The Devil in Ermine Read online

  ‘My lord, I write a fair hand. Do you need letters prepared or is there some other way I may serve you?’ Poor wretch, I had forgotten I had asked him to wait up for me. I nodded to him to follow us up to my bedchamber.

  As we drank on, he proved quite a wit, pumping out scurrilous tales of pompous Cambridge deans.

  ‘Do you know it’s the Devil’s Eve?’ he asked as the Grey Friars’ bell struck midnight. We all crossed ourselves.

  ‘Ah well, I am sure all the Northampton housewives will be flying on their broomsticks to the nearest common,’ I quipped. The thought of the tapster wench at The Bear naked astride a broomstick was definitely appealing. Imagination would have to be my solace when I climbed into bed.

  ‘Have any of you ever met a witch, a true witch?’ asked Limerick.

  ‘I met the Queen’s mother,’ I chuckled. ‘Oh come, do you not remember the old besom was investigated for wi…’ I hiccoughed, ‘witchcraft back in ‘69, but, beshrew me, I have had it to here with Woodvilles for today.’ I sliced a wobbly finger across my throat. ‘To Fortune, the comely wench!’ We soon emptied the jug.

  I turned my inebriated attention to Nandik. ‘Did you study ast…ast—’

  ‘Astrology, my lord? Aye, it was part of my studies.’

  ‘Then c-can you…? No, no, uncle, let me finish! Can…can you cast a horoscope for me, Nan…Nan-dik?’

  ‘Given the correct information, your grace.’

  ‘Wh-wh-en we reach London, cast mine for me, Nan-hic-dik, good man. He’s a good man, isn’t he, eh?’

  ‘Without accurate co-ordinates, my lord, it may mean nothing but, pray you, see this.’ The fellow took a folded paper from his bosom. My horoscope?

  ‘Christ forbid!’ snarled Uncle Knyvett, but I snatched it before he could.

  ‘What does it s-say?’ I asked, blinking at the hurly-burly of spheres and Latin. ‘I think I need spectacles.’

  ‘At twenty-eight, my lord?’ That was Delabere chiming in. ‘You’re in your cups.’

  ‘Am I? No wonder I c-cannot read the poxy thing. Interpret, if you please, M-Master Scholar. You have terrible handwriting.’

  ‘Fame shall exceed your wealth. ’

  ‘Pah! F-Fame! Half of England has…has never heard of me.’

  ‘What about the other half?’ quipped Latimer.

  I laughed. ‘Well, they haven’t either. You’re a p-poxy flatterer, Nandik.’

  ‘No, your grace, it is true. You will go down in the chronicles.’ Then he mumbled something about being careful of Rivers, and that therein lay my fate. Well, I’d already dealt with that danger.

  To be honest, I am not certain that was the entire gist of our conversation, for in the morning I had a sore head and a poor memory. Nor did I resurrect the matter with Nandik that day but secretly I resolved to give him the correct hour of my birth and let him draw the chart anew when we reached London.

  Any man could have made the same prediction as Nandik. However, that night in Northampton was Satan’s Eve. I wonder now if the Devil did crawl out of Hell to listen to our idle words.

  CHAPTER 4

  Our new monarch endured the penance of watching Northampton’s May Day celebrations. Together with Mayor Lynde, it was my chore to attend Prince Edward, who proved quite amenable until afterwards when I laughingly refused his request to see our Woodville hostages. He threw a tantrum and retired to his room to sulk so I took myself off on a local pilgrimage. First to my grandsire’s grave in the Church of the Grey Friars, and then to the guildhall where Lynde dredged up two elderly aldermen, who had witnessed the battle of 1460 and agreed to show me the actual place where my grandfather was slain. To be honest, I am not sure that they even knew but they pointed out some laneway flagstones where I could say a prayer and leave my flowers of remembrance. Still high on yesterday’s bloodless victory, I was no longer as mindful as I should have been of Grandfather Buckingham’s bloody end—how Fate can strike the seemingly inviolate. My lesson from his demise? Choose the most likely victor!

  As the sombre afternoon dimmed, Richard, with the typical Plantagenet impatience that all of us possess, tired of dictating letters to the individual members of the Royal Council assuring them of his honesty. He called his officers and mine together and we began feverishly to plan our action if London chose to support the Woodvilles.

