Across the cobbled yard on a strip of grass, Hastings was kneeling before the priest, his face sour with something that was not repentance and he scowled at me as the chaplain murmured absolution.

  ‘Finished? Good. There should be a block of wood over there that will do us nicely.’ I pointed towards a pile of building materials. Two of the men-at-arms ran across. They attempted to carry a wooden block but, finding it beyond them, one of them began to kick it with his foot. The headsman came hurrying out with a huge axe in his hand.

  ‘Make haste!’ I bawled at him. It had to be done quickly before Richard had second thoughts. Ratcliffe, the only man likely to have had the presence of mind to stop me, was on his way to York. Grand Aunt Cis would have wished me to advise my cousin to hold Hastings for trial but that was not what I wanted.

  The anger in Hastings suddenly subsided. This was the end for him and reality had at last driven the sharp knowledge home like a blow in the belly. With dignity he knelt down once more on the muddy grass and two of the soldiers dragged the block into position. It was scoured and criss-crossed like a cook’s chopping board.

  ‘Have you a last wish, traitor?’ I asked.

  He did not turn his head, his eyes were taking in the unfeeling clouds and the summer leaves on the cherry trees close by.

  ‘Yes, I have,’ he said softly, his blue eyes growing watery. ‘Ned promised me that I might be buried at his feet. I was ever at his side in life and I would be loyal to him in death.’ Tears ran down his cheeks or was it merely the rain?

  ‘I shall tell his grace,’ I promised.

  ‘And one thing more, Buckingham. I curse you.’

  ‘At least you no more pity me. Are you done now?’

  ‘Yes. Yes! In God’s Name, strike hard!’

  LONDON did not give Richard any time for inner flagellation. The news ran fast as a summer grassfire. The Lord Mayor came galloping into the Tower, white-faced, expecting the
worst and my cousin gave him audience among the debris of the meeting chamber.

  It took me a while to compose myself before I could face my cousin, for although the soldiers had swiftly bundled Hastings’ headless body into canvas and slung it into a cart, the ruddy puddles had churned my belly and I could not leave the garderobe in the royal lodging for a while .

  As I returned to the keep, I met Howard halfway down the White Tower’s spiral staircase. Unfortunately the torches of the stairwell lit my face.

  ‘Not like dancing at Westminster, is it, lad?’ Was that sympathy or an insult?

  I swallowed. ‘I never realised there would be so much—’

  ‘Blood?’ He finished for me. ‘Never been on a battlefield, have you?’ One sideways shove to where the step petered to nothing and he could have sent me tumbling down to my death. Instead, he retreated to the small recess above to let me pass.

  ‘Harry.’ The soldier’s edge to his voice had softened. I looked back down on him. ‘You’ll not be the only one with a conscience tonight. Do not blab to Dickon that you know, but he has just sent off Assheton with an order to Ratcliffe for the execution of Rivers, Grey and Vaughan. To punish Elizabeth, I imagine.’

  I clambered on up like a blind man.

  I had been readying myself to endure Richard’s self-recrimination and to carry the full blame for Hastings’ death, prepared to quote precedents to justify myself, to point out that like Henry II before him, my cousin had made a statement that was easy to take literally. Instead, I passed the soldiers and entered the chamber in shock. My cousin was as guilty as I was.

  Christ forgive! How would I explain any of this to Meg? There was still time to send a counter order to save her father. But looking at Richard’s face in the antechamber, I already had my answer.

  He looked haggard enough to convince a dozen lord mayors that there had been an attempt on his life, but he was fully in control.