The Fate of Princes (11 page)

‘With Brackenbury’s knowledge?’ I asked.

‘No. The only people who knew were myself, Buckingham and my sister Princess Margaret.’ I let out a sigh, the King must be telling the truth. Margaret had been his favourite sister, married to the Duke of Burgundy; she would have been only too willing to assist her younger brother. As a boy, Richard saw little of his father or mother. They would arrive with a great train of retainers; hangings would be unpacked, furniture brought in. His parents, dressed gorgeously, would sweep up to talk to him and then they would leave, the Duke and Duchess of York, with their bowmen, men-at-arms, singing boys, trumpeters and servants, clattering across some drawbridge, leaving little Richard to be mothered by Margaret.

‘What are you thinking, Francis?’ Richard interrupted my thoughts.

I smiled.

‘About Margaret. What was she to do?’ Richard shrugged.

‘She promised she would not harm the boys but find them good homes.’

‘But surely,’ I replied, ‘they would grow up to lay claim to the English crown?’

‘Not necessarily so,’ Richard replied. ‘Their memories would be clouded by comfortable obscurity and who
would believe them? They would be well looked after, educated, given every comfort. Perhaps they would not have wished to exchange such comfort for our dangerous world of politics. Moreover,’ he added slyly, ‘the eldest, Edward, was a very sickly child. I doubt whether he would have lived to manhood.’ I agreed. The young prince had been a studious, rather withdrawn boy. There had been times when his parents despaired of him surviving infancy. Indeed, eight years earlier there had been rumours that he had died.

‘Do you believe me?’ Richard asked.

‘It is a preposterous plot,’ I replied. ‘I mean, it has never happened before.’ Richard laughed out loud.

‘Oh, yes, it did,’ he retorted. ‘To my own wife. Surely you remember, Francis?’

Of course I did. Twelve years earlier Richard had planned to marry Anne Neville, only surviving daughter of the Duke of Warwick, but his elder brother, Clarence, had seized her. Richard, hurrying south to claim both her and King Edward’s permission for the marriage, went to Clarence’s house only to find Anne missing. Clarence boldly insisted he did not know where the woman had gone. Richard, furious, had used all his friends, myself included, to scour London and had eventually discovered the young lady, disguised as a cook-maid, hidden in the kitchens of a friend of Clarence’s. The King was correct. It had been done before.

‘Who was to take them?’ I asked.

‘Sir Edward Brampton,’ Richard replied. ‘He was not given details but simply told to have a ship waiting off the Thames and to take two passengers to Margaret’s agents in Ghent. I think Brampton suspected,’ Richard added, ‘but things went wrong. He waited for his mysterious passengers and, when they failed to arrive, sailed back into port. Buckingham,’ he spat out, ‘claimed that he had taken the Princes out of the Tower
disguised as two of his retainers. He was delayed, so one of his own men took them across to Flanders in another ship, or so he told me at Gloucester.’

‘Your Grace,’ I replied. ‘You should have told me this. And why,’ I added angrily, ‘did you order me into London to search for the Princes whom you knew were abroad?’ Richard brought his hand crashing down onto the table, making me jump.

‘I am your King, Viscount Lovell,’ Richard shouted. ‘I may be your friend but I am also your King. I do not have to make my mind a window for everyone to look through. I was not abusing you,’ he said. ‘Matters went wrong. First, at Gloucester Buckingham told me the Princes were abroad and I was happy, but then Margaret sent me a secret message saying they had not arrived and my spies reported on the growing rumours that I had killed them. I was confused then and I am now!’ He leaned over and grasped me by the wrist. ‘Francis, the fate of these boys haunts me. I dare not interrogate Brackenbury,’ he sighed deeply. ‘I feel I am responsible.’

‘Why did you not inform Sir Robert?’ I asked.

‘Simple,’ the King replied. ‘The less people knew, the better. In a sense Brackenbury could do nothing. If they went missing from his charge, he would be the last person to proclaim the fact to the world. Moreover, why should I give him such confidences? Men’s hearts are fickle, Francis. Why should I entrust such power to Brackenbury?’

‘You gave it to Buckingham,’ I replied, cursing myself even as I spoke.

