The Devil in Ermine Page 21

  ‘I’ll see to it.’ Mayor Shaa heaved himself back into the saddle and forced his horse through the cluster of dignitaries. The noise gradually dwindled to a testy mutter and he returned with a smug expression.

  I took my hands off my hips and turned once more to crane my neck at my cousin. It was uncomfortable to keep looking up and I had strained my voice on the previous shout.

  ‘We are here, your grace, to petition you to resign the post of Lord Protector.’ A gasp shuddered out of the ignoramuses at the back. For an instant, Richard let outrage darken his features. Of course it was all play, but maybe it brought home to him that he was dependent on our good will for his survival.

  ‘In what way have I offended?’ he demanded in a voice that must have been heard above the battle noise on Barnet and Tewkesbury fields. His long fingers spread wide and his tone took on the just amount of indignation. ‘Name my offence and I shall answer for it!’

  ‘Oh no, your grace.’ My smile was as public as I could make it. ‘You have offended no man here.’

  ‘Only the women!’ called out some wag and squawked as someone clouted him hard.

  ‘My lord, we wish you to resign your stewardship of our beloved realm so that you may instead guide us as our loving king and lord, which by your royal lineage and most worthy person you deserve to be.’

  This was the tricky part. There was a hush as the crowd waited for his answer.

  ‘You have a king already, my brother’s son.’ Richard flung a hand towards the turrets beyond the tenements of Billingsgate. A nice touch as the sunlight made a timely entry and lit the gems on his fingers.

  ‘Most gracious lord, it has been proven to the satisfaction of Parliament that your noble brother King Edward IV, whom God assoil, was not lawfully wed to Dame Elizabeth Woodville and thus the issue of that union is not lawful either. Their progeny cannot inherit nor usurp the governance of this realm. There is no one, your grace, with a better right to the crown than your most noble self.’

  Except me!

  I bowed again, hand on heart.

  Lords and commoners watched the face above them lose all trace of cheer and charm. Richard showed he was aware of his wife watching him anxiously, of his mother primly observing the people as if she was some sightless saint hewn of stone. He was staring solemnly down at us, his mind taking in each of our faces, and inwardly savouring the rising glory. We waited patiently until he at last broke the silence, his voice carrying so clearly that no man had to strain to catch the words.

  ‘My lords, gentlemen, friends all, you offer me greater honour than any man may dream of, but I am utterly unworthy of the task so I must decline your generosity of spirit. Not only because I am conscious of my own failings but I know that if I agree, my name shall become synonymous with the term tyrant throughout all Christendom, and when all of us are cold earth and there is no one left to tell the truth, men will called me a usurper. I pray you, therefore, do not ask this of me.’

  ‘My Lord Protector,’ I replied, ‘we commend you for your modesty and your sensibility but we cannot accept your refusal. It has been proved to the Royal Council’s satisfaction that King Edward’s sons are bastards, unable to inherit, and that your grace is the rightful heir. If you refuse our request, your grace, then you compel us to look elsewhere, and there is another willing, who dwells beyond these shores and considers he has a right.’ It was right perilous mentioning Tudor but I could hardly suggest myself.

  Richard went rigid. He had not been prepared for that.

  Behind me, Gunthorpe gave a snort of disapproval. ‘That was hardly called for, my lord of Buckingham.’

  ‘He has no choice, Gunthorpe. Let it be seen he has no choice.’

  Above us, Richard had recovered his composure and his response came loud and clear as if he wanted as many witnesses as possible to be able to testify to his words, as if he feared being in the dock on Judgment Day:

  ‘Very well, if it is truly the desire of the Lords and Commons then I shall accept, but be certain, all of you, that you want me for your king. Be sure, for without your loyalty and your love, such kingship as I can give you rests on air.’ He spread his long fingers wide in suppliance. ‘I have no wish to be king.’ There was a sudden jeer from the back. ‘Yea, by my immortal soul,’ he shouted, ‘I dare swear so, for it is true whether you would have it true or not. I repeat I have no wish to be king but in the absence of a legal claimant with better right than I, it seems I have no choice and must obey God’s Will and yours!’

