A King's Betrayal (4 page)

             
She would hate him if her child died.  Richard’s child, the child she hoped would be a son and King of England one day.  Surely she must know that Richard could not acknowledge her children?  To do so might risk the inheritance of his legitimate heirs one day.  Her children were bastards born out of wedlock and as such could not inherit the throne – but if Richard were to acknowledge them, claim that he married their mother before Isabella of Valois, then it might be done. She must know that her only chance was for Richard to have a change of heart if his wife proved barren, and that was far from being certain.  Isabella was still a child barely more than eleven years of age.  Tomas doubted that Richard had done more than kiss her cheek.  It was the reason he sought Beatrice’s bed when he could spare the time to visit.  Tomas doubted that his wife was Richard’s only mistress.  He was a Plantagenet and like his forefathers a man of lusty appetites despite his love of art and fine architecture.  Beatrice would hate him if he said it to her face, but Richard was too selfish a man to truly love any woman.

             
‘I must leave, Tomas.’

             
He turned at the sound of Sir Hugh’s voice, inclining his head.  ‘Yes, you must go, brother. Forgive me for neglecting you at supper.  I could not leave her, though she does not know I am near.’

             
‘Beatrice does not know how fortunate she is,’ Hugh said and frowned.  ‘What shall I tell Richard when I see him?’

             
‘That the child was born…’ Tomas broke off as the door to his wife’s chamber opened and one of the women came down the stairs of the tower. He went out to meet her.  She was carrying something wrapped in linen and Tomas’s heart caught as she saw the woman’s expression.

             
‘The child?’ he asked, dreading the answer he already knew.  ‘Was it a boy?’

             
‘Yes, my lord.  A fine child but too small to live.’

             
‘Let me look.’  Tomas drew back the wrappings and looked at the babe’s face.  It looked blue and strange, as if it had died because it had been torn from its mother’s womb too soon and could not breathe alone.  His throat closed with emotion and tears filled his eyes.  ‘The poor little babe.  May God keep his soul.’

             
‘Aye, my lord.  ‘Tis sad for you and my lady, but the good God will give you more babes.’

             
There was sympathy in her voice for him.  She must believe that the child was his – and that meant that others would too.  Beatrice had hidden her adultery well from most of the servants.  Only one or two might guess the truth, but it hardly mattered now.  The son Beatrice had wanted so much was dead and Tomas doubted there would be another child made between her and Richard.  He knew from something Richard had told him that he did not intend to continue the relationship.  Beatrice’s pride and ambition had driven Richard away.  He would not visit her bed again.

             
‘May I go in now?’ he asked.  ‘Does my wife know that the child was a boy?’

             
‘Yes, my lord.  She asked to see him.’

             
Tomas turned to Sir Hugh.  ‘I must comfort her.  Tell Richard the boy was stillborn but say nothing more.  I have always feared what might happen if the truth were known.’

             
‘You are a good man, Tomas Ryston,’ Sir Hugh said and gripped his arm.  ‘I know she will be safe with you.  If God does not grant me the happiness of being with you again, know that I loved her and honoured you.’

             
‘Go with God, my friend.’

             
‘Make her face the truth.  Richard will not return to her after this.  She makes too many demands and he wearies of her.’

             
Tomas nodded.  He could not keep the truth from Beatrice.  She would know that she had lost the son she’d craved and soon she would also know that she had lost Richard.  Tomas must do what he could to comfort her and hope that in time she would turn to him.

             
He entered the birthing chamber.  Beatrice was lying with her face turned to the wall, her body curled in a defensive position, as if she tried to protect the child she had carried so many months, denying her loss. 

             
‘I know it hurts,’ he said softly.  ‘But you still have Elspeth – and though it means little to you, you will always have me.’

             
She did not turn her head as she said, ‘Go away.  I hate you.  I have lost my son and nothing matters to me now.’

             
‘It will one day,’ Tomas promised and bent to kiss her brow, which was damp with sweat.  ‘I promise you that one day you will feel happy again.’

             
She turned her head on the pillow to look at him.  ‘Nothing you can do will make me happy.  Go away and leave me to grieve alone.  I do not want you, Tomas.  I do not want your pity.’

             
‘It isn’t pity I would offer you,’ Tomas said but so quietly that she did not hear him.

             
‘Leave me,’ she said, her face stained with tears.  ‘My life is over.  I have nothing to live for.’

             
‘I know that you have betrayed your vows.  I know that you care little for me – but I never thought you a heartless fool.’

             
The tone of his voice brought her head up, a look of shock in her green eyes.  ‘Why do you call me heartless?’

