A Rose for the Crown (57 page)

“You are impertinent, sir!” George blustered a little, recognizing Rob’s name and understanding he was dealing with someone above his station. “Aye, I am George Haute—Kate’s unlucky husband.”

“Now who is impertinent, sir, to insult this lady twice in as many minutes? Dame Katherine, forgive me, I fear I must leave you to your . . . husband.” He gave George a withering look and saw George loose Kate’s arm. He bowed and removed himself.

“George! How could you be so rude. How could you humiliate me so?” Kate rounded on him as soon as Rob was out of earshot. “If Sir Robert believed you, all the court—including your father—will think you have
been cuckolded. I care not for your reputation but I care for my own name and that of your father. Pray God Sir Robert can keep his counsel!”

George’s bravado left him in the face of Kate’s wrath and the fear that Martin might be compromised by his outburst. He knew not why he cared who was Katherine’s father, but seeing Kate with Rob had aroused feelings of anger he did not know he possessed. His shoulders sagged and his mouth assumed its petulant droop. “I am still your husband, Kate, like it or not. I have the right to chastise you if I will. Do not push me too far.”

Kate moved away from him. The more public they were, the less likely he would question her further. But then she had a thought. All of a sudden, she smiled winningly at him and took his arm. “Why, husband, what a surprise and pleasure to see you here. I am come at the invitation of Sir John and Lady Margaret, but I had no notion you, too, would be a guest.” Her raised voice attracted some attention, and several people turned to look at the handsome couple. She glimpsed Rob and Richard conferring in the corner. Richard’s face was as black as a thundercloud. Thank heaven it was innocent Rob and not Richard George had confronted. Rob’s indignation had been so marked that George could have no doubt he was speaking the truth.

George caught on to her act and cupped his other hand possessively over hers and answered her as cheerily. “My lord of Norfolk had need of me in preparation for the king’s arrival, and now that I am here, I am to ride north with Sir John. Has he not told you?”

“Nay, he has not. But I have not seen Sir John since yesterday. They were the guests of Mistress Paston for dinner last night, and I remained at my lodging.” Kate could keep up this idle chatter for as long as she needed. “Let us tread a measure, George. My feet are itching to dance.”

That night, Kate knew she must sleep with George. She hoped Richard would know, too, and would stay away. They had not spent every night together, for Richard had had to ride to several great families to seek men and arms for his brother’s campaign against the rebels. On the morrow, she was to ride with Margaret to the Walsingham shrine ahead of the king’s party and from there back home.

“Have no fear, Kate,” Richard was able to murmur to her during a
country dance. “We shall be discretion itself. I will send word when next we can meet.”

George was not in the mood to talk when they wearily climbed onto their bed in the second chamber of a merchant’s town house. They shared the room with Molly and another servant girl, who lay down on their straw pallets and fell asleep almost as soon as the rushlights were extinguished. The sultry air was oppressive in the small room, and Kate threw off the bedsheet and lay in her petticoat.

“If it is the last thing I do, wife,” George whispered to her back, “I shall discover your lover’s name and make him rue the day he ever laid eyes on you.”

Kate shivered despite the heat.

A
MILE FROM THE SHRINE
, Kate and Margaret dismounted to leave their shoes at the Slipper Chapel among the thousands of others covering the floor. Kate briefly wondered if she would ever find her own shoes again, but as several nuns were hovering, watching over their leather charges, she soon forgot about them.

After eight years away from Snoll’s Hatch, Kate’s feet were unaccustomed to being unshod. All pilgrims were obliged to go barefoot the final mile to the shrine in the abbey at Walsingham; not even the king was exempt, Kate was told. By the time they reached the village, Margaret and Kate were limping and both wore pained expressions, perfect for penitent pilgrims.

