The Rose of York: Crown of Destiny (21 page)

He related the dark possibilities and explained how anxiously the lords, prelates, and influential men of the realm supported his accession, viewing it as an urgent necessity for the peace of the realm. As she listened, her uneven breathing became more regular, and her hands, which had been twisting nervously in her lap, gradually stilled. Her shivering eased, and little by little warmth returned to her body.

“I don’t know what came over me, Richard, but the thought of being Queen… I suppose it’s tied to memories of the past, to my father’s failed ambitions for the Crown which rained destruction on us. ’Tis irrational, I know, but I could only think of that night in Caen Castle when my father told me I’d be Queen of England one day. I felt as though I was standing in that room again. It brought back… everything.”

“Think not of Caen, my sweet. What has passed is past, and what will come, will come. We shall meet it when it does. But destiny has chosen me—it has offered us a chance to make a better world…We cannot turn away.” He pushed back a strand of hair from her pale brow. “I have such dreams for our kingdom, Anne. Edward let the Woodvilles use his power to destroy, and in the end they destroyed him, but we have it in our hands to wield our power for good, to shape a new world. One where no man stands above the law. As in King Arthur’s day, Anne… A new Camelot, built on the rule of law.”

Behind Richard’s head the light of a tapered candle flickered like a star in the night sky, throwing a halo around him. She stared into the deep grey eyes that were filled with his dream. She lifted her hand, traced the cleft in his chin, the line of cheekbone, nose, and jaw. For most of her life, joy had meant this face. She would stand by him, be his helpmate. With God’s help, they would find his nights in Camelot.

“Aye, my dear Lord, then so be it,” she whispered.

“Fear not, my dearest love,” Richard bent his face to hers and gently brushed her lips with his own. “An old archbishop once told me, ‘Virtue always prevails.’ And he should know, shouldn’t he?”

Anne turned her gaze to the candle whose flame seemed to enlarge and brighten all the darkness with its light, and she found herself comforted. Her lips curved into a smile. For the first time in many weeks, the future no longer loomed dark and foreboding, but offered promise.

“‘Virtue always prevails,’” she echoed, savouring the words on her lips. “’Tis a good thought, Richard.”

~*^*~

Chapter 22

“We sit King, to help the wrong’d.”

Beneath the hot June sun, the friar mounted the outdoor pulpit at St. Paul’s Cross, opened his Bible, looked around the hushed crowd. Then he disclosed the secret of Edward’s bigamy.

“Not only did King Edward the Fourth—God assoil his soul—have a pre-contract with Lady Eleanor Butler,” he concluded, “but he himself was the bastard son of an archer. Therefore, Richard of Gloucester is the true heir of York and rightful King of England!” He pointed to Richard at the back of the crowd. All eyes turned.

Outraged, Richard stood staring, not at the frowns and tight mouths of enemies and cynics who believed he had concocted the tale in order to usurp his nephew’s throne, but at his cousin, Harry, Duke of Buckingham, who had arranged the sermon. He swung on his heel and strode angrily to his stallion. “You had no right!” he fumed to Buckingham under his breath. “No right to proclaim my brother Edward a bastard!”

Buckingham ran to keep up with Richard’s furious pace. “I didn’t tell them anything they didn’t know. When your mother learned of Edward’s marriage to Bess, she offered to declare he wasn’t the son of your father the Duke, but of an archer, and therefore had no claim to the throne. That’s common knowledge.”

“And a foul lie, as you well know! You’ve dishonoured my mother and my brother, and made it look as if it had my blessing! How dare you? From now on you clear everything with me first—
understand?
”

Buckingham’s mouth twitched at one corner, and for an instant—so briefly that Richard thought he’d imagined it—his eyes clawed at him like talons. Then the evil look was gone and there remained only the shock of disbelief. Richard’s anger ebbed. What was done could not be undone. He owed Buckingham a great deal, and Buckingham was kin, so much like George. In a soft tone, he said, “Harry, I know you’ve done what you thought best, but it was a mistake. Let us forgive and forget.”

After a long moment, Buckingham gave a taut nod. But he averted his eyes so Richard was not able to see if there was forgiveness in them.