‘I trusted Buckingham,’ he replied evenly. He looked strangely at me. ‘I believe my life, Francis, will be ruined because I trusted the wrong people! I tell you this,’ he added softly. ‘Even on this council, I believe there are men who already have secret pacts with Henry Tudor. If I find them, Francis, even if it is you, I will send them to the axe!’

His words did not concern me, I was loyal. I just hoped he was telling the truth. Poor, secretive Richard. He never trusted anyone, not even me. Oh, he told the truth or rather some of it. The full truth, however, proved more hideous.

Richard entered London at the end of November. He was greeted at the city gates by the mayor and aldermen, dressed in scarlet robes, with five hundred of the principal citizens garbed in violet. They met us at Kennington, escorting us through the cheering crowds in Southwark and across London Bridge to the Wardrobe Palace near Blackfriars. The next day I was with the King; he returned the Great Seal of England in its white, gold-fringed leather bag to the Chancellor and drew up preparations for Christmas and a Parliament in January. I asked permission to return to Minster Lovell but the King reluctantly refused. He took me by the hand and begged me to stay with him, promising he would use all his power to have my wife brought from Minster to Eltham Palace.

Of course I agreed to the King’s request. Anne arrived in London a few days before Christmas and we rejoined the court for Yuletide at Eltham in Kent. The setting was memorable enough; the moat, glistening over with ice, spanned by a four-arch bridge, and the great hall, built by Richard’s brother, adorned with Turkey cloths and tapestries of gold and silver. Richard insisted that we enjoy ourselves and savour our triumphs after an autumn of hard campaigning. Costly presents were exchanged; Richard gave me a precious set of armour from Milan and Anne a golden egg encrusted with gems. There was dancing, feasting, the cooks not sparing themselves in providing rich sauces, pastries, jellies and blancmanges executed in exquisite designs and shapes. There were masques, mummers’ plays, sweet songs and carols from the King’s choristers. Richard was determined to lock the world out, though it
was present all the time: his wife, now thin and frail, white-faced, her bony body constantly racked by spasms of coughing; and his heir, Edward, conspicuous by his absence, so ill his mother had to leave him at Middleham.

Our spies still reported conspiracies and whisperings in London and Kent as well as news from Brittany. The Tudor had returned safely, openly declaring on oath in Vannes Cathedral that he would take Elizabeth of York as wife, once he had invaded England and overthrown the usurper. This and news that the spy Percivalle was once again busy in the south, spurred Richard into action. Once Twelfth Night was over, preparations were begun for the Parliament called for Friday, January 23rd. On the day before, I kissed Anne goodbye, escorting her and her party of retainers out of the city onto the road north. A hard, cold, bleak day; I held Anne’s warm hand in mine, beseeching with my eyes that she take great care of herself and the child growing within her. We had spent the festivities in one whirligig of pleasure. I did not want to question her about Percivalle or the dangers around us. God bless her, I think she knew, but never once did she ask, never once reproach me. As I watched her go, disappearing into the mist, I knew I could face anything but the loss of her.

The King still wished me to pursue the truth behind the fate of the Princes and, though attendant upon him at Court and in Parliament, I used the time to revise what I had learnt.

Item
– Richard claimed he had entrusted Buckingham with the task of privily removing the Princes from the Tower and sending them abroad into the care of his sister Margaret, Duchess of Burgundy.

Item
– He had not disclosed the plan to Brackenbury but kept it private between himself and Buckingham. He had not since informed Brackenbury because this would achieve nothing.

Item
– Buckingham had visited the Tower and claimed
to have seen the Princes in the royal apartments. Brackenbury, however, claimed the meeting took place in the White Tower.

Item
– Brackenbury claimed to have seen the Princes the day after Buckingham’s visit, so the rebellious duke had not kept to his plan. Sir Edward Brampton had also reported that his expected guests had not boarded the ship as planned. Accordingly, there were a number of conclusions. First, Buckingham could have taken them and Brackenbury could be lying to cover his own mistakes. But why? It would be simple just to accuse Buckingham. Secondly, Buckingham could have taken the Princes, replacing them with boys of similar appearance, but this was too preposterous. Brackenbury would not have hesitated in proclaiming this to the world as well as to the King. Thirdly, Richard could have killed the Princes and Brackenbury could have been his corroborator, but this only led to more questions. Why was the news of the Princes’ death rumoured so quickly not only in England but also in France? Why should Richard kill them? This still left other claimants: George, the Duke of Clarence’s son, not to mention Edward IV’s daughters. The Tudor’s proclamation how he intended to marry the eldest of these was sufficient proof that any claimant to the throne could still use Edward IV’s children to secure the crown. Moreover, the death of the Princes actually aided the aspirations of any would-be claimant.

