The Devil in Ermine Read online

Page 8


  Richard reined in. ‘There lies your great city. Ned,’ he said with pride. ‘I do not love it like your father did but I pray Heaven you will deal with its citizens as well as he did.’

  ‘A shade less amorously perhaps,’ I murmured.

  The corner of my cousin’s mouth lifted in a tight grin. The Prince made no comment. After being immured with tutors at Ludlow for months on end, he was both awed and excited by the prospect.

  ‘Come on!’ I exclaimed, aching to be within those stinking walls. I spurred my ambler down the hill and the boy’s steed followed. I should not have been upset if he had toppled off and broken his Woodville neck, save that the blame would have been all mine. I slackened pace and, when he joined me, we slowed to a more decorous progress. As we reached the flat I began wondering whether my ears were deceiving me: I could hear shawms and tabors.

  ‘It seems as though we are about to be welcomed by someone.’ I turned and gestured for the message to be relayed back down the retinue to Richard, who had dropped back to speak with Lovell. I waved up Ralph Bannaster. ‘Ride on ahead. See who comes!’

  The boy was looking anxious.

  ‘What’s the matter, sire?’ I asked.

  ‘If it is my Lady Mother come to welcome me, she’ll be angry with me because of my Uncle Rivers and my brother Grey.’

  ‘With you? I do not think so.’ If Elizabeth was around the next bend, I would eat my hat including the ruby brooch and liripipe.

  ‘At twelve you hardly have to worry about a woman’s opinions, sire,’ I told him confidently. ‘Whether she be a queen or a tapster wench, her task is to give comfort to her menfolk and not concern herself with making decisions.’

  ‘If that is so, Uncle Buckingham, why do men call the women who give them comfort their “mistresses”. Uncle Rivers said I should probably have one when I am fourteen. ’

  ‘We must talk about this again,’ I lied, as my men came back smiling. ‘Look, here comes the Mayor.’

  The Lord Mayor of London and aldermen were in sight all tricked out in their scarlet gowns and black hats. Behind them, to the beat of drums and drone of shawms, came the venerable greybeards of the city, two by two on foot in mourning robes of violet broadcloth with sprigs of rosemary pinned on their breasts and staffs in their hands.

  A thousand blessing on the city fathers! Their coming condoned our arrest of the Woodvilles. As the procession reached us, all the burgesses snatched off their caps and shouted, ‘God save the King!’ and Richard and I dismounted and escorted the lad to greet his kneeling citizens. Then we invited the Mayor and alderman to join us at the head of our company.

  Within half a mile of the gates, we found some of Hastings’ men waiting for us with four covered wagonloads of pikes and weaponry they alleged had been gathered from secret caches around the city—carts so overloaded they looked like monstrous shirted hedgehogs.

  Hastings’ captain drew my cousin and I aside. ‘My lord has ordered us to proclaim to the people that these have been taken from the Queen’s kinsmen and that they were to have been used against you, your graces. So, where would you like them to go in the procession, my lord of Gloucester? At the front or in the vanguard?’

  ‘At the back, thank you.’ He looked like he would have an apoplexy. ‘Wait, surely these are nothing more than the arms stores my brother was preparing to use against the Scots.’

  ‘Certes, your grace,’ answered Hastings’ man, ‘but I assure your grace that the Queen had every intention of using them against you.’

  ‘But even I who live in Yorkshire know of these stores, sirrah. Do you imagine the Londoners—?’

  ‘My lord cousin,’ I cut in hastily, ‘the good citizens have been waiting for hours. Let us not delay them further. Let the carts follow and there be an end to it.’ Hastings, I thought, you have just made another error of judgment, thank the Lord.

  ‘Very well,’ agreed Richard grudgingly. ‘I only hope Lord Hastings can provide us with better evidence than this if the people demand it.’

  ‘Of course,’ purred the officer and jingled off to manoeuvre the carts back into a laneway so we might proceed. I held my glove to my lips to stanch my laughter as a poleaxe fell off and had to be poked back in. Hastings’ fellows had even daubed the Woodville device on the canvas of the wagons. Any fool could smell the fresh paint.

