A Rose for the Crown (90 page)

Praise be to God, Kate said to herself. She took great pains to write back in as fair a hand as Geoff’s and only made one blotch in the entire four lines.

She was thinking of Geoff and Dickon as she hurried back along the lane from the pasture, holding her shawl close against a cold October wind and looking forward to some hot cider, when a horseman overtook her. It was young John Bourchier.

“Dame Katherine! I have been searching for you this half hour. I have news that concerns you.”

“Why, John, you look worried. I trust the baby is well. And Cat?”

The proud father smiled. “Aye, both Cat and my son are well, I thank you. The news is of a delicate nature, madam, and I would ask you to return with me, if you can.”

“Certes! As long as you have something warm to drink, I will be happy to come.”

John dismounted and helped her up into his saddle. He took the bridle and walked the horse towards the Hall. Kate was only mildly curious; she was used to John over-dramatizing the most innocuous of events.

“You have news of his grace, the duke?”

He nodded furtively. “’Tis a cold wind, is it not?” he replied. “After the terrible storms of last week, ’tis certain the season is changing.”

“Aye, John, you can tell winter is on its way,” she humored him and remained silent for the rest of the short distance to the house.

Ensconced in the office, after shooing Giles Seynclow away from his
duties at the household book and closing the door behind him, John took Jack’s big chair and Kate sat opposite him. He was a gangling young man, with fine, fair hair. His bulging blue eyes lent a perpetually startled expression to his face. Today the eyes started from his head, and his cheeks were flushed with excitement.

She felt a stirring of anxiety. “What is it, John? Has something befallen Jack? Margaret?’

“Her grace is safe at Framlingham. But Father almost single-handedly saved the city of London from those rebellious Kentishmen,” he began, like a boy divulging a secret adventure. “You know he was on a progress to his new lands in Surrey and Sussex?”

Kate nodded.

“I went with him. While we were there, it seems Father became aware of discontent in those regions and in Kent against our new sovereign lord. Without warning, the Kentishmen rose up. Perceiving London might be in danger of attack, Father quickly took and held Gravesend—you know the port in Kent?” Kate nodded again, remembering her wedding day, but his question was rhetorical and he hurried on. “This action prevented the rabble from crossing to besiege the city, or so it would seem.”

Kate frowned. “When did this happen? Who instigated the rising?”

“You will not believe it when I tell you. ’Twas Buckingham. He has great holdings near the town of Tunbridge in Kent. Do you know of the town?” Again Kate nodded, not wishing to interrupt him to tell him her life story. “He has much support in that region.”

“Cousin Richard!” she muttered, recalling the scene at the coronation feast when she had seen him talking with Buckingham. “Oh, dear God, please do not tell me he is involved.”

“Richard Haute of Ightham is indeed guilty of supporting the rising, I regret to say. ’Tis this news I have been asked to relay to you by my father. He thought you would want to know immediately.”

“Thank you, John. ’Tis indeed troubling. Richard Haute was like a father to me. I cannot believe he would turn traitor to his king.” But then she remembered that he had supported York against King Henry. “Does the king know? He must be far into his progress by now. Tell me more of the rising. What did Buckingham hope to gain?”

“The Kentishmen were told the duke had raised an army on behalf of Henry of Richmond and they were to begin the rebellion. Buckingham had indeed gathered troops to his banner in the south and southwest, which he hoped to join from his castle at Brecknock in Wales. But the Kentishmen rose too early and so warned of the rebellion to come, and with Father sending fast to the king with his news, the country was ready.”

The news astounded Kate. What could have happened to Harry Stafford that he chose to turn traitor to the one person in the land who believed in him? How had Richard turned Harry’s love into such hatred? “One thing I do not understand, John. Why were the rebels trying to put Henry of Richmond on the throne? Why not young Edward?”