There were other problems. Who had killed Slaughter and why? And, if the Princes were dead, how had their bodies been disposed of? The Tower was a small town in itself, it had been a hot summer, the ground would be hard; any attempt to dig graves would soon be noticed. True, the bodies could have been removed by night and dumped in the Thames, but the perpetrators would always run the risk of being noticed or the corpses being discovered. Finally, did Richard
have the mind of an assassin? He had executed opponents, but all such deaths had been open. Richard had made no attempt to disguise his own view of justice; Buckingham, Hastings and others had faced secret trials but their executions had been public enough.

I teased with these problems for days and, once Parliament was ended, I returned to the Tower on an overcast, fog-bound day. The mists swirled round the mangonels and war-machines lying derelict in the courtyards. The place was active enough, farriers busy seeing to horses before spring and the fires of the smithies blood-red as they obeyed Richard’s instructions for new culverins, serpentines, bombards and other cannon. I was allowed access through all the gates but a guard stopped me at the entrance to the royal apartments and insisted on escorting me up to Brackenbury’s chamber. The Constable was calmer, more collected, than the last time. He was guarded but at ease. The room was freezing despite the roaring fire and the glittering braziers which had been wheeled into the chamber.

For a few minutes we made desultory conversation. We exchanged civilities and news, discussing common acquaintances at Court and in the recent Parliament, Brackenbury being conspicuous in his absence from both. I studied the man carefully as he chatted, noticing the lines of care around his mouth and deep-set eyes. He knew the rumours. He was Constable of the Tower and the accusation of being a child-murderer does not rest easy, even on the most hardened conscience. Brackenbury sensed my thoughts.

‘You are most welcome, my Lord,’ he said. ‘But you
are here about the Princes. How can I help you this time?’

I told him about my meeting with Buckingham and watched his face pale. He seemed to lose his composure at the dead Duke’s claim to have met the Princes not in the White Tower, but here in the royal apartments.

‘The man’s a liar!’ he retorted. ‘He saw them in the Tower. I cannot see why the traitor should have made such a comment. There again he was so full of his own pride as well as wine, he would scarcely know he was in London never mind the Tower!’

‘And have you learnt anything new, Sir Robert, in the last six months? Any rumour, any whisper?’

‘No, nothing.’

I leaned towards him. ‘Sir Robert, I am not your enemy or your judge. But for God’s sake, man, face the problem. You had custody of the two Princes, yet they disappeared. No one saw them leave. There was no attack. How did they escape? What explanation do you have?’

‘I have told you,’ he snapped back. ‘William Slaughter, he knew his way round the Tower. There are still many secret exits and entrances.’

‘Did you know,’ I asked slowly, ‘that Slaughter is dead?’ I held up a hand to fend off his questions. ‘I have seen his corpse, throat slit from ear to ear.’ Brackenbury’s eyes flickered away; he smiled thinly. ‘But that is the explanation,’ he answered. ‘Slaughter took them. He was suborned. He was working for someone else. Once he had carried out their orders . . .’ Brackenbury shrugged, ‘. . . Slaughter was of no use, and what he knew was dangerous so he was killed.’

I considered the possibility. Brackenbury was right. The Princes’ gaoler could have freed them, but what had then happened to them? Not one sign or hint of their appearance or claim to the throne. Had they been rescued just to be murdered?

I left Sir Robert, having gained his permission to question others in the Tower, but I found nothing. All I received were evasive answers, blank looks, even a refusal to answer despite my status as both Richard’s Chamberlain and loyal friend. I studied the account for the Tower but discovered nothing, except confirmation that on July 19th the rest of the Princes’ retinue had been paid off. There were references to Buckingham’s visit but the rest of the items were wages for the garrison and payments to masons and carpenters for the constant building which was carried out in the Tower.