  ‘So subtle!’ sneered Richard. ‘Holy Paul! I do not want to antagonise Hastings but I’ll not have our entry into London marred by these infernal proclamations.’ He swung round to his herald. ‘Send some of the drummers to the back and tell them to play loudly! Thank God you don’t come up with such foolery, Harry.’

  I smiled but was still crossing my fingers that Hastings truly had London by the throat and this was not some damnable trap about to spring. What if he had made a last instant alliance with the Queen?

  My belly was still tight as we passed beneath the portcullis at Aldersgate, but then the bells of St Martin Le Grand and all the little churches close by began to peal and within minutes every belfry in London rang out its welcome. The very air thrummed with music and the ground shook with the hooves of our horses like some monstrous drum. My heart thumped furiously at the glorious tumult.

  As I waved and smiled among the cascading petals, there were few shouts for Stafford, just one or two who remembered my grandsire and sensed the old times were come again. In our sombre black, we two uncles were but a dark wall behind the Woodville princeling’s blue and gold splendour. The Londoners were falling in love with him. A wonder that they did not collect the holy dung when the Prince’s horse lifted its tail.

  Souvente me souvene!

  Ha, I vowed, I was going to carve my name on the trunk of England and shake the tree with all my strength.

  The first garland startled me as it fell about my neck and then there were scores. The women, ah, the women, like window boxes of posies, clustered in the casements, leaning their bosoms out of the jutting windows above the bright falls of cloth. They blew me kisses and hurled their flowers. But one in particular, I glimpsed, as she stretched forth from below the gable—a beautiful young woman with auburn hair plaited about her head like a crown and a mouth made for kisses. There was astonishment in her face and I swear an alchemy passed between us as we stared at one another. I doffed my hat exuberantly but she did not smile. She looked shocked as though she felt the jolt of attraction like a thunderbolt. Ah, she was so exquisite.

  ‘Harry!’ Richard’s gloved hand grabbed my arm, hauling me out of collision with an alehouse pole. Prince Edward looked round and giggled.

  I tried to remember the house, the street, but my mind was whirling. I should think no more upon women, I told myself. They are no more for men than meat and drink. The precipice of power was dangerous; it was there I must concentrate all thought. And yet I longed for a woman’s soft whisper against my hair and her arms about my breast, and it was not of willing strumpets that I thought but of the auburn-haired gentlewoman.

  ‘Better than I hoped!’ My cousin’s excited voice broke through my reverie. ‘They are behind us, Harry!’ I must have looked around, for he added with affection. ‘Dolt. Not that “behind us”. I mean the Londoners! This is almost as good as when Ned and I rode in after our victory at Tewkesbury.’ Of course, blood-stained heroes with royal captives hauled in their wake.

  It was not just the commons who came in their masses to huzzah. All the noble lords, in London for the coronation, were come from their great houses near the river, and sat on horseback along Cheapside, their heads meek and uncovered. They greeted their unanointed king and swung their horses in behind us, one by one, until almost every peer rode in our company. Their titles read like a roll of the shires of England. Gloucester’s sister and her husband, the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk and their son, the Earl of Lincoln, the earls of Northumberland, Arundel, Surrey, Kent, Huntingdon and Nottingham. Even, Clarence’s son, little Warwick with his moon face and doltish mutterings, rode his pony with us.

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bsp; The crowds were thickest around St Paul's Churchyard. In the full warmth of the afternoon, the stink of the people was almost nauseating. A triumphal progress is a wonderful experience but a surfeit of unwashed bodies was not to my carefully protected taste. However, it was a penance I did not mind and I fervently prayed to the Almighty that there would be more days like that and greater.

  What’s more I thanked Him that I had not sat on my hands in Brecknock. If Cat and my Welsh farmers could have seen me!

  Yet, it was a relief to approach the Bishop of London’s house where Prince Edward was to lodge. I was hungry and had it not been for the tumult, my hungry rumblings would have been heard down in Thames Street. But then we were waylaid by St George and eight virgins eager to read poems of welcome. No, I’ll revise that. There were seven virgins, because the third from the left looked lewdly about her. The second was pretty with fair hair to her knees and a mouth like a rosebud. The rest were broomsticks or dumplings. Ah, I forgot St George. In faith his costume must have been made for an earlier occasion or else a smaller hero. I swear he would have burst his points if he had blustered for much longer for he would have weighed heavier than a dragon in any balance.

