The Devil in Ermine Read online

  Richard cut across the tension. ‘We must convene the Royal Council at once, my lords. This land must still be governed despite family squabbles. What is the precise location of the Great Seal, Lord Hastings?’

  The Lord Chamberlain finally had the grace to look apologetic.

  ‘We have it back now, my lord. Chancellor Rotherham did cause us some difficulty by delivering it to the Queen when he heard of Lord Rivers’ arrest, but my lord of Canterbury has it safe now and Rotherham is no longer chancellor. The Royal Council agreed on that.’

  Whoops! Solved but not forgotten.

  I enjoyed the dinner after that. When we eventually reached the cherries and wafers course, my cousin excused himself to Prince Edward.

  ‘Sire, there is much to do. If you will grant me leave, I shall go to Crosby Place and with your royal consent summon all the lords spiritual and temporal to meet tomorrow. Then I shall publicly take an oath of loyalty to you and pay you homage as king.’ He had raised his voice so all could hear him. ‘It is for the Royal Council to decide whether to appoint me Lord Protector as your father’s will decreed. I shall abide by their decision, whatever it is. Therefore, I beg you all, let no man address me as Lord Protector until I am acknowledged as such by England’s peers.’ There was cheering as he bent over Prince Edward’s hand.

  ‘I thank you, my lord of Gloucester,’ replied young Edward solemnly when all the cheers and table slaps had ceased. ‘I see now that your advice is both fair and wise.’

  Ah, so touching. Richard’s eyes were moist.

  ‘God save your royal grace.’ His voice was husky with emotion. ‘The times are hard and we must do our best.’

  I WAS glad to take my ease that night at my London house, the Manor of the Red Rose in Suffolk Lane. I had a thousand things to think about: firstly, speaking to the Lombard bankers about raising a loan, and then all the bread-and-butter matters. Tasks like having my barge refurbished, summoning a host of tailors, purchasing better horses and taking on extra cooks and servants for the banquets I intended to hold if my luck held.

  The laughter of my carousing henchmen reached me from the house as I walked alone in the garden. They thought Dame Fortune my godmother. I knew otherwise; the Queen was like a wraith on the edge of my vision. Once her son was crowned, she would have my head.

  My only protection against her would be to use my cousin as a shield and meantime build up an army of retainers, but that would require a vast amount of money. I could count on Gloucester rewarding me for my support for he was known to repay good service generously, but how long would that take? With the treasury echoing, he would need to confiscate lands and offices from the Woodvilles, and would the Royal Council agree to that? Besides, the inheritance that Dead Ned had always withheld from me could not be passed to me by a lord protector. The Bohun lands could only be handed over by a king. A grateful king.

  I should have to think on that further. Meantime, the Royal Council was going to be a cursed nuisance, not to mention Richard’s plaguey regard for legality as well! If, as it seemed, he was only prepared to work within the framework of the council, then he was going to have no more power than a cripple with his wrists lopped off.

  The third weight that was dragging on my liberated wheel of Fortune was Hastings, who was out to prove himself indispensable to his new masters. With his huge net of retainers, his popularity with the Londoners, and his grasp of the daily bread of kingship, he would be far more useful to Richard than I.

  And then I stood beneath my rose arch with a foolish grin on my face. Between Hastings’ life-hardened plates of self-assurance I knew a chink where a rondel might find a tender and deadly opening.

  CHAPTER 5

  Cheapside is the beating heart of London and as we doglegged through to Bishopsgate next morning, I was hoping to sight the proud maiden with the auburn hair. Ha! Did King Solomon feel so perplexed trying to find his favourite concubine among his hundreds?

  No one in London keeps to their path. Meandering slopsellers, lurking harlots, choosy housewives and maidservants burdened with buckets from the conduit. I searched their faces. With my banners known now, curtseys and smiles came my way but no haughty green eyes were raised to mine.

  ‘Seems as though you’ve won hearts already, Harry,’ Uncle Knyvett chuckled. ‘See, we’ll be having St Anthony’s pigs bowing soon. Here comes one now.’

  ‘Where’s your respect?’ I countered laughing, drawing rein to avoid the scavenging beast. Even blowing the horns, it would take us an age to get through. ‘Devil take it, let us go the longer way past London Stone.’ I had plenty of time before the Royal Council session.