  Our main strength was that we held the boy. However, with only a few hundred men between us, and both of us far from our eyries and unable to drum up more soldiers in the blink of an eye, we were still very vulnerable. Richard had already dished out all the coin he had brought with him to pay off the Queen’s men and I was reserving mine for London.

  Hasting’s sweaty messenger arrived just after nightfall.

  Although hardly recognizable beneath an outer covering of dust, this ambitious grub was known to me. Sir William Catesby of Northamptonshire was one of the new generation of gentry who had taken the law as a career and were making it slightly more respectable. He had inched his way onto many a noble’s estate council, including mine (maybe he thought I had potential) but he was Hastings’ protégé. Now, despite the hard riding, his slate eyes were alert as those of a shrinekeeper glimpsing a pair of wealthy pilgrims.

  ‘My lord of Buckingham.’

  ‘Catesby, it’s good to see you again,’ I exclaimed, offering my hand. His smile was even more toothy for Richard, as he dropped to one knee before him.

  ‘Your graces, Lord Hastings thought it best to send someone well known to you, so that you shall know I speak the truth.’ I thought a lawyer only spoke what his fee dictated but I was not going to argue that one.

  ‘You must be exhausted, man,’ said Gloucester, gesturing him to rise. If he was panting to hear the news, he hid it well.

  ‘Your graces, we advise…’ he began. ‘Your pardon, I mean Lord Hastings advises that London is now safe for you to enter. The good news is that the Queen’s grace and the Marquis of Dorset have been trying to rally support from all the lords and prelates in the city for the coronation, and the bad—’

  ‘That is good news?’ I interrupted.

  ‘Indeed, yes, my lord of Buckingham, for not one of the noble lords wanted to have any truck with her.’

  ‘Numbers are not everything, Catesby,’ answered Richard. In view of his cunning and timing yesterday, I had to agree. ‘Tell us the bad news!’

  ‘The Queen has sent half the treasury to sea with her brother, Sir Edward Woodville.’ Richard swore, but he let Catesby continue. ‘That is why she could not hire an army or bribe anyone and, of course, two thousand of her most reliable supporters are already here with you, your graces.'

  ‘Were,’ I corrected, but my thoughts flickering with dismay.

  ‘What about the other half of the treasury?’ exclaimed my cousin, outracing me to the next question.

  Catesby’s Adam’s apple shifted nervously. ‘I regret to say my lord of Dorset and the Bishop of Salisbury’s men carted it to Westminster Sanctuary.’ The whoresons!

  ‘Hell take it, that’s not possible, Catesby,’ I protested, imagining how many chests of gold plate and coin were involved. ‘You can hardly get a bench through the door let alone a great coffer. It would take them days.’ The sanctuary was little better than an old keep, a couple of upper storeys, that was all. I had winkled Cat out of there to consummate our marriage.

  ‘No, I swear it’s true, your grace. The Queen demanded a wall be hewn down so they could stow it as swiftly as possible. She has claimed sanctuary and the Marquis of Dorset, my lord bishop and other friends are there as well.’

  ‘Very cosy. They must be wading thigh high in goblets,’ I snorted.

  We had been outwitted. No government could rule without money.

  Richard looked fit to strangle someone. ‘What about the royal children?’ he asked.

  ‘She has Prince Richard and all your royal nieces with her. I am informed the little maidens were none too pleased. Princess Elizabeth was heard to argue when the Quee
n was saying how much she feared you.’

  My cousin’s face softened for an instant but then he lifted his head again, his voice like a dagger sheathed in pretty velvet. ‘And where, pray, were Lord Hastings and yourself while Dorset was looting England’s treasury?’

  Catesby’s face reddened beneath the dust. ‘They outwitted us, your grace. You must understand that Lord Hastings has been utterly distraught over the death of your royal brother. What happened was the Queen bade my lord come to her at the palace and declared that he should serve Prince Edward best by serving her, and while my lord was distracted by her arguments, Dorset was meddling at the Tower.’

  ‘And where were you, sirrah?’ I asked.

  ‘I was disputing with Archbishop Rotherham, your grace.’

  ‘About what, Catesby?’ cut in Richard. ‘The price of wafers?’