             
‘Because you have a beautiful child.  Will you lie there and break your heart for a son that never drew breath when you have Elspeth?  She is a golden child, a gift from God, and you should thank him every day for her life.  Shame on you, Beatrice!  I never thought I had wed a coward.  Elspeth will have enemies for one day her secret may be known.  You must live to fight for her – for her right to be happy.’

             
‘I am not a coward nor am I heartless.  I love Elspeth.  You know I adore her.’

             
Tomas hid his smile as he saw the spark of anger in her eyes.

             
‘Prove it.  Elspeth will be rich and if Richard is successful he will give her the honours he promised in his letter.  One day he may arrange an important marriage for her – perhaps with a foreign prince, or mayhap one of the Mortimers.’

             
‘Do you think he would truly do so much for her?’

             
Beatrice rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes,  brushed away her tears and then pushed herself up against the pillows. Her air of defeat had gone and there was a new eagerness in her face.

             
‘If he does nothing I will demand a favour,’ Tomas told her.  ‘I have asked nothing for myself.  Richard owes me.  He shall give our daughter that which you were promised and then denied – a royal husband.’

             
Beatrice gave him a wan smile.  ‘I no longer believe in the promises of kings.’

             
‘Yet you may believe in mine,’ Tomas said.  ‘I know you must grieve for your lost babe, but do not neglect Elspeth.  She is the future.’

Five

‘What news?’ Richard King of England asked as the knight entered his tent.  The man was sodden from the eternal rain that had dogged their campaign since their return from Ireland.  ‘Have you brought me men in sufficient numbers?’

             
‘I have brought in one hundred trained soldiers and fifty yeomen armed with pikes, Sire,’ Sir Hugh said.  ‘I tried to rally others but most told me they would wait to see which way the wind was blowing before they decided for you.’

             
Richard swore, striking his mailed fists one against the other.  ‘It is the same everywhere.  Some have rallied to their King’s call but others wait; they send messages of encouragement and beg me to forgive their tardiness, making promises they will not keep.’

             
‘We need a strong decisive victory,’ Sir Hugh said.  ‘If the people see that you are winning they will flock to you.  You are the King.  Act now and Bolingbroke will run back where he came from with his tail between his legs.’

             
‘We are not strong enough.  I have been advised that it would be best to consolidate our forces in Conway Castle and wait for others to join us before we strike.’

             
‘Forgive me, Sire.  I think it would be the worst thing we could do.  People will think you are afraid to meet Bolingbroke.  A swift thrust against him now might rally those that sit on the fence and wait.’

             
‘I shall consider what is best.’  Richard sighed as the wind howled about them, tugging at the ropes of his pavilion as if it would tear the flimsy silk and toss it to the elements.  ‘Listen to that damned rain.  I think this must be the wettest place in my kingdom.  ‘Tis no wonder the Welsh are such a brooding people.  Anyone would be miserable in this godforsaken place.’

             
He was beset by his doubts.  The pictures in his mind haunted him, a premonition of a dark and terrible place where he might end his life, alone and in pain.  He thought with regret of the work that was unfinished, the beautiful rebuilding of Westminster and so many projects as yet not begun.  The face of a woman came into his mind and once again he was touched by regret.

             
‘The weather is unfortunate, Sire.  Some talk of witchcraft.  They say that the weather has been sent to destroy the English usurpers and free the Welsh people from their oppressors.  Even the priests are fearful and constantly telling their beads.’

             
‘Nonsense!  I do not believe in witchcraft.’  Richard banished his regrets.  ‘What of your sister?  Does she do well?’

             
‘I fear I am the bearer of sad news, Sire.  My sister was brought to bed early and the child was stillborn.’

             
‘Indeed?  I am sorry to hear that, Sir Hugh.  Lord Tomas must be devastated.’  Richard turned his face away, his hands clenching at his side.  ‘What was the child – a girl or…?’

             
‘It was a boy child, Sire.  My sister hath lost the son she longed for.’

             
For an instant Richard bowed his head in grief.  ‘I am very sorry for her.  I shall write my condolences when I have a moment to spare and you shall take the letter when we are done here in Wales.  Elspeth does well still?’

             
‘Yes, the girl thrives, Sire.’

             
Richard nodded, once more in control.  ‘It is often so.  Girls thrive and the son we long for dies.  It happens to kings and peasants alike, Hugh.  I grieve for your sister’s loss, but I am sure she will console herself with Elspeth.’

             
‘I believe that is what Tomas will tell her.  He is a good man.  She was luckier than she knew when she wed him.  He cares for her deeply.’