  ‘Please you, your grace, I cannot thank you enough.’ Doctor Nandik urged his nag forward to my stirrup as we turned into St Swithin’s Lane. He had earned himself a place in my retinue this morning only because my sozzled chaplain had fallen down the stairs last night.

  ‘Think nothing of it, master scholar,’ I said indifferently, in no mood for hand licking but he kept riding at my heel, looking about proudly, the cheeky beggar. ‘Can you feel the vibration in the air, my lord?’

  ‘Vibration?’ A less hungry man would have seen my scowl but there was no stopping Nandik.

  ‘An uncanny energy. They say it happens with a new reign, the sense of renewal, a young king. Do you not sense it, your grace?’

  By Sweet Jesu, he was right. That morning there was a difference, a change about the city, some unnatural force like the unleashing of energy I had felt that day when he had brought news of the King’s death. But this was considerably more powerful.

  ‘Does it not demand blood?’ I asked him. ‘Do not men say that King William Rufus, the Conqueror’s son, was slain in the New Forest as part of a ritual sacrifice to ensure the land’s fertility?’

  ‘Aye, my lord, and there are still some Earth-goddess worshippers among the people who may believe so, but did not the Lord Christ have to die before the seeds of Christianity could germinate?’

  ‘Hmm, maybe it is just that the ambitious scramble around frantically at the start of a new reign,’ I replied waspishly. Nandik was just such a presumptuous cur.

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ he muttered.

  ‘Or it could be that Lent is over and we are all full of good red meat again and energy for our labours?’ suggested Uncle Knyvett.

  But I did feel the power in the air! If a man had the will and the ability, he could achieve anything; outwit two thousand men!

  We passed Oxford Place. It was looking rundown; a reminder of failure. The earl who had owned it had not supported Dead Ned and was now a prisoner in one of our fortresses outside Calais. Before that he had been snuffling round France and Brittany for charity. I was never going to end up grovelling before foreigners, I resolved.

  CROSBY Place, where the Royal Council was gathered to meet that morning, did not belong to Richard. A wool merchant, the late Sir John Crosby, had built it over twenty years ago and the present owner was content to rent it to Richard whenever he came to London. My cousin preferred to put up there rather than at his mother’s at Baynard’s Castle, a damp old palace down by the river. I now understood why. The house stood near to one of the city’s northern gates so he did not have to traverse London with his packhorses. But, more importantly, it was a beauteous stone and timber dwelling with comfort instead of defence as its first thought. Behind the gabled street front, there was a series of galleried courtyards. Certainly sufficient lodging to house my cousin’s retinue.

  Sir James Tyrrell, one of my cousin’s officers and brother-in-law to Uncle Knyvett’s eldest son, saluted me in the stableyard. He did not escort me to the great hall. Instead we passed through a second courtyard, beneath a small archway and into a garden that was overlooked by a lodging wing on one side and a mighty wall on the other.

  I halted, taking in the serenity of this little paradise. Scents of bruised lavender and freshly scythed grass eddied in the air. A miniature meadow drew my gaze. It was starred like a firma
ment with tiny flowers and at its heart stood an arbour of lathed trellis thick with twining rose. The wall on the north side sheltered fruit trees: quince, apple and pear, thick with blossoms. Borage, heartsease, woodruff and comfrey flowered modestly along the path. Within the flowerbeds rose spires of purple foxglove and unawakened buds of golden St John’s Wort. I breathed in the beauty and promised to lavish more love on my gardens at Brecknock and Thornbury, my manor near Bristol.

  ‘Your grace,’ Tyrrell prompted. So, I was not supposed to linger.

  Why is it that people are always surprised when I demonstrate an interest in plants? Some men collect tapestries, others paintings or silverwork. Is a love of natural beauty unmanly or alien to a thirst for temporal power? The times when I escaped the poisonous air of the Woodvilles, the gardens of Westminster revived me. This one was perfect.

  Tyrrell turned to the right and we entered a whitewashed passageway that flanked the great chamber and ended at a small oaken staircase. He led me up to a spacious room overlooking the garden. Its mullioned windows on the south side had been thrown open to gather in the sunshine.

