A Rose for the Crown (87 page)

“You need have no fear on that score, Richard dotes on her.” A note of resentment tinged Anne’s response, and Kate suppressed a smile. “Pray be seated, Dame Haute. We do not want Katherine to think we are not civil with each other, do we?”

“Nay, your grace. Katherine holds both of us in too high regard.” Kate took a seat and folded her hands in her lap. She was keenly aware of the social gulf between them but was determined Anne would not find her manners deficient. And thus Katherine found them a few minutes later when she returned with wine. After they had sipped some and made small talk about children, the weather and the overcrowded city, Anne rose to leave.

“Come, Katherine, say good-bye to your mother and follow me. Farewell, Dame Haute, I am . . . glad to have met you.” As if the forced effort was too much for her, Anne began to cough. “Silly of me. It must be the London air. I find this castle very damp,” she apologized after the fit passed, annoyed to have shown Kate any weakness.

“Aye, ’tis so close to the river. I feel it, too.” Something about Anne’s frailty aroused Kate’s sympathy, and she spoke kindly to her. “A hot posset of sage, mallow, coltsfoot and comfrey three times a day might soothe you, your grace.”

Anne acknowledged the suggestion with a smile and then she was gone, Katherine and her ladies trailing behind her.

Kate poured herself another cup of wine and wilted into a chair.

T
HREE DAYS LATER
, Margaret and Kate took a walk on the terraces that ran along the water, holding their headdresses fast against the wind that filled the sails of the ships skimming down the shimmering river towards the sea. They turned and meandered back to the outside staircase intending to return to the apartment. They had climbed to the second floor, when the sound of a noisy crowd reached them from below. They leaned over the banister to see what was afoot. Parliament had begun its
session the day before, and everyone was on edge, wondering what would result. A group allowed into the courtyard appeared to be of the gentry, as far as the women could make out from so lofty a perch. Margaret suggested they go down to the next level to get a better view. By this time, people crowded every window and stairwell, and Kate and Margaret had to squeeze themselves in front of two burly men to see.

“’Tis Buckingham!” Margaret said, pointing to the central figure. “And there is Jack. If I am right, ’tis the lords and commons. What can this mean?”

“Richard of Gloucester!” cried Buckingham, his voice matching his size. “Come forth and be recognized.”

The guards had been unable to stem the flow of curious onlookers who pushed through into the courtyard from the street, and now a sizable mass of people faced Richard when the massive door swung open and he appeared at the top of the steps. Those in the castle gave him a rousing cheer, which was taken up by some of those who had entered from the street.

Buckingham held up his hand for silence and unrolled a parchment.

“My lords, members of the council, members of the commons, citizens of London and all present shall bear witness that this day Parliament petitions that most mighty Prince Richard, duke of Gloucester, take to himself, as is his right, the crown of England.” He paused and the crowd gasped. Richard did not move as his cousin continued. “We consider that in the reign of King Edward the Fourth, late deceased, after the ungracious pretended marriage made between King Edward and Elizabeth, late naming herself Queen of England, the order of all politic rule was perverted. The marriage was made privately and secretly, without the issuing of banns. . . .” Buckingham read eloquently, his strong voice carrying to the ramparts. The petition declared the king and queen had lived in adultery and therefore their offspring were bastards, “unable to inherit the throne.” It went on to rule out the claim of George, duke of Clarence’s children by reason of their father’s treason and subsequent attainder.

“Beyond this,” he now addressed Richard on one knee, “we consider that you are the undoubted son and heir of Richard, late duke of York, truly inheritor to the crown and dignity royal—”

He got no further. A roar of approval rose from the assembled lords and gentry.

After the noise had died down, they awaited Richard’s response. He gazed around at the myriad faces waiting expectantly, his eyes traveled up to those leaning from the windows and parapets, and finally, bowing his head, he walked down the steps until he stood level with the crowd.

“If it is the wish of Parliament, lords and commons”—his voice was quiet but firm—“and of the people of this land, I will accept the crown.”

Those closest to him who had heard his modest response set to cheering, and soon the castle walls were ringing. “God save the King! God save King Richard!”

Once again Kate stood crying in the stairwell of Baynard’s Castle, her heart filled with pride—but this time also with fear.

21
Suffolk and London, July to October 1483

I
nside Westminster Abbey, Kate waited with the hundreds of other guests for the procession to arrive. At first, she heard a faint cheer, with the blare of trumpets and beating of tabors rising above it. Like a roaring river edging closer to the falls, the cacophony gradually swelled until it forced its way through the wide open doors and deafened the congregation.

“God save the king! God save the king!” The chant was clear now. Bursting forth from unstopped pipes, the music from the mighty organ filled the air, echoing among the vaulted arches a hundred feet above the packed throng and giving Kate a thrill of expectant pleasure. Her heart pounded to the rhythm of the music, its bass notes vibrating up through her body from the floor. As the music thundered to its climax, the trumpeters and clarions arranged in front of the rood screen let blast a fanfare. The first members of the procession that had wended its traditional way from the Tower more than two hours earlier stepped into the interior of Westminster’s great church of St. Peter.

Kate was seated in a balcony overlooking the dais in St. Edward’s
Shrine, on which two thrones were set. Katherine had prevailed upon her father to allow Kate a seat of honor with her and the other women of the household. Katherine was proud of her mother as they sat holding hands in the balcony, although several ladies whispered behind their hands at the obvious resemblance between Richard’s beloved bastard daughter and the widow. Even Margaret had been surprised by Richard’s generosity. As wife of the new duke of Norfolk, Margaret now had a place of honor in the queen’s train.