  Prince Edward replied to the virgins with dignity. Rivers had tutored him well: Cat’s brother deserved that much commendation. It was the kingling's umpteenth speech that day and all of us had smiled like bridegrooms until our faces ached. Knyvett handed the boy coin (supplied by me) to scatter to the poor and another cluster of beggars emerged like maggots from a hidden corpse. The boy’s lips curled slightly at the sight and he quickly threw the largesse amongst them, dismounted and hastened towards the bishop’s door.

  The cloying virgins had all been cleared away and in their place, miraculously manifested, stood old Bishop Thomas Kempe. Tufts of white hair were escaping from beneath his mitre. He was like a large ancient pussycat, blinking newly-woken from a sunny sill. And at last, appearing in the great doorway of the bishop’s house, came that grinning prince of players, Lord William Hastings. Nimbly, he came down the steps to the courtyard, swept off his hat to his friend’s son and knelt humbly on the mucky, uncomfortable cobbles. I had not realised he had gone so bald.

  Hastings the great lover, the Pandarus of Westminster, Master of Strumpets and Revels! Bejewelled, befurred, bereaved, bestowing and between. Yes! Between the Prince and Richard, between Richard and I.

  As I have said, three is an uncomfortable number.

  Rarely so dully clad, Hastings was not flattered by his mourning garments. The lines from edge of mouth to nostril were deep drawn in the glare of day, and shadows cradled his eyes. He lacked Rivers’ resilience against the corrosion of age, but for an old man of over fifty, he still had a face that was pleasant to look upon, and that, despite the dissipated love-nights at Westminster and the continual search for concubines, was remarkable. In fact, when he put his hat back on his shining pate and smiled, he would have passed for a man ten years younger.

  I had a qualified respect for Hastings. He had leapt upon the Yorkist carque long before it had set sail for rebellion and clung on despite storms that washed others away. His luck had arrived when Edward of York had found in him a soul mate. Although there was eleven years’ difference in their ages, they had explored bosoms together but not each other’s. In the sunlight of King Edward’s favour, Hastings had built an army of retainers. Some he employed for wages, other wealthier friends he bound by favours. In return for his patronage in matters of litigation and influence with the King, he could summon them to arms. With equal competence, he could conjure up a full week’s entertainment for a foreign dignitary, and his record for love-making was said to be seven times in one night. Lucky old whoreson, he had married one of Warwick the Kingmaker’s sisters, too, and even if he had neglected her, he had begotten a family that he greatly loved.

  I had been envious of him when I had been the Queen’s ward at Westminster. The old goat had always seemed so blithe, so plaguey cheerful, whereas I as a page had loathed everything—my situation, my life, myself. What’s more, I hated the compassion I read in his eyes whenever Dorset and Grey made trouble for me; and I hated his friendship with the King that made him invincible to the Woodvilles’ machinations whereas I was so vulnerable, so friendless. He could have stood up for me to the Queen and her kinsmen; instead he gave me his pity.

  Certainly, after days of Richard’s calm company, Hastings’ presence now was like a thunderstorm. It was my turn for a flood of exuberance, albeit tempered by the initial formality due to my rank.

  ‘Welcome, my lord of Buckingham!’

  ‘I am grateful that you wrote to me, my lord,’ I replied sincerely, grasping the proffered hand.

  ‘How could I not, your grace? You are the highest nobleman in the realm saving the royal family. It is I who must thank you for trusting my advice.’ He buffeted my chest. ‘You are looking so well, Harry. It’s too long since you were at Westminster.’

  ‘I am here now to make amends.’

  He understood the significance and laughed. ‘By Our Lady, and so you shall!’ He flung his left arm about me and we joined those around the Prince. ‘Now, your royal grace,’ he boomed, happily breezing back into his duties as royal chamberlain, ‘the good bishop has had your rooms made ready. Are you hungry or shall you like to rest first?'

