A Rose for the Crown (80 page)

“Nay, John, I am sorry. You are much too big for me to carry now. I shall just have to tell you what I see.”

“Mother! I beg of you, lift me!” His plea was heard by a stalwart standing next to them, who offered to hoist John onto his shoulders. Kate thanked him and allowed John to climb up. The man smelled of stale ale and sweat, but John did not seem to care.

The boy was spellbound, his small hands clinging around the man’s neck. Kate hoped he would not cry out something that might reveal their identity, but he seemed speechless for the time being. The mounting roar told her the king’s party was approaching, and she stood on tiptoe, determined not to miss Richard this time. The king waved genially to his
subjects, and they waved back. He was again wearing mourning blue, but the other men had left off their black habits and were clad in less concealing attire. She recognized George, duke of Clarence, who was charming the townsfolk by throwing coins among them. Kate knew how much trouble this third son of York had caused, and she dismissed him and studied his wife instead. She was shocked. Isobel Neville was plainly ill. She had been considered prettier than her sister, but now she was gaunt, her cheeks hollowed, with great dark circles around her eyes. On her, mourning black sat like a pall. Isobel had given birth to a son the year before, and it seemed she had not recovered, so Jack had said.

Kate’s eye was caught by a fluttering standard displaying a white boar. And there he was—Richard! He sat astride a new horse she did not recognize, but the familiarity of his face, his clear, gray eyes and athletic body all evoked long-ago feelings she had suppressed these past four years. His magnificence took her breath away; his smile pierced her heart. She could not control the tears that rolled down her cheeks—happy tears that he was there, he was well, and he had not changed.

“’Tis Gloucester,” said the woman in front. “And his Neville wife. He was born at Foth’ringhay, you know. He be one of us.”

Kate had forgotten about Anne. Now she looked at her rival with keen interest. What she saw did not overly impress her, though she admitted Anne appeared to have a gentle demeanor and sat her horse well. Kate caught the look of adoration thrown Richard’s way, and a stab of jealousy surprised her. She had thought time had healed her wound, she had convinced herself she no longer thought of Richard as more than her children’s father. Of course, there were those nights when she still cried herself to sleep, and she never forgot him in her prayers. But she had moved on, hadn’t she? So, why the sudden pang?

She had no time to answer herself, for Richard was staring straight at her. Did he recognize her in the ugly widow’s wimple? Those eyes haunted her in her dreams, and as they locked on hers for an instant, he smiled. He knows me, she rejoiced. He chose the moment to blow a kiss seemingly at random into the crowd. It hit its intended mark, and she put her hand up to her cheek in acknowledgment. She felt herself flush. She did not care what anyone thought as she, too, blew a kiss. Then she reached up and touched John. Richard stared happily at his son and
nodded slowly in recognition. In a few seconds, he was gone, leaving Kate glowing.

Behind his mother and father, prettily posed on a white pony, Edward of Middleham waved to the crowd. A squire leading the horse made sure the tiny figure did not fall. He was a frail child, with light brown hair and pink skin. Nevertheless, there was something about him that reminded Kate of John—the steadfast gray eyes, perhaps. Edward was only a few months younger than Dickon, she thought, and she wondered—as she wondered every day—how her other son was faring.

“’Tis Katherine, Mother! Look, look!” John almost fell off his perch as he lurched over one of his porter’s shoulders to get Kate’s attention.

“Take care, little laddie!” The man laughed good-naturedly and tightened his grasp on John’s legs. “Who is it you see?”

“My sister, sir. There, with the black dress. See?”

Kate spotted her daughter riding behind a lady-in-waiting to Elizabeth and holding onto the woman’s skirts. Kate waved, but the girl did not see her or John, who was shrieking her name. The yeoman scanned the crowd on the opposite side of the street and did not think to look at one of the royal company. Kate chose not to enlighten him.

“Katherine! Katherine! Over here!” John was desperate, and Kate could see he was now annoying the yeoman.