  Cheers broke out but he held up his hand for silence. ‘All I ask is that you remember it was you who wanted me for your king; and I swear here before Almighty God that I shall do my best to bring justice and peace to this troubled land.’

  Well, thank Heaven, that was over. I flung up my hat and caught it with a shout.

  ‘God save King Richard!’ I yelled and knelt on the muddy cobbles. Richard’s friends tumbled to their knees and the courtyard rang richly with cheers, echoed by a roar of exclamation from the river and more huzzahs.

  The new king reached out for his lady’s hand and drew her to his side as he acknowledged the applause with the tight sad hint of a smile. I almost pitied him. It would have been much easier for me but Dead Ned’s beloved brother felt every shout with anguish as well as pleasure.

  As if conscious of the irony that her father had fought and died to ensure a crown for her, Lady Anne was clinging proudly to her lord and graciously enjoying the cheers. The Londoners had always loved her not just for her father Warwick’s sake but because they remembered how Dead Ned had paraded her as a captive after her father’s slaying.

  Oh come, Aunt Cis, I chided silently. Stop standing there like a wooden chess queen! He is the only son you have left. The old besom melted at last, she kissed him on both cheeks and then with a half-curtsey carried his hand to her lips. The people clapped. Then Richard turned back to face us and held up his hand again and a hush fell.

  ‘What do you wish me to do now, my lords and gentlemen?’

  I had restored myself thankfully to my feet and now with a bow, I gestured to Gunthorpe to kneel and proffer the petition, which he did with blessed conciseness: ‘We most humbly beg your grace to ride with us to Westminster where Parliament may proclaim you formally as our king.’

  Richard inclined his head graciously. ‘I shall be with you directly.’

  His mother took control. ‘My lords and gentlemen, I welcome you to my house to drink the health of the king’s grace, Richard III!’

  There was vociferous agreement on that and while the new king and queen went to wave to the people on the river, I led the way into Baynard’s Castle.

  After drinking his health, it was back through the city to shouts of ‘God save the King!’ The well-wishers were nearly all men, I noted. This time, it was ‘King’ Richard who led the way with Suffolk and myself at his stirrups. Elizabeth must have heard the noise as we arrived at Westminster Palace and I hoped someone had bothered to tell her why.

  In the Great Hall, the judges and magistrates were waiting in their silks and ray robes. My cousin hesitated at the sight of the marble chair with its purple velvet cushion. I saw him swallow with emotion at the betrayal of trust he was committing so I stepped before him and gestured him to seat himself. Like the soldier he was, he took the final step, turned and sat. Applause crashed around us but I could see that for my cousin the moment was solemn, holy, and I realised he recognised, not my hand as having led him there, but the hand of God.

  They were expecting a tidy little speech, merely appropriate thanks but they miscalculated. Richard, made sacred by their blessing, lectured the practitioners of the law, the self-assured judges, the clever lawyers and the burly sergeants at law on Justice. He told them it was to be the foundation stone of his reign, that men were equal were before the law, both lords and commoners alike; and that he would rule without prejudice or malice. As a gesture of his sincerity he ordered one of the sergeants to cross to the sanctu
ary and bring out the first of the fugitives he found there. We waited, amazed, like an audience at a mystery play wondering how this would turn out.

  We heard the footsteps. All eyes swerved as the doors opened. Sir John Fogge stood on the threshold. He was a close relative of the Woodvilles and had been involved in the scandal when the Woodvilles had stripped a prosperous merchant of his possessions on a trumped-up charge. Here was testing indeed: there was no love between my cousin and Fogge.

  There was fear in the twitch of the knight’s left cheek as he walked in the silence up to the marble throne and saw who sat there now.

  King Richard rose and offered him his hand. ‘Today is the first day of my reign, Sir John, and your pardon is my first deed as king.’ Fogge went down on one knee, almost dazed. ‘I pardon this man as an example of the mercy and friendship I wish to prevail in this land. Let there be no more enmity among us. Sir John, you are at liberty. You may return home to Kent a Justice.’ Fogge kissed his ring, stepped backwards down the dais, bowed again and marched from the hall a free man and then the hall erupted in applause.