“Some three hundred years ago, the Widow Faverches was visited by the Virgin. Our Lady told the widow to build a house on her lands in Walsingham.” Margaret explained the legend to Kate as they picked their way along the stony path. “The house is said to be a replica of the one in which the Virgin was visited by the Angel Gabriel when he announced she was to become the Mother of God. Word spread of the widow’s vision, and soon the wooden house she built was a place of pilgrimage. To preserve it, they enclosed it in a stone chapel. Inside is a bottle containing drops of the Virgin’s milk.”

“Where would anyone find such precious liquid?” Kate was incredulous. “How can milk from that long ago be preserved?”

“We do not question God’s miracles, Kate. You must believe.”

“Aye, Margaret,” Kate replied, dutifully. She believed fervently in the vision of Richelde de Faverches, but the milk was another thing entirely.

As they drew near the shrine, the pilgrim numbers swelled to match the hundreds of shoes back at the Slipper Chapel. It was an hour before they finally turned off the main road in the village to the shrine and the huge abbey that towered over it. Only a few worshippers at a time were permitted inside the holy place, hence the long wait. Kate covered her face with a veil and told her rosary as she shuffled forward to the door. Once inside, she was astounded by its splendor. She had expected something humble as befitted the home of a poor woman of Judea. The statue of the Virgin that dominated the chapel was of pure gold and shone in the light of a hundred candles. Around the walls were other statues of saints and angels, bejewelled and painted in vibrant colors. Before the Virgin, in a reliquary also studded with jewels, was suspended a tiny vial in which sat a small quantity of murky, tan-colored liquid. The milk, Kate reasoned. She fell to her knees, overcome by the holiness of the place. She had not felt this full of awe at Bury. Perhaps it was because, as a woman and a mother, she felt more akin to the Virgin than to the remains of a dead bishop. Her lips began to move in prayer, at first the rote
Ave Maria,
but then something more personal.

“Blessed Mother of God, keep safe my babe. Let not the sin of her mother rest on the child. And make me fruitful, sweet Virgin. I long to bear another child, if it be Thy will. Show me Thy love and kindness, I pray you.”

As she gazed at the perfect face of the statue, the walls of the shrine faded, and it seemed she was in a meadow. She began to dream. She saw two happy children playing in the meadow. A third watched from the edge. His eyes were sad. A light shone around the two in the middle, and they began to float before her eyes. The third child ran towards them, his arms outstretched heavenwards as if to catch them. Across the meadow she saw a lone knight, charging full tilt towards her. As he drew near, he gave a great cry, fell from his horse and lay still.

“Kate, are you well?” Margaret’s hushed voice broke through Kate’s trance and brought her back to reality. “You did cry out as if in pain.”

Kate turned two huge, frightened eyes to her friend.

“I had a vision, Margaret. ’Twas too terrible to tell. Take me out of this place, I beg you. I am afraid unto death!”

K
ATE SAT AMONG
the crowd that hovered around the village’s elaborate stone pump. It felt good to wash her feet in the icy water and quench her thirst. Two children squabbled in front of her, every exposed part of them covered in a layer of dust and grime. She was still troubled by her vision and tried to find a meaning in it that was anything but the obvious. Margaret was also troubled by it and could offer no happy explanation either. She found Kate after buying them each a small pie and a mug of ale, and they walked northward to a quiet wheat field to rest their legs and eat. Out of earshot of anyone who might have found the information interesting, Margaret attempted to take Kate’s mind off the dream and told her of the rumor that was now troubling the king.

“I did not remark on the absence of George of Clarence in Bury and Norfolk, did you, Kate?” she began. Kate shook her head. Richard was the only brother who mattered to her, and when he was anywhere near, she saw no one else. “Jack told me the king believed George was doing his duty and rallying support to his banner in the west. Thus he did not invite him here. Now he wishes he had, I warrant.” Margaret looked serious. “The rumor that has flown south is that of a conspiracy between George and Warwick to unseat Edward and put George on the throne in his stead. It seems Edward’s leading strings are harder to pull than Clarence’s, and Warwick is chaffing for control.”

Kate was shocked. “George conspiring against his brother? Where is his family loyalty, pray? ’Tis unthinkable!”

