A Rose for the Crown (69 page)

“Hush, hinny.” Rob soothed in his Northern dialect. “We shouldna have come. My pardon. Let us find some refreshment. A good cup of wine will set you aright.”

With Molly helping her on the other side, Kate walked slowly out of the cathedral through a side door and into the drizzle. The fine rain felt good on her face, and her spirits slowly recovered. They made their way through the churchyard to St. Paul’s Gate that led into Cheapside. In a few minutes, they were in the more cheerful atmosphere of the Mermaid Inn and Rob was pouring her some wine.

“I know not what came over me, Rob. ’Twas as though I saw Richard there.”

Rob smiled. “Richard is the king’s brother. These men were traitors and laid out as traitors. Nothing like that can happen to Richard.”

She gave a weak grin. “No, no, you are right, Rob. I am just a foolish woman with too many fancies in her head. Let us drink a cup to our brave warriors. To Richard! To you, Rob!”

They both raised their cups and finished their wine before joining Molly and the squire under a tree in the courtyard.

Kate did not tell Richard of her strange fancy. She did not want to jeopardize the happiness of their short time together. She decided it was nothing but a morbid thought brought on by her courses that began the next day. Richard laughed at her chagrin at their onset and made a special effort to spoil her in other ways. He gave her a jeweled brooch of gold. “The emerald is you, the diamonds are my children,” he told her.

The days flew by, and on Friday morning, he kissed her farewell. “You must go home to Chelsworth, Kate, you will be safe there. We
know not how we shall fare against Queen Margaret. As long as people believe the children are Hautes, not Plantagenets, they will be safe. Besides, your father-in-law needs you to nurse him.” He had discovered that Martin had indeed been wounded at Barnet and had arranged for him to be transported home with Kate and an escort of two men-at-arms.

“God keep you, Richard. I shall pray for you and Edward every step of your journey. Promise to send me word when it is over and you are safe?” Kate stroked his cheek and committed his every feature to memory. He smiled and kissed her again.

“Aye, my fair Kate. You shall hear from me. God keep you—and my children.”

This time he did see the tears coursing down her cheeks as she stood on the steps of the castle to wave good-bye.

B
ACK AT
C
HELSWORTH,
Kate spent the next two weeks tending Martin’s wounds. He had been felled by an arrow in his shoulder, which the battlefield surgeon had attempted to remove without success. Only when one of the nuns at the hospital of St. Mary Bethlehem had given it the time and patience needed had the metal tip been eased out by her skilled fingers. By then, infection had set in and with it the inevitable fever. Martin teetered between life and death for several days before Richard had knowledge of his whereabouts.

Martin was not an easy patient, Kate noted. He chafed at being bedridden and snapped at her, the servants and his estate manager, to whom he railed about being unable to further serve his king. Kate overheard them talking and understood her father-in-law’s frustration and thus she remained patient with him, ignoring his moods.

“For once, you have no choice but to do my bidding. You may join the king as soon as I deem you fit and not before, Father,” she told him one particularly exasperating day. “Why a man should want to go back into the fray after what you have endured is beyond my understanding. Despite knowing ’tis a man’s world, I would not be a man for all the jewels in the crown.”

Martin harrumphed and then gave a snort of laughter. It was the first one she had heard from him since returning, and it gave her hope of his recovery.

“Daughter,” he teased her, “you are harder to bear than that leathery old hag of a nun. And it pains me to admit I am grateful for your skill and your patience.”

“Tomorrow, if the sun shines, we shall see how your legs work outside in the garden.” Kate helped him out of bed for a turn upon the chamber pot and left him to his privacy, pleased with his progress.

It was one of those glorious days in early May when Kate finally allowed Martin out. The sun sparkled on the river, lambs frolicked in the fields beyond and the air was alive with birdsong. Martin breathed deeply, remarking on the earthy smell of tilled soil and the delicate scent of the hawthorn blossom. He exhaled and breathed again. There was a dull ache in his shoulder as he did so, but he felt strong at last and sent up a
Deo gratia
as he surveyed his estate. Kate took his arm and gently walked him among the herb beds, pointing out the growing plants and giving their medicinal values.

Across the Brett, the field hands were bent double weeding between the bright green shoots of wheat. As Kate and Martin came to the riverbank, a horseman rode full tilt down the hill and over the bridge. They stood stockstill, both wondering if he rode for Haute Manor. Their question was answered in a moment when the foam-flecked mount pounded into the stable yard. The messenger leapt off before Wat had time to help and demanded to see the master of the house. Wat pointed to Martin a hundred feet away.

Martin moved to meet the young man who wore the Howard colors. “Pray God it is good news, Kate.”

The messenger bowed and pulled a parchment from his pouch. “’Tis from my mistress, Lady Howard. My master is still with the king in the west but bade me ride to tell his lady the good news. ’Tis she who has sent me here.”

“Good news. Did you say
good
news?” Martin demanded.

The man grinned, still breathing heavily. “Aye, sir, ’tis set out in the letter.”

Kate told Will to take the servant to the kitchens for refreshment. Martin walked stiffly back into the garden and sank down on Philippa’s favorite wooden bench. Kate sat next to him, waiting for him to read the
letter, her nervous fingers fumbling with the keys attached to her belt. Martin scanned the first few lines and then began to read aloud.