“He is a pest, is he not?” Kate gave him a sympathetic smile. “Put him down, goodman. He has seen enough, and we thank you for your kindness.”

Gratefully, the man lowered the wriggling John to the ground and tousled the boy’s dark hair. “It be natural, mistress. Bain’t every day a lad gets to see his king. Farewell, littl’un.”

Kate took John’s hand and eased out of the crowd. The market square, with the sun beating on the citizenry, was stifling. A vendor was selling ale and pies nearby, and Kate bought them both a cup of the bitter brew and a pasty.

“Which one was my father?” John asked, as they munched their pies on the way back to the White Boar. He jumped aside as the contents of a pot were thrown from the second floor of a house. “God’s bones, but that nearly hit me!”

“John! I will not have you speak thus,” Kate scolded him, but recognizing
from whom he must have heard the oath, she did not slap him. “Your father was the handsome man on the black horse just in front of the little boy on the pony.”

“Oh,” said John, not remembering the man at all. “But did you see Katherine? ’Twas exciting to see her amidst those grand people, don’t you think, Mother?”

“Aye, son. And in a few days, you will be part of them, just as I explained to you at home before we came. That is why you must have a care of what you say and remember the manners I have taught you. You will be a good boy, promise me, John.” There was a catch in her throat.

She had been quite complacent all through the journey to Stamford and kept up a lighthearted chatter to allay John’s fears about leaving home. But now, seeing all the people who would be John’s new family circle parading in front of her, the reality was sinking in. Would he remember her after a few months in his grand new world? She doubted it.

The inn was empty when they reached the doorstep, but they could still hear the cheering from the procession route, telling Kate they might enjoy a short respite. She drew John onto her lap by the window in the comfortable room Richard had reserved and sang him one of his favorite songs.

“Our King went forth to Normandy,
With grace and might of chivalry;
The God for him wrought marv’lously,
Wherefore England may call and cry
Deo gratias.”

John joined in the
Deo gratias
with gusto. Martin had told him the story of King Henry at Agincourt over and over again, and he would fall asleep dreaming he was among the soldiers of that victorious army. Kate was glad to have raised a boy who appreciated music so much. Richard would be pleased, she hoped. Then what was there about John that Richard could not like? He was a steadfast, kind-hearted boy with a quick mind, physical agility and no pretensions. Handsome, too, in her maternal opinion. Truly, he was a prince.

By the time she had finished singing several other ballads, Kate could
hear signs the excitement was over. Voices floated up to her from the street, and the inn door banged several times. She had been holding John all this time, wanting to cherish each second of his closeness before she had to relinquish him forever.

“Ouch, Mother, you are choking me!” John squirmed out of her arms and onto the floor just as Molly knocked and entered the chamber. Wat followed behind her. They were flushed from the sun’s rays and the sights and sounds of the day.

“Madam, did you see Katherine? Looking every bit the lady, my sweet baby.” Molly was ecstatic.

The maid had several weeks of despondency when Katherine left for Wingfield, and Kate had felt sorry for her until Molly turned her bitterness on John, and then Kate stepped in and told her to collect herself. Kate was glad Molly felt such affection for the girl, but if she, Katherine’s mother, could get over the loss, then certes, so could Molly. Besides, she was upsetting John, whose turn to leave was rapidly approaching.

Kate smiled at her servant. “Aye, Molly, she looked as fair as any of the other ladies, I agree. I did not think to see her here, but I am right glad to know the duchess is not ashamed of her.”

“Ashamed! Why so, ashamed? She be a perfect little lady.”

Kate smiled. “You should not show your prejudice so, Molly. Now, pray instruct the landlord to serve our supper. I want John in bed early tonight, for he will have a big day tomorrow.” She forced gaiety into her voice to mask the terror she felt at the imminent parting from her beloved son.