  Richard’s solemnity vanished. ‘Let us to mass,’ he said lightly, touching my sleeve, and we filed behind him across the courtyard to where the Abbot and his monks waited bearing a golden cross and the abbey banners to lead us to te deums just as his brother had been led two decades before.

  I hope Elizabeth was spitting.

  CHAPTER 10

  By Saturday, Howard was given the strawberry coronet of Norfolk, Tom Howard became Earl of Surrey and Catesby was made Chancellor of the Exchequer, an office that could be peeled from him as swift as a scullion can disrobe an onion. My advice, I admit. A man who can change his coat and betray his master might do so again. As for me? Since we no longer had Hastings, I had the organization of the coronation dumped in my lap.

  Our new king was in testy temper. Sweaty Ratcliffe and my lord of Northumberland had turned up on the doorstep with an army of Yorkshiremen, who were no longer needed, and I was blamed for it. Not only was Ratcliffe damnably sulky that he had missed all the excitement but rudely outspoken about Hastings’ execution.

  We rode out to Moorfields where the northerners were camped. They made a great circle around us and you could have heard their roar for King Richard back at London Bridge as he doffed his hat at them. Their affection made me envious as Satan. I had as much hope of the Welsh fêting me as fly across the Thames.

  Richard was clearly purring at their devotion but inside he was seething.

  ‘Thank the Blessed Christ, they didn’t arrive last week. It would have looked as though I was seizing the crown by force.’

  ‘It was last week you might have needed them,’ I pointed out defensively.

  He ignored that. ‘Yes, but what-do-I-do-with-them-now, Harry? Our enemies are going to make a meal of this.’

  ‘Simple!’ Ratcliffe butted in before I could answer. ‘Make them special constables for the coronation, because I tell you this, I am not friggin’ well escorting them north again.’

  And while Richard was going round their campfires, shaking hands, dear Ratcliffe waited until no one was within earshot and then he had another swipe at me.

  ‘You might like this.’ With a superior face, he drew a folded parchment from his doublet. It smelled of sweat and horses.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked suspiciously.

  ‘A copy of Lord Rivers’ will, your grace. Since you are married to his sister and screwing his daughter, I thought you might like to pass it on.’

  By Heaven, I nearly smashed my fist into his smirking mouth. ‘You have good teeth, Ratcliffe, I suppose you want to keep them.’

  ‘You have the King’s trust, my lord. I suppose you want to keep it.’

  ‘While you were messing around in Yorkshire, sirrah, I made your master king and with not a drop of blood spent.’

  ‘Really, my lord? I thought you personally dispatched Lord Hastings.’

  I shook my head in exasperation and tried to be decent. ‘I do not understand why you are trying to make an enemy of me, Ratcliffe. I thought we were all on the same side.’

  ‘Aye, I hope so, my lord, but when I hear that you are all cosy with Rivers’ bastard, it makes me wonder if the King knows of it?’

  ‘You can wonder what you sodding well like.’ I strode off to join Richard. All my life I had strived for respect for my rank and my person. I did not get it from the Woodvilles and if the northern whoresons could not treat me fairly, I should show them they were making a mighty error.

  ‘IS HE pardoned?’ Meg hurtled down the stairs into me as I entered the house, where she had been safeguarded. ‘Tell me!’

  I caught the shapely bundle of impetuous womanhood and turned her back towards the stairs.

  ‘No, he’s not,’ I whispered. I urged her back to the upper chamber where I could speak with her in private and thrust the door closed.

  ‘I don’t understand. The usurper pardoned Fogge.’

  I plucked off my gloves and tossed them onto the window seat. ‘Fogge was fortunate, that’s all, and never call the King a usurper.’ Then I turned to face her and make matters clear. ‘Your father is dead, Meg. He was executed by the Earl of Northumberland three days ago, together with your cousin Grey. I warned you they were hostages for the Elizabeth’s obedience. Blame her!’

  With her fingers clutched to her lips, she dropped onto the settle, her blue skirts settling around and tears trickling silently down her cheeks. Had I been an artist, I would have painted her in her beauty and her sorrow. Poor Meg.

