The Court of the Midnight King: A Dream of Richard III (23 page)

She’d had nightmares of finding this place like Edith Hart’s Hollow: cordoned by pompous priests and soldiers, desecrated. Elementals fleeing in fright, leaving the cave lifeless.

But it had not happened yet.

Kate knelt by the spring and sipped the icy water: the clear blood of Mother Earth.

“Auset, I invoke thee,” she murmured. “Take Isabel and Ankarette to your breast, for they were your daughters. Show me a way as thorny and narrow as you like, only give me a little guidance now and then.”

The babble of water became a roar. She closed her eyes and felt the hidden world stirring. The ground beneath her knees became the pulsing hide of a snake. She could feel the swell of its muscles. A dark face hung in her mind’s eye; half woman and half serpent, with eyes like moonlight on water, commanding, challenging.

“Here you are,” said a soft voice.

Kate opened her eyes and saw Eleanor entering the cavern. She was dressed in grey and silver, the threadbare hem of her skirt brushing the limestone floor. The otherworld remained, undisturbed by its priestess.

Kate asked, “Are we still safe… with King Edward?”

“Oh, he’s as good a protector as we can hope for,” her mother said, kneeling beside her. “He promised me he’s forbidden his bishops to interfere with our traditions. But we’re not his greatest priority. If ever they’re let off the leash… if ever the Lancastrians gained power again…”

“Goddess and God protect King Edward, then,” said Kate.

“Amen,” said Eleanor, and laughed. “Kate, I’ve something to tell you. The Motherlodge have named me Dame Eylott’s successor.”

Kate hugged her. “That’s wonderful, but hardly unexpected.”

“My thanks for your faith, love, but to be Mater Superior is a great responsibility. And it’s sad to know that Dame Eylott is unwell, and not immortal.”

“Still, they could have chosen no one better than you. It’s cause for happiness, after all this trouble.”

“Yes, love, it is.” Eleanor nodded, smiling agreement.

“And you’ve had no more trouble from Lord Stanley?”

Eleanor sighed. “Kate… Thomas Stanley is not an ogre. He has a gentler side, and isn’t deaf to reason.” She fell silent and bit her lower lip, turning it pink.

“What do you mean?” Kate said, frowning.

“No one is utterly bad, Kate. I grew to find him… pleasant.”

Kate sat upright with a cry. “What? When did this happen?”

“Years ago.” She stroked her daughter’s hair. “He visited me a time or two. Since he found a match for his son – a Woodville, naturally, a niece of the queen’s in whose right he became Lord Strange – there were no hard feelings. We reached an understanding…”

“Are you saying…? No, don’t tell me any more!”

Eleanor was laughing. “Kate, you’ve been far too long in the outer world! I’m saying that he realised he’d been a brute and decided to be a gentleman instead, and let us be.”

“In that case, why didn’t you marry him?”

“Even if he’d fallen in love with me, he would never let his heart rule his head. Only an heiress on a grand scale such as Margaret Beaufort could interest Thomas Stanley, which is my good fortune since I want no husband. And he’s too cunning by far.”

Kate found a pebble and rolled it in her palm. “You probably have dozens of lovers that I don’t know about.”

Eleanor only smiled sweetly.

“You have a secret life,” Kate added. “Are mothers allowed to do that?”

“The sisters of Auset are. Is there anything you’d like me to do about the Duke of Clarence?”

“No, no!” Kate threw the pebble down. “I didn’t come crying to you, expecting you to make things better. Tell tales to King Edward? And have George find out, and come after me? No, Edward will hear soon enough, from far more important sources than me.”

“Well, that’s a wise answer.”

“May I ask you about Anne Beauchamp?”

“What about her?”

“How could she reach such high degree in the Motherlodge, yet teach nothing to her daughters?”

Eleanor sighed. “Because of her husband. Warwick was the most powerful man in the land, close to the royal court and the Church. He forbade it. He turned a blind eye to his wife’s secret affiliations, but he refused to let his daughters be taught the old ways.”

“Why?” Kate asked, although she already knew.

“It would have brought him into conflict with the Church, and thus into disrepute, not to mention making them unmarriageable.”

“Unmarriageable!”

“In the eyes of the princes or dukes he wished them to marry. They want respectable pious wives, not headstrong witches.”

“As if that means more than land and wealth,” Kate said mordantly, making Eleanor smile. “But if you’d been in her position, you’d have taught them anyway. I know it.”

“I would not have married the Earl of Warwick in the first place,” said Eleanor.

“However, he is dead now.”

“And his daughters have Christian husbands.”