“Oh, Kate, certes you are a greenhorn. Brother against brother, father against son, ’tis the way with men seeking wealth and power.” Margaret’s words reminded her of Richard’s tirade at Stratford Langthorne. “Jack says the king is unpopular with his people these days. He says Edward has bestowed too much power on his Woodville relatives and has let slip the reins of government. He has not a male heir to strengthen his position, either. George is a weak man and easily controlled by Warwick. If George succeeds in toppling Edward, ’tis Warwick who will rule England from behind the throne.”

Kate frowned, looking around anxiously. “’Tis treason you talk, Margaret.
I like not the consequences for Richard. He is caught between his brother and his lord.”

“Oh, Richard will survive, no matter which way the wind blows, never fear. Jack, too. He has much faith in that young man of yours, Kate.” Margaret patted her hand. “But should a fight ensue, I like not that both our men will be in the thick of it. ’Twas my special prayer to the Virgin”—she nodded her head in the direction of the village—“that the rumor is false and all will be well.”

“Perhaps that is the interpretation of my dream! Three children—I did not see clearly if they were all boys or no, but it could be the three brothers, with Richard on the outside watching the other two. But they did seem to be happily playing. And then who was the horseman? I thought it was Richard, but his visor was down. It could have been the Angel of Death!”

“Aye, you could be right. But let us not dwell on it too much, Kate. You will go mad if you do.” Margaret stood and flicked pie crumbs from her skirt. “Listen, a horn! Perhaps the king’s party is in sight. Come!”

The two women hurried over the tiny bridge and back into the village square. Judging by the throng pushing its way towards the road from the Slipper Chapel, the king was coming. The herald walked ahead of Edward, parting the crowds for his passage. Edward and all his retinue were barefoot and clad in plain brown serge cloaks over their finery. Edward’s head was bowed in penitence as he told his rosary.

Kate spotted Richard not far behind his brother, walking alone, and started to push her way closer to him. But the aura of piety around him, together with his solitude, gave a new dimension to the man she loved, and she faltered. She wondered if she would be included in his supplication to the Virgin. In this moment though, he seemed as far removed from her as if she were stranger in the crowd.

I
T WAS DUSK
when they were reunited in the chapel garden.

“I will send you money for Katherine, sweetheart,” Richard promised. “’Tis only right she have support from her father. I cannot send a fortune, but as soon as I raise some funds, I will send you something. I must find men and arms for Edward and fund my own expenses.”

“But Richard, there is no need. We lack for nothing with my continued
portion from Thomas’s business. You will have your own costs on the campaign. Think no more on it.”

They sat holding hands, both aware they might not be together again for a long time. Richard lifted her hand and kissed the ring he had given her.

“I wish we had but one more night together, love. But I shall carry the memory of these days on the long journey north, and I shall write as often as I can. Do not cry, I beg of you. ’Tis not the way I wish to remember you.” He wiped away a tear. “’Tis your strength that I cherish, Kate, and your carefree spirit. Tears are not for you.”

Kate brushed aside another with her free hand and gave a loud sniff.

Richard laughed. “That’s better! ’Tis what I love about you—you are a lady and yet you are not. I hope little Katherine grows up exactly like you.” Richard bent and kissed her on the lips. “And now I must leave before that husband of yours comes looking for you. Certes, he is a petulant fellow! I know not how you could have loved him.”

Kate laughed. “I had not met you then, Richard. He is very handsome, and I was very young!” Serious again, she said, “You are in my prayers every night. I pray no harm will come to you.” A thought occurred to her, and she squeezed his hand. “But how would I know if you were hurt? Not by Jack Howard, because Margaret tells me he will not go north but stay in London with his fleet.”

“Fear not, Kate. I will have Rob send word, if it is the worst. But you have seen me fight. I can hold my own—even against my own brother.” He grimaced when he thought of disloyal Clarence. “Now, I must bid you farewell and God speed.” He pulled her to her feet and took her in his arms one last time.