             
‘Does he?’  Richard stilled, shocked for an instant, and then nodded his head, in acknowledgement of something he had known in his heart.  ‘That is a good thing.  I am sure that they will have sons to bring them joy in future.’

             
‘Yes, perhaps.’

             
‘Was there something more?’

             
Hugh looked into the King’s harsh face.  For a moment he was tempted to demand justice for his sister and her husband, but his courage failed him as he saw the glint in Richard’s eyes.

             
‘No, there is nothing more, Sire.’

             
‘You have done well to bring in as many men as you have.  Join your fellow knights and rest.  We have food enough, though ‘tis but rough fare.  I dare say we may do better at Conway.’

             
‘Sire…’ Again Hugh hesitated.  His instincts told him that Richard must strike now, before it was too late.  He had a feeling of foreboding.  It crept over him like a dark shadow, making him want to cry out that the King was wrong.  He must not lose the advantage by taking shelter in Conway Castle.  If he did so his cause was doomed.  Yet to object too plainly would anger Richard.  He would not be told by a mere knight for he was anointed in God’s sight.  ‘I thank you.’

             
Walking away from the King’s tent, Hugh sensed the heavy atmosphere of gloom that seemed to hang over the small groups of soldiers, knights and even the nobles.  Looking at their faces, Hugh could see and almost taste the air of defeat that clung about them.  It was as if they all knew that their cause was doomed.  Richard had lost even before he began, because the people refused to answer his call.

‘I hear that Richard intends to make his stronghold at Conway,’ the messenger said.  He had ridden hard, his boots and hose splashed with mud from the roads, and had not stopped to change his apparel.  ‘It is a stout fortress, my lord, and I think it will take a huge army to break down those walls and subdue the King’s forces.’

             
Henry Bolingbroke, created Duke of Hereford at Richard’s hand, swore loudly. Of a much heavier build than Richard Plantagenet and trained to fight from his early years he had proved himself again and again in the tourney, and was more at home on the field of battle than in a palace. He was a soldier to his core and as such he was respected by men who resented the superior qualities of their King; Henry was to their minds brave and strong where Richard was weak and vicious.

             
‘Richard is a coward,’ he snarled.  ‘He will stay holed up in his castle for months and our army will grow tired of waiting for a fight.  Men will desert us and then, when our ranks are sufficiently depleted, he will come out.  Once the people see that he has the upper hand they will flock to him in their thousands and I shall have to return to France with my hands empty and, if I am taken, my head will be forfeit.’

             
‘Richard is a tyrant but clever as a fox.  He played the waiting game before and beat us, and he thinks to do the same again, lulling us to a sense of security before he strikes – but this time we should not let him have his way.  With good fortune, you may escape to France none the poorer for your venture, but those of us who joined you will lose our lands and mayhap our heads.  Richard will not forgive those that took up arms against him.  He has shown that he is prepared to hang his enemies and take their hereditary lands.  We cannot let him win this time.’

             
‘There is a way,’ Henry said, his eyes narrowed, thoughtful.  ‘We must trick him

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bring him out of there under a flag of truce and then arrest him.’

             
‘You would kill him?’

‘Nay, we shall meet with him, disarm him and then discuss our grievances.  When we have him in our power the resistance will crumble. Without Richard there is no true opposition.’

‘But why should he give up a position of strength to meet with you?’

             
‘We must send someone in to talk to him, make him believe that all we wish for is to make peace, to ask that he will rescind the laws that forced us to rise up against him.’

             
‘It would have to be someone he trusted,’

             
‘Richard is not a fool.  He will know that you are trying to lure him into a trap.’

             
‘Not if we send the right man.’

             
‘Where will you find such a man?’  There was a murmuring amongst the nobles as they looked fearfully at one another, wondering who would be chosen for such a dangerous mission.

             
‘I think perhaps we already have,’ Henry said and turned to look at a man who had stood silent and watchful all this time.  ‘What do you say, my lord?’

             
‘You wish me to persuade him to meet you?’ Thomas Arundel asked, coming forward out of the shadows so that the light of the candles fell upon his thin face.  ‘My family suffered at Richard’s hands.  Yes, I shall do it, though I may need Northumberland’s help for Richard trusts him.’

             
‘Tell him that we wish to meet with the King to talk of peace.  I am not sure of Northumberland’s heart.  If he knew what we planned he might betray us to Richard.’

             
The other man nodded, his expression grim.  ‘You may rely on my discretion,’  Richard is a tyrant and he no longer deserves to be King.  ‘I shall deliver him to you, but the rest is up to you.’

             
‘You may leave the future to me.’  Henry smiled.  ‘If Richard be a trusting fool, as I think him, he deserves no more than his fate.’