T
HE TOWN WAS FULL
of strangers. Lesser men of the royal retinues were housed in the many inns or as guests of townspeople. The castle and the priory were not large enough to accommodate the throng that had traveled from the north. Landlords were packing in the customers, and men with the badge of the White Boar of Gloucester mingled with those of the Black Bull of Clarence and the king’s Sunne in Splendour. Kate learned the other rooms at the inn were sleeping three and four to a bed. She was grateful for the private room.

The king and his train were to leave for Fotheringhay early the next day, and as Kate awaited word from Richard, she chose to take a walk
through the town to the river. She donned a straw hat lent to her by the landlord’s wife and set off to explore, leaving John with Molly. Molly had begged to accompany her mistress, for she had an innate distrust of folk not from her own region and was afraid for Kate’s safety. Kate scoffed at her fears, and pointed out that with the town so full, a woman in distress would only have to cry out but once for a dozen men to run to her rescue.

“I will go as far as the river, Molly, and no farther. I promise,” she said.

She passed through St. George’s Gate and onto the bridge. She paused and watched the unloading of a vessel at the town pier. Off to the east, between the city wall and the River Welland, the now familiar sight of workers stretching wool in the tenter field received only a cursory glance. Once over the bridge, she walked along the river, enjoying the view of the many spires rising behind the city walls. The water was clear and inviting on a hot day, so she ran down the grassy bank, took off her shoes and dabbled her feet in the cool stream. A few children waved gaily at her from the bridge, and she waved back, paddling in a little deeper and squelching mud between her toes.

Climbing back up the bank, she was suddenly confronted by a swarthy man who blocked her way. “Don’t scream, my beauty,” he said menacingly, gripping her arm. “I be just wanting yer money. Just untie yer belt gentle-like and gimme the bag.”

Kate was incensed but also afraid. She had left her valuables in the inn, more to placate Molly than out of fear for herself, and all that was in her pouch was a book of poems Margaret had given her. She pretended to fumble with the knot in her belt.

“Give it ’ere!” the thief cried, trying to wrest the pouch from her.

“Help! Help! Thief!” she screamed, and she brought her right knee up and smashed it into the man’s groin. He groaned in agony and doubled over to his knees.

Her piercing screams alerted some horsemen crossing the bridge, and two of them broke away from the group and galloped to her rescue.

“You scum of the earth, you mammet, you maggot-pie! Get away from me! Toad-spotted boar-pig!” Kate cried, as she pummeled the man’s bowed head with the bag. “I will have you horsewhipped for this!”

The two riders leapt from their saddles and took hold of the man on either side, jerking him to his feet.

“How now, sirrah!” one of the rescuers shouted at him. “Preying on defenceless women? I warrant the sherrif will want a word with you.”

The vagrant cowered, his legs still crossed to shield his painful groin.

“Richard!” exclaimed Kate, recovering her balance and recognizing his voice at once. Then she saw Rob Percy. “Rob! Oh, well met both of you! And just in time.”

“Kate! I might have known it was you,” Richard said, twisting the thief’s arm roughly behind his back. “Rob, have one of the squires take this measle to the sheriff.”

Richard let Rob take charge of the prisoner, tied his horse to a tree and put his arm around Kate’s shoulders. She trembled at his touch. And then she found her knees knocking and would have fallen had Richard not held her.

“In truth, I am a little wobbly,” she said, trying to laugh. “The varlet unnerved me more than I care to admit. But fortune was on my side today and brought you to my aid. How did—”

“How did I come to be in the right place at the right time, my rose?” Richard held her close, inhaling the sweet smell of her. “We went to find you at the inn, and Molly said you had ventured to the river alone. A foolhardly thing to do, Kate, if I may be so bold.”

“Aye,” Kate said sheepishly. “Molly did warn me.”

“You could have been murdered, Kate!” Richard admonished her, taking her arm and walking with her, “although some of my squires should learn to defend themselves as well as you.” He chuckled but then turned serious. “Times are not as happy as they could be. This march from Pontefract for the reburial of our father has been a good political move for Edward. He has shown himself to his people again, and it has healed some wounds. But the French war left him unpopular, you must know, and he has much work to do to win back the people’s love.”