“You are forgetting the princes’ bastardy, Dame Katherine. No one wants to take a chance on a bastard—or a boy. Nay, Richmond was their choice, although the man has not set foot in this country for many years. Indeed, he never even landed to support his claim and Stafford’s efforts. A well-timed gale prevented his fleet from finding safe harbor, and that same storm kept Buckingham from crossing the Severn to his followers in Dorset.” The young man chuckled. “’Twould appear God was not on their side. Why anyone would follow Richmond, an upstart Tudor, I do not know. Nor do we know his mettle. I, for one, am content with King Richard. He is a true Plantagenet and ’tis his right to wear the crown!”

Kate smiled at John’s enthusiasm. “Well said, John!” She shook her head. “I fear for those two boys in the Tower, in truth. They are still a danger, and anyone else who covets the crown—and has not the same lawful right as Richard—must fear the sons of King Edward.”

John shrugged. “They are bastards and of no account. There is now a rumor they may already be hidden far away—or even dead. Everyone speaks of Richmond as the king’s rival now. If I were the king, I would fear for my life. ’Tis evident there are those who wish him dead.”

Kate gasped, grasping the truth of John’s words, and she turned pale at the thought of Richard’s danger.

“Dame Katherine, are you unwell? Your cousin is imprisoned, certes, but we do not know his fate yet. Take courage. King Richard is a merciful man.”

“’Tis good of you to be concerned, John. I must ask Jack to intercede for me. I cannot stand by and allow my dear cousin to be . . .”

“Executed? Aye, ’tis said Buckingham will be executed at the king’s command. And other traitors may receive the same fate. Though several did flee to Brittany once the rebellion fell apart.” He rose. “And now, if you will forgive me, madam, I cannot stay. I am to gather some papers for Father and return to Salisbury, where he awaits the king’s grace. I will gladly carry some missive for you to him, if you wish.”

“My thanks, John. If ’twill not disturb you, I will write it here.”

“Certes. Take what you need.” He waved at the pile of parchment always in evidence in Jack’s well-run office. She wrote one letter to Jack asking that he deliver the second into Richard’s hands alone. Richard’s was more difficult. She wanted to ask without begging. She chewed the feather on the quill into a soggy mess until she found the right words.

“My sovereign lord, I send you God’s greeting. I have news of the rebellion from John Bourchier, Lord Berners, and I pray God will give you guidance to pronounce judgment on your kinsman, Buckingham, whom you have loved and trusted and who has repaid you with dishonor and treason. For my own selfish reasons, I implore you to spare the life of my own kinsman, Richard Haute of Ightham. I have often told you of his goodness to me, and without it, you and I would never have met. I pray you to remember the love we once had and the words you said when you gave me this ring. I thought never to part with it, but I must if you will hold true to the inscription and will grant my cousin his life. Your loyal and obedient servant, Kate Haute.”

She re-read her words, cleaned up a smudge here and there, slipped off her ring and wrapped it in the letter. She dropped wax in several places to secure the precious contents and sealed it. She addressed this letter and folded it inside Jack’s. Next, she pulled a parchment towards her and began a third letter.

“My dearest Anne, I give you God’s greeting. I have heard of your father’s involvement in the rebellion and I know he is imprisoned for it. Take heart, dear sister, for I have confidence he will be restored to you soon. My friendship
with the duke of Norfolk will surely bear fruit and Cousin Richard will be released. I have written to him to intercede with the king. I shall wait with impatience for your news. Your loving sister, Kate Haute.”

She gave the letters to John and watched him slip them into his pouch with the other documents. Thanking him, she left the room and hurried down the lane to her house.

W
HEN
M
OLLY WAS
in a bad mood, her scowl only intensified the dark mark on her face.

“You might cause weeds to wither if you looked at them now,” Kate remarked, which did not help matters at all.

“Mistress, hold still! I can’t braid your hair if you keep looking to the window. Who be you waiting for?”

“ ’Tis none of your business, Molly. Pray attend to your task. You are impossible when you are in a mood. What has Wat done to make you thus?” Kate was stern, and Molly knew she had overstepped her bounds.