Kate was seething, years of frustration erupting. Eleanor only laughed sadly. “That’s the way of the world,” she said. “I’ve raged against it like you, but raging only drains our energy from more important things.”

“Then I’d like to change the world! If I could have made Isabel see that two fine children were enough, and she need not go on bearing until it killed her, she might have lived. Wasn’t that important?”

“The best we can hope for is a good man who believes as we do.” Eleanor stroked her daughter’s cheek. “They exist, but are as rare as a silver pard among a graylix pack. Failing that, at least a husband who leaves us to our own devices.”

“Would my life be easier if I surrendered to the Church and married a noble like George of Clarence? I think not. It would be infinitely worse!”

“Be glad of what you are,” her mother said passionately. “I am. Many would like to crush us for being different. But the last thing I want is for you to give in! Someone must tend the serpent flame, or it will die.”

Kate nodded, thinking of Ankarette. “I wonder what will become of me”

“Let’s return to the house and warm up. Martha’s waiting, and certain others would love to see you.”

Kate asked quickly, without tone, “How is the little bird?”

“Thriving.” Rising to her feet, Eleanor added, “You needn’t go to Middleham. You can stay here.”

“No, I’ll go.” Kate paused, chewing her lip. A duchess has summoned me; I can’t refuse.” Dropping her sour tone, she laughed. “I won’t be friendless. The girl Clarence sent with me, Ursula, is sweet. And Nan has asked to come too. I should look quite impressive, arriving with two attendants.”

“And Raphael is there.”

“Yes, Raphael.” She grinned. “But he’s not the reason, Mama. Of course I’ll serve Anne if she wants me. I must do battle in the world, not hide behind your skirts. You wouldn’t expect less of me, would you?”

“Hardly. You are my daughter.”

###

Katherine had never been farther north than York. She expected the castle to be a bleak pile set on a high, windswept escarpment, a perfect setting for its warrior ruler, Richard of Gloucester. He’d won a fearsome reputation against the Scots since she last she saw him.

The Yorkshire Dales, however, were green. They were drenched in endless rain, with massive outcrops of limestone overhanging the muddy tracks, but as lovely as Lytton Dale. The people they met on their way glanced at Clarence’s livery with suspicion, but treated Kate with warmth when they heard her Derbyshire accent, and learned where she was going.

As they reached Middleham the clouds split and sunlight spilled through. Kate saw a village like an ochre patchwork; and above the village, almost part of it, the castle. No grim fortress, but a modest square structure, golden-grey and elegant. Meadows spread all around, and farther off she saw deep green of forests and the shoulder of the fells, blue and remote. Nan and Ursula exclaimed in pleasure.

A bird of prey wheeled above the castle. She watched until it dropped out of sight. Her party rode between the straw-coloured cots of the village, with dozens of children and adults collecting along the path to watch and gossip. Up to the curtain wall of the castle they rode, across a wooden bridge, through the open gate and into the castle courtyard.

Kate looked up at the tall oblong of the keep in front of her. Above, a covered bridge led back to the outer ward of the castle. On the towers fluttered the banner of Gloucester, the white boar against blue and red. The sight made her shiver. The castle looked approachable and graceful, but still majestic enough to intimidate her. Within its blank walls lay her future.

A groom came for her horse. She dismounted and gave the palfrey over without taking her eyes off the keep.

“Kate?” said a familiar voice.

She turned and he was there. A huge black gyrfalcon perched on his wrist and a dazzling smile lit his face. Raphael. Joy leapt into her heart, the first joy she’d felt in months.

“Kate, at last, thank all the gods,” he cried, starting forward, then stopping as the falcon, disgruntled, unfolded and shook her vast wings. “What took you so long?”

My tutor sits enthroned in his office, in a glare of slanted sunlight that illumines every floating dust particle. His desk is the colour of molasses and his grey hair is primped with hair cream (or grease – but I give him the benefit of the doubt) and too long over his collar. He wears a flowery waistcoat, glasses on the end of his nose, and an impatient air.

“I know it’s not part of my course work,” I say. “It’s only an interest. A hobby.”

He clears his throat.

“I don’t have to point out that hobbies are to be kept separate from studies. Your last essay was just about adequate. I know you’re capable of better, August. If you want a pastime, why not join the choral society, or drink yourself silly like other students?”

“Just one question.” I spread books on the desk. “I’m sorry to bother you, but you’re the only person I know who’s actually qualified to answer.”

“Oh, flattery, is it?” He pounces on the books, begins to glance at them and toss them aside with sighing disdain.