“To Master Martin Haute greetings from Tendring Hall and my Lord Howard. Please convey the news in this letter to my dearest Kate as soon as you receive it.

“His Grace, King Edward has won a decisive victory outside the city of Tewkesbury, so my lord says.”
Kate clapped her hands and leaned back, smiling.
“The march began in Cirencester on the last day of April and from then ’twas a race to engage the queen’s army ere she crossed the Severn. They came to Tewkesbury hard by the Severn, and Edward knew he must strike or Somerset would lead the enemy back into Wales and safety. In three days they marched without stopping, and both sides were footsore upon the eve of battle. The battle was bloody indeed, and when ’twas done, the queen’s son, Edward of Lancaster, was slain in the field. Somerset was taken and the queen and her party were in flight. ’Tis said Edward took no prisoners.”

Martin paused. He stared straight ahead, his mouth in a grim line. “Christ’s nails, I wish I had been there! Oh, to have been part of that glorious day.”

“Or part of its carnage, Father. How do you know ’twas not part of God’s plan that you be kept safe?”

Martin looked at her, his eyes lackluster, the white beard standing out on his gaunt face. “Why would He keep me safe, Kate? He has seen to it I lose two sons and my life’s companion. Who needs me now? I am but a shell of an old soldier with no more purpose in life than . . . than . . . that worm down there.” He kicked at a clump of earth and sent the worm writhing into the grass.

“Be still, Father. I did not mean to offend you. You are important to your son, to Maud and me. You can still be of use to the king—or the queen, and you must keep all this”—she encompassed the house and land with her gesture—“running smoothly for your grandchildren. Think of them.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Martin taking in her words before he went on with the letter.

“Kate must know that Richard commanded the vanguard once again. Somerset was found in an abbey with others and brought to trial before Richard as Constable and was executed without delay.”

“Good riddance!” Martin growled, and then addressed the letter, “But my lady, what of the She-wolf?”

It was as if Margaret had anticipated the question.

“William Stanley pursued the queen over the river and found her hiding in a religious house with only a group of ladies about her, including her daughter-in-law Anne Neville, now a widow, who is in Clarence’s custody, so Jack says. Poor little thing.”

“Poor little thing!” It was Kate’s turn to growl, and Martin looked up in surprise.

“Why, Kate. What has Anne Neville done to deserve your disfavor?”

“Why, nothing, Father.” She said, turning a sweet smile on him.

Martin shrugged. “Women!” he muttered and folded the letter.

I
T WAS NOT UNTIL
three weeks later that Martin and Kate learned in their little backwater of the death of King Henry in the Tower of London—of melancholy was the word being put about, after hearing of the deaths of his son, of Somerset and thousands of his followers. Those close to King Edward knew otherwise, for it did seem too much of a coincidence that the day following Edward’s triumphant return to London, King Henry should expire of his own accord. None dared voice the dreadful thought. No one could deny it was possible the news from Tewkesbury had brought on a bout of madness. No one could deny that, in his madness, it was possible he hit his head on something so hard that he caused some who viewed the body to think he had died of a fractured skull.

And no one would deny that with him died all the hopes of Lancaster.

PART FOUR
Loyaulté me lie

(Loyalty binds me)

—
MOTTO OF
K
ING
R
ICHARD
III

18
Suffolk and London, 1471–1472

K
atherine! Leave John alone.” Kate’s patience with her unruly three-year-old was fast running out. The sun had just disappeared below the horizon, the children were bored and tired and supper was another hour away. She dubbed it her Satan-sent hour.

“Molly, take the children away and ready them for evening prayers, I beg of you.”

“Aye, mistress,” Molly said, hiding a smile. She knew her mistress’s limitations at this time of day. Molly thought Katherine could do no wrong and indulged her every whim.

“You spoil the child,” Kate complained.

“Bah!” was Molly’s usual impertinent reply, and she had received more than one punishment for it. Kate was never angry with Molly for long, and she understood the woman’s devotion to Katherine. Molly and Wat had been unable to conceive another child despite vigorous attempts.

Kate was proud of Katherine, if exasperated by her. The child had lost her lisp and spoke beautifully, and she was also an incorrigible mimic. Kate once caught her imitating Wat to the cook, scratching her head and
her crotch and speaking in the Suffolk burr. She admonished her daughter, naturally. It did not do to poke fun at one servant in front of another. But she had to bite the inside of her cheeks not to laugh.

Despite her pride in Katherine, it was baby John who tugged at her heart. He was Richard in miniature, but with an even more placid temperament. Life seemed happy and easy for the boy. Kate had yet to see him fly into a tantrum, unlike Richard, who was prone to sudden bursts of anger that dissipated quickly. Once, after a characteristic outburst by his younger brother, Edward had told Richard: “You need to curb your anger, my boy. Save it for the battlefield.”

Kate smiled at the memory as she went down to the waiting household for evening prayers. She chose a scripture reading from the Sermon on the Mount, in which Jesus says, “Suffer the little children to come unto me.” During the silent prayer that followed, she fingered her rosary and murmured some
aves
before her mind wandered to the upcoming Yule season. Would she be left to her own devices, or would Martin return to see that the Haute family traditions were honored? Martin’s wound had taken its time to heal. In his forty-sixth year, his age and recent bereavement had weakened his constitution, making his body work twice as hard as once it had to knit his flesh and renew his strength. Kate had nursed him for many weeks before she deemed him fit to return to the queen’s household.