“I be sorry, mistress. Wat hit me again this morning for not mending his stockings. He thinks I have naught to do but look after him. He left soon after without so much as a by-your-leave. Oooh, but he be a rude mammet!”

“Sometimes you deserve a smack, Molly, ’tis true. But I trust Wat does not make a habit of hitting you. I will not tolerate a bully in my house.”

“Nay, I be luckier’n some other wives, mistress. Husbands will always beat their wives. It be in a man’s nature. It be his right, more’s the pity.”

“Aye, perhaps one day the law will change,” Kate said, but her eyes were back on the casement. Molly pinned the final piece of hair and arranged the wimple over Kate’s head, glad the awkward hennins harried her no longer.

At last Kate heard the dogs in their kennels announcing a stranger. There was a thumping on the front door. Kate negotiated the narrow staircase nimbly and flung open the door. A messenger in the Howard livery stood on the step, letter in hand. Kate thanked him with a groat and closed the door in the poor man’s face.

“Right trusted and well beloved Kate, your letter and enclosure was delivered to us yesterday. Be assured we shall review the matter of your cousin, Richard Haute, and out of respect for you and the ring you sent me, we shall spare his life. However, his involvement in this heinous rebellion cannot go unpunished. I pray you will understand our position.”

The letter was formal up to that point, and Kate found the use of the royal “we” disconcerting. Nevertheless, the message was happily received. Whatever his crime, Richard Haute was out of reach of the executioner, she was sure. She kissed the letter gratefully. The next section, however, returned her to Richard the man, the Richard she had loved before fate forced him into kingship and his burden of responsibilities.

“’Twas with a heavy heart that I ended the life of my cousin, Harry Stafford, yesterday morning. I could not look on him again even though he begged to see me. I am ashamed I did not have the measure of him, Kate. I wrote to another that he was the most untrue creature living, and I believe he was. There is more I might write about his character and actions, but I dare not. Only pray for me, Kate, for I am certain I shall burn in Hell for what he has done in my name. God keep you, Richard.”

No
R
this time, she noted. She frowned at the last sentence. Why should Richard pay for Buckingham’s treason? she wondered, folding the letter carefully and placing it among others in her little chest. “I suppose I shall never know,” she said.

A
NNE’S LETTER WAS BRIEF
but informative. She wrote to keep Kate abreast of the situation at Ightham.

“John and I were ignorant of Father’s involvement in the recent rising, I swear. It seems Father was in danger of losing his life, but, perhaps through your acquaintance with the duke of Norfolk and his intercedence, the king was merciful and only attainted him. The Mote is now in his brother James’s hands, but he is a kind man and allows us to live here. Little has changed except for Father. He has aged greatly through this process, though Elizabeth and Ned give him comfort.”

“Thank you, Richard,” Kate said to herself, kissing the letter. She read on.

“In happier news, I had occasion to visit Geoff and meet young Dickon. I cannot condone your action in this, Kate, but he appears happy, in truth. ’Tis a puzzle to me how a mother could give up her child, but I know you had your reasons. He resembles you greatly even to your golden eyes. Geoffrey says he leads my Johnny astray whenever Geoff’s back is turned. Only boys’ pranks, Kate, let me assure you.”

Kate laughed. She could imagine Anne’s serious face when she wrote the last sentence, concerned Kate would worry. On the contrary, Kate was glad her son was not mealy-mouthed. She conjured up an image of herself as an eleven-year-old boy, with dirty hands and face and a handful of frogs. She was sure that when she finally came face to face with Dickon, she would know him instantly. She thought of him in context with Katherine and John and in a flash remembered the vision she had had at Walsingham: three children, two rising above a field while a third stood on the edge, watching. Certes, she thought with relief, Katherine and John are acknowledged royalty and will rise above their country-bred brother. It was that simple. She refused to speculate on the blood-spattered knight who had also been a part of the dream. It certainly was not George, she knew that now. She tucked the letter into her sleeve and went back to her loom.