“What is it?” I’m annoyed but trying not to show it. “I haven’t asked my question yet.”

“Then do so. I haven’t got all day.”

“The image of Richard the Third that everyone knows is of a hunchback who murdered his nephews. But I’ve read book after book that refutes it. There’s no proof he killed them. He had no reason to, since they’d been declared illegitimate. They were no danger to him. Some historians go to great lengths to show that the Duke of Buckingham had a stronger motive, and the opportunity –”

“Aargh!” My tutor flicks his hands in the air and smacks them down on the books. “Don’t bother with the apologists. Amateurs, half of ’em.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re wrong, or less well-informed,” I say. “Mightn’t it make them more open-minded?”

“Perhaps. Or it might mean they’re on some misguided crusade to prove a guilty man innocent. What is it with this blasted king?”

“It’s medieval history, sir.”

He folded one leg over the other, looked at his pocket watch. “Only if you treat it as impartially as any other period; as indifferently as you clearly treat the twelfth century. How many lectures have you missed?”

“Only two.” I feel myself flushing. “I will catch up. I just want to know what you think about this, then I won’t mention it again.”

“I’m glad to hear it. The benefit of my wisdom is this. Don’t get emotionally involved. Deciding what you want the truth to be, then bending the facts to fit, is not the way to study history. Stick to facts, my dear. Bone-dry facts.”

“But doesn’t caring about something make you delve deeper? Isn’t that what sparks real research?”

“Well.” He pulls a face. “Fair point, but that depends whether you want to tell yourself a comforting story or get at the truth. It may involve accepting that there is no concrete evidence left to discover. Just a balance of probabilities.”

“So what do you think is probable?” I persist.

“Of course the princes were still a danger to him!” He speaks fervently, for a man who told me not to be emotional. “No one believed the illegitimacy story, least of all Richard himself. No one could have gained access to his nephews without him knowing. Ultimate responsibility for them lay with him. Ergo, of course he did it.”

“Ha,” I say, triumphant, “so you do have an opinion after all.”

And I see the merest, reluctant twinkle in his eye.

“Guilty as hell.”

ANNE

Thou wast the cause and most accursed effect.

RICHARD

Your beauty was the cause of that effect–

Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep

To undertake the death of all the world,

So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.

Richard III Act 1 scene 2

Katherine hardly noticed the groom who took her horse, while a spindle-legged page relieved her of her small bundle of belongings. She was looking at the mass of people collected in the bailey and on the great covered staircase that led to the upper storey of the keep: peasants, merchants, officials. The courtyard was busy with their murmuring voices, shifting colours. There were horses everywhere, ripening the air with a warm familiar scent of sweat, manure and oiled leather.

“All these folk!” she said. “Why are they here?”

“To see the duke,” Raphael answered, smoothing the feathers of the black gyrfalcon. Kate reached out to stroke the bird’s breast with a curled finger. She tolerated Kate’s touch, head raised imperiously, her eyes blind behind the hood.

“You mean he gives audience to… anyone?”

Raphael smiled, eyebrows tilted at her question. He looked sun-browned and happy, and he’d begun to pick up the Yorkshire accent. “Well, of course. He is their lord. He considers their petitions, sorts out disputes between neighbours, dispenses justice, generally to everyone’s satisfaction.”

“I don’t remember Clarence doing that,” she said. “He did many things, but not that.”

“Richard is nothing like his brother,” Raphael said vehemently. “Whatever you’ve learned about dukes from Clarence, prepare to unlearn it. Richard listens to his subjects. You’ll see how many go away content, saying what a good and fair lord he is.”

“What about the ones who don’t?”

“They’re only ones who tried to get away with some crime or injustice. They say Richard sees straight through people, and it’s not a pleasant experience.”

Ice threaded through her. The last time she’d seen him, in the market place at Tewkesbury, was as a cloaked executioner. “No, I should imagine it isn’t.” She looked up at the high walls all around her. She saw Nan and Ursula waiting anxiously for her. “Shouldn’t I tell someone I’ve arrived? The chamberlain, or the steward?”

“I’ll look after you,” said Raphael. “Come with me, while I see to the falcons; then I’ll show you around. The duchess will be in the nursery; no one will miss you for an hour or two.” His sweet smile disarmed her. What a relief to be greeted by a friend. The sooner Clarence’s men were gone, the better. She waved her companions on their way and they followed the pageboys who had their luggage: Ursula frowning, Nan with a good-natured shrug.