  ‘We should like to dine now, if you please, my lord.’ We? Oh very regal. The London’s huzzahs had made the colt’s head swell already. ‘My lord Hastings,’ he piped, flexing the Plantagenet muscles further. ‘We had hoped that my Lady Mother and my brother and sisters would come to greet me. Why are they not here?’

  Hastings caught Richard’s warning glance behind the Prince’s head but before he could answer, I interrupted:

  ‘Yes, God’s Truth, here is thoughtless rudeness to his grace’s tender years. Surely out of motherly love the Queen…’ I gestured as though words could not describe her unkindness.

  ‘Unfortunately, my liege,’ Hastings began, choosing his words with care, ‘the Queen’s grace has gone into Westminster Sanctuary and taken Prince Richard, Princess Elizabeth and your other sisters with her. Your Uncle Lionel and the Marquis of Dorset are there as well.’

  We had not shared that news earlier so our vaunting twelve-year-old was thrown off guard and not yet man enough to hide his disappointment.

  ‘But why, what has she to fear from me, from any of us?’

  ‘Well spoken, your royal grace,’ agreed Richard, raising his voice. ‘There is no reason for the Queen to deny her presence to her son and king. Maybe we should not ask of whom but why she is afraid?’

  No one answered, Hastings shrugged and old Bishop Kempe tactfully intervened.

  ‘Let us partake of dinner. I am sure that a growing lad like your royal grace is hungry.’

  As we all swarmed into the great hall like horse flies following a foal, the Prince repeated his questions to Hastings.

  ‘To be honest, sire,’ I heard him reply, ‘the Queen did not take the news of my lord of Gloucester escorting you to London in good heart.’ No, I’d wager she let some ripe Northamptonshire oaths rend the air – a few veils ripped and shoes thrown perhaps?

  Fortunately, Hastings was not going to deal in trifles; his integrity was at stake.

  ‘To be truthful, your highness, she is afraid because she tried to raise an army against your Uncle Gloucester and snatched away most of your father’s treasury.’ Snatched? Huzzah, Hastings!

  ‘I do not understand,’ protested the boy, his eyes beseeching the Lord Chamberlain to tell him better news. Here, he seemed convinced, was one lord who had no hand in the arrest of his Uncle Rivers and Richard Grey.

  ‘I am sorry, your highness,’ declared Hastings sadly, ushering him to the table and seating him at the board, ‘but you would not want me to lie to you and there is much you need to know and understand. To put it plainly, your mother seeks to rule the realm on your behalf contrary to your father’s will. It is wrong of her and now
that she has failed in her desire, she is afraid of my Lord Protector.’

  Wearing an insouciant expression, although smug might be a better word, the Lord Protector made himself comfortable next to his nephew.

  ‘I mean her no harm,’ he said candidly, summoning a page to bring a basin so the Prince might cleanse his fingers.

  ‘Of course not,’ agreed Hastings, laying a reassuring hand on the boy’s forearm, before he took his place on the bench. ‘You should be aware also, sire, that your uncle, Edward Woodville, has seized much of the wealth your father left and has taken the fleet to sea. Surely that is proof of a conspiracy?’

  ‘The Devil he has!’ I exclaimed, pretending to look in consternation at my cousin. He still had to take Hastings to task on his lack of vigilance. He eyed the basin and sent me an expression that told me he would love to hurl it with its rosewater contents at his cheerful lordship. For now he took a deep breath and said softly:

  ‘Do you not see, Ned, that people are no longer as straightforward as once they seemed? When there is power at stake, men change. You are no longer a schoolboy but master of thousands of people and much wealth. I fear you must learn many hard truths from now on.’

  Out of sight, Prince Edward’s fingers were crushing the tablecloth. ‘Uncle, I should like to speak with my mother.’

  ‘Summon her, sire. You are the King,’ he answered grimly, his mouth curled stubbornly down.

  Time for me to join the measure.

  ‘Yes, command her to attend you, highness, and let us see if her love for your royal grace is greater than her fear of my Lord Protector.’

  The lower royal lip pouted: ‘It is plain you have no love for her, Uncle Buckingham.’

  Well, why not proclaim it to the world?

  ‘You mistake me, your highness! I mislike anyone who seeks power for its own sake and not for the good of the realm,’ I announced, and busied myself with eating in the silence which followed.