  ‘About the Great Seal, your graces. I should explain that Archbishop Rotherham had given the Great Seal to the Queen and Lord Hastings ordered me to find the Archbishop and persuade him to fetch it back from her.’

  So not only would Richard as Lord Protector lack funds to rule the country but the seal of authority to do so. It was a mess.

  My cousin turned his back on us. ‘You have leave, Catesby!’ he said in a choked voice.

  ‘Your grace,’ Catesby protested, almost grovelling. ‘Lord Hastings acted against my advice and you must understand—‘

  ‘Oh, we do understand,’ I answered for both of us.

  ‘No, I must explain, my lord of Buckingham. The Bishop of Salisbury came to see Lord Hastings early yesterday asking him to negotiate a peace between the Queen and his grace of Gloucester.’ He glanced respectfully at my cousin. ‘He kept Lord Hastings talking for over an hour before the Queen sent for him and by then Dorset had organised the carts and had his men positioned. We had no cause to distrust them at that point, you see.’

  We saw alright. Dorset had the brains his brother Grey lacked, and the Queen’s sweet-talking brother, Bishop Lionel, possessed as much cunning as the serpent in the Garden of Eden. Lord Hastings should have been on his guard.

  ‘Very well, Catesby.’ I saw him to the door. ‘Thank you for your loyalty. You shall be well recompensed when we reach London.’ He bowed low over my hand and had barely closed the door behind him when my cousin whirled round.

  ‘Holy Paul!’ His fists struck his sides. ‘Hastings is plaguey well in charge of the Mint. He should never have let them within spitting distance of the Tower.’ He paced the floor, fidgeting angrily with his rings. ‘The fool! He should have foreseen that Rotherham would give the Great Seal to Elizabeth. The old wretch is a Woodville creature, always has been.’

  ‘Calm yourself, cousin,’ I soothed. ‘I am sure Lord Hastings will have sorted everything out by the time we enter London. A pity he fell for the ruse, though.’

  Yes, we both owed Hastings a debt for alerting us to the Queen’s animosity but one has to be practical. ‘Maybe he’s getting too long in the tooth,’ I added, stirring the pot further. ‘All sentiment aside, Richard, that’s something you should bear in mind when we reach London. We cannot afford such errors.’

  Richard stopped his pacing. ‘Well, we should be in London within two days and God willing, things can’t get worse. I’ll write to the Archbishop of Canterbury tonight requesting him to get the Great Seal off Rotherham, and he can organise the Royal Council to take care of any remaining valuables my sister-in-law couldn’t squeeze in.’

  You’re an optimist, I thought, but I held my tongue.

  ‘What are you going to do with our prisoners, cousin?’

  ‘Keep them hostage out of Elizabeth’s reach. She’ll lose a brother and a son if she wreaks any more mischief. Rivers can go to Sheriff Hutton, Grey to Middleham and Vaughan to Pontefract.’ All his northern strongholds, and since the Woodvilles’ supporters were mainly southerners, it seemed a sensible solution. ‘Do not look so disappointed, Harry. I’ll keep them salted for the winter.’

  I smiled. ‘Crated was what I had in mind.’

  I BADE Northampton farewell next morning right cheerfully beneath a sky as blue as the Our Lady’s robe and we rode off at an ambling pace with the Prince in our midst like a young queen bee carried to begin a new hive. When we arrived at St Albans, the townsfolk were waiting beneath the clock tower with an address of loyalty which much pleased young Edward. After the dinner generously provided by the Abbot of St Albans, Richard took the boy on a ride around the town for a lesson in military strategy.

  St Albans had seen two battles fought between York and Lancaster and I needed no reminding that my grandsire Somerset had been wounded at the first and then slain at the second. In fact, this royal progress was becoming a pilgrimage of my family’s defeats.

  Our future king silkily raised the matter after supper had been cleared.

  ‘Yes, it is true both my grandfathers fought for Lancaster,’ I admitted. ‘We all pray that under your wise and just rule, England will never again suffer such civil strife.’

  ‘But Henry VI was a lunatic, my lord of Buckingham. Why did your family stay loyal to him when he did not know his left hand from his right?’ A good question. The obnoxious brat.