  Some half-dozen of the duke’s henchmen were sitting about a table, untidy with breakfast platters. They all rose, bowed to me and withdrew, except for Lovell and a man who was busy at the furthermost window, his back turned. He was feeding crumbs to a crowd of birdfolk. They jostled each other on the sill, quite unafraid of the duke’s favourite hound, who was salivating for a share. Seeing me, the dog sauntered across to smell my boots, and wagged his tail.

  Lovell leaned across and shook me by the hand.

  ‘I can see we’ve sat at breakfast far too long, Dickon,’ he called out. ‘My lord of Buckingham is here.’

  ‘Good morning, Harry.’ It was Richard who stood at the open window. He looked round and here was the greatest marvel of any wonders I had seen that morning. Gone was the miserable black cloth, and in its place my cousin was clad in an open cote of dusky red brocade stitched with golden leaves and berries. Across his tilted shoulders lay the Yorkist collar of sunnes with the pendant silver boar glinting brightly, as though, like its master, it had slept well. Richard’s face above the high shirt collar was youthful again and the haggard expression he had worn like a favourite garment over the last week had been discarded. It was reassuring – if he had been sounding out support on the Royal Council, he had found no large rocks so far to shipwreck his intentions.

  ‘Harry,’ he exclaimed cheerfully, shaking me by the hand. ‘Holy Paul! I see I had better finish my breakfast. Time must be getting on. Though don’t imagine I have been idle this morning.’ I now knew him better than to think that. ‘Sit down. Would you like to try some of our cheese from Middleham? My wife had it sent down as a surprise.’ I cast a suspicious eye at the whitish crumble but I tried some out of politeness, making myself comfortable on the cushioned bench. Richard leaned back using the table like a misericord and finished his white bread. Part of the crust went to the dog drooling at his feet. I looked round. Lovell had gone and we were alone.

  ‘I’m glad you arrived in good time this morning, Harry. It occurred to me last night that I’ve given you scant thanks for all your help this last week.’

  ‘A pox on that,’ I protested. ‘The success was all your doing.’

  ‘Our doing,’ he insisted, ‘and I thank you heartily. You shall not go unrewarded, believe me.’

  ‘Cousin, I have had sufficient payment in seeing the demons who tormented my childhood brought low.’

  ‘And yet you seem in poor spirits.’ Yes, my chin was on my clasped fingers and I was staring somewhat morosely beyond a Venetian glass bowl of pickled French walnuts. ‘Have some.’ He prodded the glass towards me.

  I sighed and selected one. ‘I feel like a child. My Saint’s Day is over and the gifts are all opened.’

  ‘I’ll keep one for you,’ he promised with a grin. He poured me out some methyglyn, which I detest, and pushed the pewter mug into my hands. ‘You’ve no reason to be in the dumps, Harry.’

  My long fingers imprisoned the cold contours of the tankard. Richard’s dog sat down by my chair and thumped his tail hopefully. Both the hound and his master waited.

  ‘How can I explain?’ I murmured softly and let the silence grow before I sighed. ‘There are already a plaguey score of wretches outside my house wanting to know if I’ll speak to you or the King on their behalf. All my life no man has ever been kind to me unless he wanted something. God’s Truth, Richard.’ I swallowed. ‘What I mean is…these last few days I—’ Here, I broke off again. ‘All I know is that it has made up for a hell of…’ I could say no more and shielded my face with the heels of my palms. The dog uttered a whine of sympathy, rested his head on my knee, exercising his eyebrows in concern.

  I am not sure if Richard was embarrassed by my outburst. Most men disdain any show of weakness as womanly but you have to show your belly to the leader of the pack to make him feel safe. I heard him slide off the table and walk to the window. His hound left me.

  ‘You think me your friend, do you, Harry? Yet I fall into the company you’ve just condemned. I needed your support at Northampton and Stony Stratford.’

  ‘No, you did not!’ I burst out miserably. ‘You had the balls to brazen it out. Anyway, you do not need me now. Devil take it, what can I offer you that you do not have already here in London?’

  He was leaning back against the casement, watching me with concern.