In the falconry beside the stables, Raphael settled the gyrfalcon on her perch and showed Kate his charges with affection and pride. Firehawks like burning coal with red flashes in their tails. Tiercels, small and elegant. Kestrels, sparrowhawks, a type of small eagle called a red griffin, glossy-brown like a chestnut. Their housing was immaculate, the walls painted dusky white, the floor clean and strewn with sweet straw. The raptors perched sleek and content in their niches.

“This is Richard’s favourite,” Raphael said, caressing the gyrfalcon he’d been flying. “And this one…” he indicated a dainty snow-white merlin, “is Lady Anne’s.”

The mention of Anne Neville’s name still sent a pang through Kate. She had once pitied Anne, forced to marry Prince Edouard, then widowed, and kept in ignorance of the path of Auset. But now she was Richard’s wife, and Kate only a long-forgotten lover.

Still, it’s better this way, she thought. It can’t be an easy marriage. I never wish to be subject to a husband.

“If you’d like a hawk of your own, I’ll find you one, a beauty,” Raphael was saying.

“You’re so kind.” She touched his arm. He looked at her with glowing eyes; it was all she could do not to kiss him, but she held back and the moment passed. Both awkward, they distracted themselves by admiring Lady Anne’s merlin.

“No graylix?” Kate asked, her fingers exploring the soft springiness of the wing-feathers.

“We don’t keep them here.” His voice was low, sad. “Richard said they remind him too much of Marguerite, who used to keep great packs of them, at least until Henry was deposed. Tyrant went into the menagerie at the Tower. He’s well cared-for there.”

“Despite mistaking his keeper for his supper every day?”

Raphael’s mouth twisted up at the corner. “No one thinks the pard is ignoble, for being dangerous. I miss him.”

“You’re so sweet-natured, Raphael, to love such an unlovable beast. And talking of that, how do you find the duke?”

“Why do you speak unkindly of him?” Raphael was indignant.

“A jest. The last time he spoke to me, he was less than courteous. I should learn to forgive. I’m sure he’s an excellent master.”

“He is,” Raphael answered. “As I knew he would be, the first time I saw him. It only happens once in a lifetime, I think, that you cross paths with someone so extraordinary that you have no choice but to follow them.”

“Just like Christ, then,” she said mischievously.

“He’s not that.” Raphael looked sideways at her, serious. “You can’t hold a position like his without making hard decisions. Whatever he does, he never acts without good reason. He inspires loyalty. He’s as loyal to his friends as we are to him, and Creator knows, he doesn’t want flatterers around him. I’ve said things to him that would get me thrown in the Tower if I’d said them any other nobleman. He’s as important in the North as Edward is in London. I’m meant to be here, that’s all I know.”

“I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Richard likes everyone to be happy. He’s a gentle lord, Kate; you’ve nothing to worry about. We’re all expected to attend chapel, by the way.” Raphael spoke the last words almost nervously.

Her lips thinned, but she quickly smoothed her expression. Her own beliefs did not deny the Church; it was they who denied hers. Still, she was used to kneeling in churches and focussing upon Mary who – although it could be viewed as heresy – was the Blue Mother, a face of the goddess Auset.

“Then I’ll attend chapel,” she said. “So, the duke is only fearsome to his enemies?”

Raphael nodded. “He has more energy than anyone I’ve ever known. He’s off to the borders fighting the Scots, down to London to attend Parliament, and in York almost every week. He never rests.”

“So he’s often away.” She felt strange relief. Thank Auset he wouldn’t always be there, a disturbing presence constantly haunting her.

“Which means I am, too. Luckily I can trust the falcons to Will Shaw’s care.”

“Oh, Raphael, I arrive only for you to tell me you’ll hardly be here?”

He looked gravely at her. “You sound as if you mind.”

“Of course I do. A little.”

In the half-light he had the same dark angel look as Richard; a quality that dissolved all her common sense. Raphael was different, though; kind, transparent, an equal. He stared unhappily at her.

“I don’t always go with him,” he said. “And we always come back. This is his home. Lady Anne hates him to be away for too long.”

She put her head on one side. “And are you married?”

Someone coughed, very loudly. The noise rang off the walls, making her jump.

“Our Raffel, married? You must be joking; plenty of maids in the village queuing up on the off-chance, though. He could’ve married fifteen times over in this past year. Too picky.”

“Will, for Christ’s sake!”

A broad man in linen and leather strolled towards them. He had curly hair and a big, grinning face. Raphael turned scarlet.

“This is Katherine, daughter of Lady Lytton. My lady, this is a rogue by the name of Will Shaw. Will, if you dare say anything coarse, I’ll kick you from here to the Scottish border.”