Richard put the incident behind him, grateful that Buckingham not only did the same, but even tried to make amends. For three days following the oratory at St. Paul’s Cross, his cousin worked hard to gather support by addressing crowds at Westminster, the guildhall, and Parliament. On Thursday, the twenty-sixth day of June, he led a great army of nobles, prelates, and gentry to Baynard’s Castle. Richard went to the head of the grand staircase to meet the crowds.

“Lord Protector,” Buckingham called in a rousing tone from the foot of the steps, “we have come with a petition! Will you hear us?”

Richard inclined his head.

Buckingham unfurled the parchment grandly. “For the reason of the evils wrought on the land by the Woodvilles…” He read a long list of grievances against the hated clan. Then he began the second charge, “For the reason of the falseness of King Edward’s marriage to Elizabeth Woodville…”

Richard listened patiently. He knew each clause by heart, and so did everyone else—they had drafted its words over the past three days.

Buckingham finally came to the end of the list. Only one question remained to be voiced and answered. Raising his silvery voice, Buckingham read, “In consequence, as you are the undoubted son and heir of Richard, late Duke of York, we humbly pray your noble Grace to accept the Crown!”

Richard hesitated.
But am I the undoubted son and heir of Richard, Duke of York?
In the shadows of his mind the fiery dragon of his childhood nightmares reared up and cried,
Thou art no Plantagenet! The Duke of York was not thy father!
He forced the vision away. He had come to the moment of truth and still the truth eluded him. “Is there no one whose claim is before mine?” Richard demanded.

“Lord Protector,” called Buckingham with surprise. “You are King Edward’s only surviving brother, descended from glorious Edward III by three of his five sons: by Lionel Duke of Clarence, by John Duke of Lancaster, and by Edmund Duke of York. No one in the land boasts such a claim!”

Time had run out. There could be no more doubt; no more delay.

“I accept,” said Richard.

A great roar of acclamation burst from a thousand throats as he descended the stairs. “Hail, King Richard III!” they cried. “Hail, most noble King Richard III!”

In the Hall of Rufus at Westminster Palace that same day, Richard sat on his throne. Before him were assembled, at his command, all his judges and lawyers. “As it is my wish that all men should be seen as equal in the eyes of the law, you are ordered to dispense justice without fear or favour,” he declared. “Man’s justice must reflect God’s justice. Abuse of power will not be tolerated and will be dealt with harshly.”

He read surprise on many faces.
Aye, it will take time for them to accept such a revolutionary concept
, he thought. Inequality was a fact of life, a trademark of nobility, the underpinning of the feudal system. Many of them, he knew, would not relinquish power readily. “Bring in Sir John Fogge!” he commanded.

There were gasps and shocked murmurs. Richard watched as his deadly enemy, that loathsome relative of the Woodvilles who had played a ruthless role in plundering poor Sir Thomas Cook, was escorted in from Sanctuary. Men peered from behind one another to gain a better view, and Richard heard someone whisper, “Does he mean to hang him?” Fogge’s face was indeed ashen pale as if he were going to his death. Richard rose, took him by the hand, and embraced him.

There was a stunned silence.

“This day, past treasons are forgiven and hatreds set aside,” said Richard. “I swear to you my friendship, John Fogge, and as evidence of my regard and faith in you, I appoint you Justice of the Peace for the county of Kent.”

Applause and cheers shook the hall. Richard smiled. “From this day,” he called out in his resonant voice, “I date the first day of my reign. May God bless England!”

Much business awaited Richard. There were decisions to be made regarding the coronation, appointments to be conferred, knighthoods to be bestowed. To the surprise of many, one went to Edward Brampton, though Brampton was born a Jew and had converted to Christianity late in life. But Richard had always believed a man’s worth rested on his merits, not on the circumstances of his birth.

There was another task that brought him special pleasure. Righting the wrong done Lord Howard, he raised him to the dukedom of Norfolk, his by hereditary right and stolen by Bess Woodville for her boy, Prince Richard. On the death of Richard’s little wife, Anne Mowbray, the earldom had failed to revert to Anne’s nearest male kin, John Howard, as it should have. Bess had made sure that the child’s marriage contract bore a clause that kept the earldom for her boy. As Richard conferred the coronet on John Howard’s silvery head and placed the golden rod into his loyal hands, his mind turned to one now absent, one who had been equally loyal, who had rendered equally hard, faithful service to his King and had been rewarded with malice for his pains.
If only John were here so I could restore into those noble hands the earldom that had meant so much to him!