  ‘Oh God, Richard, I know I’m sounding like a cursed milksop.’ I paused, amazed at my own outburst. I had not planned to say that. ‘Look, by noon today you’ll be confirmed as Lord Protector and your nephew will be crowned in a couple of weeks and all I’ll have to look forward to is back to dreary Wales.’ And the black dog of despair! I paced to the window and turned. ‘You know, I actually revelled in what happened at Stony Stratford, not merely seeing Rivers and Grey get what was coming to them but in using my dull mind for once, acting with you, pitting our wits against the Woodvilles, but now there will be wiser men than I to help you make decisions, men like Hastings.’

  It was then he answered me with words that made my heart leap in gratitude:

  ‘Hastings is not of the blood royal.’

  I bit my lip to stomach my emotion. ‘Oh, cousin, for that I thank you!’

  He came back to the board. ‘You are a muttonhead, Harry. You grow too introspective and look for offence where none is offered. Do you imagine I shall shoo you into a corner like Loyaulté here and— Oh Holy Paul!’ I followed his startled gaze to the hourglass. He snatched up his hat, pointed the dog to its cushion and made for the door. I almost collided with him as he turned suddenly. ‘You know what happens this morning is vital? I’m not Lord Protector yet and if we lose control of the council we’re both likely to end up in the Tower under a Woodville axe.’

  We! The most beauteous word in the world! ‘Yes, Lord damn it! You know you have my support.’

  His smile was silky. ‘There, you see, I need you. Haven’t you forgotten something?’

  I rushed back to grab my hat and gloves and mustered a smile as he waited for me.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said kindly. ‘Now, come on, cousin, let us be proud of our Plantagenet blood.’

  I told myself that I had acted better than any player, that no one could have eavesdropped and faulted my sincerity. I was no better than Richard’s dog, loving him out of necessity and yet— And yet something buried in my conscience told me the words this morning had struck true, that deep within my soul I wanted my cousin’s friendship more than the entire world.

  But I set those troubling thoughts aside as I followed him down to the great hall of Crosby Place. To hell with sentiment! I had to concentrate now on retaining my position as his principal supporter, and since time and distance are enemies to friendship, he was going to have to keep me by his side. I would stir up sufficient turbulence to make sure he had no choice.

  MY entrance into the gathering of royal councillors i
n the Lord Protector’s company was just as I had schemed, but its triumphant manner was his making. We came in together through the side door onto the dais as two cousins, two dukes, two smiling equals!

  The hall instantly hushed and the assembled royal councillors turned to us and bowed. No one was seated at the long trestle table yet. Our tardiness had given them time for gossip and speculative discourse.

  I let my cousin go ahead of me to the centre of the dais otherwise I should have dwarfed him. Besides, I owed him that acknowledgment and to have stepped forward with him would have been an unpardonable ascension in the eyes of my peers, a body not known for their swift acceptance of matters new and persons untried.

  ‘My lords and gentlemen, welcome to you all,’ declared my beaming cousin, stepping down.

  A wave of good mornings lapped us. Hastings, whose presence was always obvious from his height and noisy laughter, detached himself from the company of Lord Stanley and large old Morton, Bishop of Ely, and came forward to clasp my cousin by the hand. He saw him made comfortable in the chair of estate at the head of the table and then turned to me.

  ‘My lord of Buckingham.’ He gestured me to be seated at the top of the bench on Gloucester’s left hand, opposite my great uncle, Archbishop Bourchier. I could have embraced Hastings for his forethought.

  ‘Content, Harry?’ my cousin teased quietly, but before I could reply, John, Lord Howard appeared at his elbow and they instantly had their heads together talking about the missing fleet.

  I had intended to watch the councillors taking their places, who sat with whom, but I should have been philistine to ignore the beauty of the hall. Because it was so recently built, there was light a-plenty. Remembering how gloomy all my halls were, I looked up with envy at the huge glass windows with their elegant five-leafed tracery. They let the sunlight surge in to play upon the black and white tiles and turn the motes of dust, stirred by our every movement, to flecks of gold. With all the light came warmth and so there was no need for the great fireplace behind us to be lit this morning, whereas in Brecknock there would have been few times when a fire did not burn in my hearth.