The procession was nearing the choir. The faces of the two men who ran backwards, unrolling a carpet of velvet for the new king and queen to walk on in their bare feet, were almost as red as the material they carried. The voices of the choir rang out with a glorious introit,
“Regis regum rectissimi”
—“The day of the King most righteous,” as the great cross of St. Peter was borne in front of a stream of clergy, bishops, prelates, abbots and priests, who crowded around the high altar but left room for Cardinal Bourchier, Archbishop of Canterbury.

Next appeared the highest lords of the land carrying the regalia of state. Kate recognized Francis Lovell, who carried one of the two swords of justice; the duke of Suffolk carrying the scepter; Jack, now Earl Marshal of England, bearing the crown; and his son, Thomas, newly created earl of Surrey.

“Where is Buckingham?” Kate whispered to Katherine, as the nobles processed below her and took their seats.

“You shall see.”

His expression humble and awed, Richard stepped through the portal and into the choir nave as the music reached a crescendo, the voices sending their song heavenward for God’s blessing on the new monarch. Clothed in purple velvet and flanked by two bishops, he walked solemnly towards the dais. He looked neither right nor left, and his impassive face now told Kate nothing. It was hard to imagine this man had once frolicked naked with her in a stream. She smiled at the incongruous memory, and, finding the event overwhelming, she needed the memory to ground her. Katherine nudged her and nodded her head in the direction of the man following Richard. Kate then saw who had the single honor of bearing the king’s train. Holding the wand of High Steward as well as the
heavy mantle, Henry Stafford, duke of Buckingham, had made sure everyone watching knew who had helped Richard to his throne. His rotund face was wet with perspiration, its expression smug.

Richard mounted the few steps of the dais and stood waiting the arrival of his queen. She, too, was wearing purple and was preceded by noblewomen carrying her regalia. Kate looked with interest to see who carried Anne’s train and did not recognize the plain, thin-faced woman in a widow’s wimple—another woman who had taken the vow of chastity—despite the fact she was married.

“Margaret Beaufort,” Katherine enlightened her. Kate frowned. True, Margaret Beaufort was wife to Lord Stanley, but who was he compared with Jack or Henry of Buckingham? Indeed, in her own right she was a descendant of John of Gaunt and his mistress, Catherine Swynford, whose bastard offspring were named Beaufort. However, after Gaunt married his love, King Richard the Second had legitimized their children nigh on eighty years ago with the stipulation that the descendants should never be allowed to inherit the crown. Kate had listened to the talk among the Howard inner circle at Stepney that Henry of Richmond, Margaret Beaufort’s son by her first husband, Edmund Tudor, was being mentioned as a pretender to Richard’s crown, despite the age-old stipulation. Knowing all this, Kate thought it a peculiar honor for Richard to give Lady Margaret. Perhaps he was mending fences and shoring up loyalties.

Finally, the ceremony began. As Kate took in the scene below her, she told herself the abbey could never have witnessed so rich and magnificent a gathering. The noticeable absences were Cecily, mother of the king, and the Woodvilles. Elizabeth had chosen to remain in sanctuary, and her brother, the Archbishop of York, was still in the Tower. Buckingham had not permitted his hated wife, Catherine Woodville, to attend. The two former princes were excluded for obvious reasons. Most significant among the absentees were Anthony, Lord Rivers, and Elizabeth’s son, Richard Grey, who had been accused of treason over the Stony Stratford incident and had been beheaded two weeks before. It seemed the Woodville power was finally at its nadir.

Kate watched, intrigued, as the centuries-old ritual was performed. Richard and Anne shed their robes and walked naked from the waist up
to the high altar for the anointing. The bishops then dressed them in cloth of gold, and the archbishop crowned them as the organ again thundered. Back on their thrones, the king and queen took part in a high mass. The incense rose in clouds, its perfume hanging in the air now warmed by the hundreds of bodies crowding the abbey. A haughty woman behind Katherine swooned and had to be carried out. Kate, too, felt faint and was relieved when the service came to an end and the trumpets and clarions proclaimed the new king to the impatient crowd outside.

“God save King Richard! God save the Lord’s Anointed!” his people cried.

L
ATER IN THE AFTERNOON
, when the banquet was set, Richard and Anne stood together on the dais and received the homage of all present. Kate’s knees knocked as she approached the steps to wait her turn to curtsy. She bowed her head and spoke her pledge of fealty.

“Well met, Kate,” Richard said in a low voice. “The queen and I are pleased you are present. I trust you had a good view.”

Kate raised her eyes to him. He seemed so high as to be out of her reach, and she was startled to see him smiling at her. She smiled back. “Aye, your grace. My thanks for your indulgence.” She curtsied to Anne, who smiled graciously but turned quickly to receive another lady. “’Tis not an easy task you have set yourself, Richard. You are in my prayers.”

“I thank you, Kate,” he said, aware people were wondering why he was taking so long with this widow. “You are always in mine.” With that, he looked over her to the next in line, and she backed away, bowing low. The familiarity in his voice left her weak but happy.

The banquet began. Richard and Anne sat in solitary state at a table on the dais, Richard in the middle with Anne at one end. Jack, Thomas, Francis and Rob were among the privileged who served the couple from gold and silver dishes. Two of Richard’s squires spent the entire banquet prostrate at the foot of the steps in front of their royal master.