Richard watched Howard rise, coronet in place, golden rod in hand. John had been humiliated by his hollow title, forced to live on a pitiful forty pounds a year. That would not happen to Howard. “My good Duke of Norfolk, you are further appointed Admiral of the Seas and granted commissioner of array for the following counties…” He rattled off a third of the counties in England. “You are also granted the yearly income of twenty-three of my royal estates and the manors named herein…” He handed him a charter with a smile.

Howard unfurled the document and gasped. “There must be a hundred manors here, my Lord!”

“No, fair Norfolk. Only fifty.”

Howard’s eyes glistened. “Thank you, my King.”

“’Tis no more than your just due. Would that I could right all such wrongs so easily…
John
.” Richard purposely used the name he had rarely spoken since John’s death. There would never be another John, he thought as he embraced Howard, but the Friendly Lion who had escorted him to Middleham on that fateful day long ago was his link with the past, and dear to his heart.

Then Richard turned his mind to the coronation.

“It will be splendid,” he said to Anne that night at Baynard’s Castle while fires burned outside and drums, flutes, and soldiers’ laughter filled the night. “A symbol of what’s to come for England. A virtuous court where learning and music flourish and there is justice for the people… Where the church will be led by wise, learned men of true piety. Oh, Anne, I shall give thanks to God daily with my deeds!”

Anne nestled in his arms on the silk-cushioned pallet in his bedchamber, feeling warm and safe, unable to remember what had brought on the attack of shivering fright the previous week. Maybe it was simply her aversion to court. Away from the North, from little Ned, from the calm of Middleham, thrust into the swirl of great events in the making, her health had suffered, leaving her vulnerable to wild imaginings… But Buckingham; was he a wild imagining? What of the hard looks he cast Richard when he thought himself unobserved?

“Richard… about Harry… Is all well between you again—after what he said about Edward, I mean?”

“Aah, Harry… Harry’s well meaning, but he can be rash at times. And harm’s been done, for certain… I find it strange, Anne, that a body can heal from all but the deepest cut, sometimes without a scar, yet a man’s reputation, once injured by words, never truly recovers.” Richard mulled his own words thoughtfully. “Never mind, my sweet, we’ve made peace. Harry’s remorseful and has written my lady mother an apology. I, in turn, have entrusted him with the arrangements for our coronation.”

Anne wished she shared Richard’s confidence in their cousin Buckingham, but the reassurance left her more unsettled than ever.
Buckingham
…

With a determined effort, she drove Buckingham from her mind. This was a happy time; she mustn’t spoil it with dismal thoughts. As Richard had said, what will come, will come, but whatever happened, they had been given a chance to shape the future. With God’s grace, they would leave the world a better place.

From the crook of his arm, she stole a look at his face, dim in the candlelight.
It was the right decision to take the throne
, she thought. Richard would make a noble king, possibly the finest England had ever known, for he bore all the markings. She rose, went to the coffer, and took out the lute. At his side again, she strummed the chords of their “Song of the North” that Richard had composed for her as they stood admiring the twilight at Barnard Castle in that unforgettably sweet first month of their marriage.

“Sing with me, Richard…
Aye, O, aye—the winds that bend the brier! The winds that blow the grass!
”

Richard joined his deep tenor to her sweet voice. “
For the time was May-time and blossoms draped the earth…
”

~*^*~

End of Book Two

Author’s Note

This book is historical fiction based on real people of the period and real events. No characters have been invented, and I have adhered to historical facts when these are known. Time, place, and character have not been manipulated, and the actual words known to have been used by the historical figures represented here have been integrated into the story whenever possible. However, details that cannot be historically verified are the product of my imagination.

For the ease of the modern reader, the quotations used come from Tennyson’s
Idylls of the King
, not from Sir Thomas Malory’s
Morte d’Arthur
, written in Richard’s lifetime.