  I sat down beside her and made to put my arm about her, fool that I was, but she thrust me away. ‘I cannot believe this, that you…’ She fumbled angrily in her girdle purse for a kerchief. ‘You made that foul duke king, yet my father who was a good man—’

  Good? A self-centred prick. Just because he was a handsome piece of brawn on the tiltyard and could manage a rhyming couplet.

  I stood up, flipped open the flagon on the table. It was a weak perry. A woman’s drink.

  ‘Sweetheart?’

  ‘Don’t you sweetheart me, you lump of excrement! Have you come to brag, Buckingham, to impress me with how clever you are? “Look, Meg, I’ve made a king.” Well, any fool can put a paper crown on a pig.’

  Excrement, was I? My laugh was patronizing. ‘Oh and what did your family do for England? Procreate, that’s fucking all.’ I sat down beside her again but she whacked the back of her arm into my chest and wriggled away as far as she could.

  ‘How can you be so remorseless, so despicable?’

  ‘Ask Elizabeth and your cousin Dorset. I am actually trying to be sympathetic.’

  More cascades trickled down her cheeks and splashed on to her collar. She did not – maybe could not – answer so I waited, my hands clasped between my knees, waited as she sobbed for her father, waited, longing to hold her in my arms. Slowly her breathing stilled.

  ‘Am I still excrement?’

  She nodded gravely, her little nose buried in the sodden, silk cloth.

  ‘Use your head, my darling.’ I who was supposed to be a smith of words fumbled to find the phrases and despaired. ‘Oh, Meg,’ I pleaded. ‘It would not have made any difference. I could no more have saved your father than St Peter could have stopped the crucifixion.’

  ‘You could have done it for me.’

  ‘And it would have been for the wrong reasons. Loved is not purchased. It either is or it isn’t.’

  I was so afraid that she had used me, given me kisses and fondlings only to buy her father’s freedom, that the truth was gilded lead. Desperate, I strode across and plundered the aumery, unstoppering the flask there. It was empty.

  ‘It must have been easier, I suppose, not dying alone,’ she said at last.

  I thought of Hastings.

  ‘Yes, there would have been comfort in that,’ I said wearily. ‘I’ve brought a copy of your father’s will. He asked for Richard to be his executor.’ That astonished her. ‘To be h
onest, I think he had a great deal of respect for Gloucester.’ She did not like that one bit and sniffed defiantly. I drew the folded papers from my belt, and laid it between us on the cushion. ‘I though you should have it.’

  She mopped her fingers on the sodden kerchief before she picked the papers up. ‘But this is not his writing.’

  ‘It is a copy, Meg.’

  ‘Most of this is verses,’ she exclaimed in puzzlement, looking from one sheet to the other. ‘Some sort of poem.’

  ‘Yes.’ Five verses. Eight lines each. I almost knew them by heart.

  It’s… it’s all about accepting his misfortune and…and apologising for some misdealings in property.’ She read the second page again, her frown deepening. ‘Bequests to the poor, something for his wife but there’s no mention of Mother or I.’

  ‘No, Meg.’

  ‘Why did you show it me?’

  ‘Should I have withheld it, then?’

  ‘No, Harry,’ she whispered, and more softly, sadly, ‘no.’

  I sighed, knowing how much she was hurting. ‘Your father wanted the world to recognise him as a philosopher. Those verses are a gracious epitaph.’ I watched her fingers stroke along the lines as though she might discern some intimacy beneath the ink

  ‘But so selfish, Harry. Is this how he spent his last hours? Not thinking of us at all? My mother will be heartbroken. She ruined her honour for love of him. All her life it was nothing but him, when was he was coming to visit us, how many months and how many days until she heard his foot upon the stair, his voice in the yard? Every morning without fail, she lit a candle in the chapel and prayed for him.’ She looked round at me, her eyes bitter. ‘Compostela, Rome. Did he light candles for us?’

  ‘I am sure he did,’ I lied. At last she let me draw her head against my breast and I closed within my arms like a precious pearl.

  WE lay together that night, our love-making a comfort and a giving. In the morning, I broke my other tidings.