Shaw feigned indignation, dropped to one knee and pressed damp lips to the back of Kate’s hand. She sensed no harm in him; mischief and a dash of lechery, but nothing worse.

“We’ve met before,” she said. “In the friary, after Barnet.”

“And it was an honour I recall vividly. My lady, I am your servant. Raphael is the rogue, to speak such slander of me.”

“I’m sure he spoke in affection, as you did of him.”

“You’re as gracious as the duchess.” Will rose and bowed. “He speaks about you all the time.”

“All the time?”

As she and Raphael looked at each other, she felt her face blush as bright as his. With a grin that managed to be both insinuating and harmless, Will Shaw edged past them. “I’ll be about my tasks, then, good lady and lord. Don’t let me interrupt you.”

“Come on,” said Raphael said. He took her hand, and they went out into bright daylight, laughing. “I’ve more to show you. Don’t mind Will, he’s an idiot but as loyal as they come.”

On the high tower on the southeast corner of the keep, they stood leaning over the battlements against a hard, cold wind. White boar banners fluttered above their heads and all the green glory of the dale spread below. The distant fells were intensely blue, like dusk. Cloud and sunlight flowed over the landscape in shining tatters. Kate tried to keep her wild hair under her headdress and failed. She laughed in exhilaration. The horror of Clarence was gone, blown away on the clean Wensleydale breeze.

“The great hall is within the keep; we’ll dine there later. The duke and duchess always eat with the household. Next to it is the great chamber where the duke receives his petitioners, and his inner chamber. Kitchens and cellars beneath.” Raphael gestured down at the high, pointed roof of a construction attached to the keep. “There’s the chapel. The priests and their clerks live in the chambers underneath.”

“Good, now I know the place to avoid.”

He shook his head. “Don’t say such things to anyone but me.” His hand described three of the four walls that framed the bailey. “There’s a range of living chambers inside each wall. Almost every room has its own latrine, piped water and a fireplace, and is very finely furnished. It’s outrageously comfortable here. I hope you can bear the luxury.”

“I lived at Warwick; I’m sure I’ll bear it.”

He indicated a high, covered bridge that led from the keep to the outer walls. “The hautpace there leads to the duchess’s chambers beside the round tower. On the other side of the tower is the nursery. Her ladies live in those chambers.”

“And where is your chamber, sir?” she asked, winking.

He pulled a face, and pointed across the high wooden roofs of the keep. “Over on the other side, above the stables, near the auditor’s chamber. I share with other knights, who aren’t the best of sleeping companions.”

“Still, better than bedding down in the cellars with the servants?” she asked sardonically.

“I’m not so sure.” He was smiling. “Do you think you can be happy here?”

“I hope so.”

“You belong here, Katherine. This was meant to be.”

They were close, shoulders almost touching. Again she thought he might kiss her, but it was too soon. Instead she tipped back her head, welcoming the vibrant wind. A vast elemental moved within the air, a near-invisible, massive presence. She dipped her head in greeting and respect. And then she saw, down in a meadow between emerald clusters of trees, four priests at work.

She stiffened. It was plain what they were doing; she’d seen it too often. The priests formed the corners of a square. She couldn’t see the objects they held but knew what they were: a cross, a Bible, holy water and a bell. They were chanting, praying. Their faces were turned angrily to the sky and their voices drifted up in fragments, hard and fervent.

They were trying to exorcise the wind spirit. To bind it, send it back to the netherworld from which it came. Already the elemental was retreating from their angry energy. It would go elsewhere and they would think they’d triumphed.

“Don’t they ever give up?” Raphael said benignly.

Kate held back her pointless rage. She breathed fresh air and let it go in a long sigh.

“They’re fools, Raph. They try to destroy the powers of the Earth with crosses and incantations. They might as well try to pin down the wind! They’re so afraid, yet they don’t even know what they’re afraid of.”

He was frowning at her.

She said, “Have they been whispering the fear of devils, sorcery and witches into your ear? Do you see me differently now?”

“No, no.”

“I’m still the same.”

“I know. It’s not that. Kate… When I was in London… the night King Henry died…”

She waited. The breeze blew steadily between them. “What?”

“Nothing.” He turned away. “We should go down now. You must be hungry and tired. I’ll find someone to take you to the duchess.”

As they emerged from the staircase into the great hall, a child came running towards them. He nearly ran into Kate’s skirts, stopped in his tracks and gawped at her. He was tiny, with a dense silky mass of raven hair, dark grey eyes and a serious expression on a sweetly beautiful face.

He was the image of Richard. The image.