  ‘Many reasons, I suppose, sire. He was anointed king and son to the illustrious Hal of Agincourt, and I believe my grandsire was quite fond of him.’ Did Uncle Richard tell you that your father had him murdered? I longed to add.

  ‘Did you murder him, Uncle Gloucester?’

  Richard choked on his wine. ‘No, I did not. Why would you think that?’ he spluttered, when he could speak again.

  ‘I cannot remember where I heard that,’ murmured the Prince with studied candour. ‘But Uncle Rivers told me that sometimes kings say things, you know, like King Henry II wishing aloud that Thomas Becket was dead, and then his knights murdered the archbishop in order to please him.’

  ‘I hope you are not going to wish us to murder anyone on your behalf, your highness,’ I said dryly.

  ‘No, of course not, but I wondered if my father wished King Henry of Lancaster dead and—’ He looked at his uncle.

  ‘No,’ protested Richard, crossing himself. ‘Much as I loved your father and honoured him as king, there is a moral limit to loyalty.’

  The boy nodded and turned to me. ‘So there are limits to an oath of fealty.’

  It was a foul way of trying to win an argument.

  ‘There are limits to the day too and it is high time your highness turned in for the night,’ I told him and Richard looked relieved. It was tempting to put my foot on the royal backside as the child rose from the board.

  ‘Holy Paul, Harry,’ my cousin said softly, as the latch fell, ‘who has taught him so?’

  ‘Someone who wanted to blacken your good name, Richard.’

  He paced, twisting the ring on his little finger. ‘I was at the Tower of London the night that the old king died. I cannot deny it.’

  ‘Cousin, forget the matter. A few dogs bark but does the moon care?’

  ‘The House of York has blood on its hands, I know that.’

  ‘The House of Lancaster does too. Forget what the boy said. It is the future that matters.’

  ‘I should like to see King Henry’s body reburied as befits a king.’

  ‘Then make it a resolution, Richard. Tomorrow you will be Lord Protector.’ I opened my hands as though our world sat within my palms.

  ‘Aye, and with no money to rule and a royal council wondering the truth of what happened at Stony Stratford.’

  ‘Indeed, it will not be easy but we have come this far with God’s blessing.’ Jesu! I was beginning to sound like the Pope! I patted his shoulder reassuringly

  He placed his hand over mine. ‘Thank you, Harry. Without you—’

  ‘You would have done the same.’

  NEXT day we rode past the common at Barnet where Richard, King Edward and Hastings had defeated the mighty Warwick. My cousin had led the vanguard of the army at eighteen years old so he was well
able to reconstruct the battle for his fascinated nephew. We heard all about the struggle through the bog and how King Edward’s sunne-in-splendour was confused with the Earl of Oxford’s star. Richard even took us to the very place where the mighty Kingmaker and his brother had been slain.

  I could add nothing. I had been about sixteen and safe in Brecknock – probably tupping Cat – while eighteen year old Richard stumbled up the foggy rise in his heavy armour.

  The Prince listened attentively, occasionally including me with an arched look that reminded me more and more of his accursed mother. It was clear that Rivers had daubed plenty of muck on my honour at Ludlow and I was not able to compensate for imprisoning his Woodville relations by being a great soldier like my cousin.

  ‘My Uncle Rivers told me that you are good at the dance, Uncle Buckingham,’ the boy said slyly. ‘You shall have to show us when we reach London.’

  ‘That was when I was your age,’ I countered waspishly. ‘I shall have more important things to do than caper with the ladies.’ Or so I hoped.

  ‘He told me you once spilled potage into the lap of King Louis’s ambassador.’

  ‘Aye, and I made myself scarce for the next hour.’ What use denial or telling him it was Dorset’s foot hooked about my ankle that sent me flying.

  ‘Did my mother have you whipped for it?”

  ‘Whip a duke, your highness?’ I replied with disdain, disliking him more and more.

  It seemed that all that lay between me and a return to rot uselessly in Brecknock was Richard surviving as Lord Protector. Of course, if my cousin won over the boy completely, he would not need me. I had better ensure he would.

  AS we reached the rise south of Barnet, excitement surged up my spine. Ahead lay the selfish city of London. From the filthy laneways of Southwark to the marshy fields of Millbank, I knew it well. Indeed, I could have named each turret and spire that lay between the Tower of London in the east and the royal Palace and Minster in the west.