The Sunne in Splendour: A Novel of Richard III (102 page)

WESTMINSTER
December 1482
, LlCHARD'S barge had just tied up at the wharf known as the King's Stairs. He was still standing on the dock when a shrill cry of "Dickon!" came cutting through the usual clamor of passing river traffic. He jerked his head around, startled, for although he could imagine no woman he knew screaming out a private family name in so public a place, the voice had sounded remarkably like that of Bess, his brother's eldest daughter. But almost at once, he dismissed the thought as unlikely in the extreme. Even Bess, free spirit that she was, would hardly be guilty of so eye-opening a breach of etiquette.
One of his men was pointing. "Your Grace. . . . Up on the river gate!"
Richard glanced upward, said, "Good Lord," for it was, indeed, his niece, leaning precariously over the parapet of the river gate, gesturing down to him. Her appearance was scarcely less cause for comment than her astonishing behavior; she had a cloak drawn carelessly around her.| shoulders but no headdress, and bright blonde hair was escaping its constraints, being blown about untidily by the wind gusting off the river.
Seeing she had his attention, she leaned over still farther. "Waitl there! I'll be right down!"
By now she'd attracted the eye of every man on the dock. Most werej grinning up appreciatively at her;
not only was Bess an uncommonly! pretty girl, but she'd long been a favorite with Londoners. Richard was! grinning, too, amused in spite of himself. It truly wasn't funny though. He supposed he ought to talk to her. Even Ned, who was most assures no stickler for protocol, even he would take it amiss that Bess shouldhanging over river parapets, looking like a hoyden, and shrieking like

fishwife. As for the haughty Elizabeth . . . praise God if she'd not be like to have an apoplectic fit at the very thought! Richard laughed and moved forward to meet his niece, just now reaching the bottom of the steps.
An instant later, he was running toward her, all else forgotten but the look of fright on her face. Throwing her arms around him, she clung like a small, fearful child, and from her muffled torrent of words, all he could make out clearly was "Papa," and "Thank God you've come!"
"Bess. . . . Bess, you're making no sense. Take a deep breath, and tell me what be wrong."
She obediently did as told, straightened away from him, and said, more coherently, "I'm being silly, I
know. But I was just so frightened. . . . And seeing you brought it all back. ..."
"Fearful of what, Bess? I still don't know what you be talking about. Is it Ned?"
She nodded and for the first time seemed to take note of their extremely interested audience. She swallowed, tugged at his arm. "Come," she urged. "I'll tell you on the way."
"Has Ned been taken ill? How serious is-"
"He's all right now, Dickon," Bess interrupted hastily. "Truly he is. Dr Hobbys swears so. I should've told you that at once. More fool I, for not thinking first. But when I saw your barge dock, all else went from my head. I'm so sorry!"
"Bess, you still haven't told me a damned thing! I don't understand. Ned was fine when I did see him last night!"
"He was fine this morning, too, until Jack came."
"Jack Howard? You mean he be back from France?"
"He did arrive back this noon, came to Papa in the Prince's Chamber. They spoke apart for a little time and suddenly Papa was shouting, was calling Louis the vilest names . . . 'Hell-spawn' and 'misbegotten son of Satan' were but the mildest ones! It was dreadful, Dickon. Never have I seen Papa so wroth. He
... he frightened me a little," she confessed. "He did frighten all in the chamber, I think. Papa is usually so
... so much in control." She swallowed again, said, "He did go on like that for some moments, damning
France and Louis and none but Jack knowing what it was all about, and then he did send to Crosby
Place for you. His messenger didn't find you?"
"I was at the Tower all morn. Go on, Bess. What then?"
"Papa had been breathing in gasps, like men do when they be angry. But all of a sudden, he couldn't seem to catch his breath. He grabbed Jack for support and his face got red, like it was on fire. He said to get a doctor, out his voice sounded so queer, all choked up. ..." She was trembling again and Richard put a steadying hand under her elbow.

"I was so frightened, Dickon. So very frightened. We all were. People just lost their heads entirely. Dr
Hobbys came on the run and Dr Albon, too. They did help Papa into the White Chamber, were in there with him for what seemed to be forever, and the only one they let in was Mama. But a few minutes ago, Dr Hobbys came out and said Papa was fine, that his blood had gotten overheated. I wanted to see for myself that Papa was all right, and Dr Hobbys would've let me, but Mama said no. So I came down to the river gate to wait for you. ..."
AT first glance, it looked as if half the court had congregated in the royal chambers. Just as Richard and
Bess reached the door of Edward's bedchamber, Elizabeth came out. She stopped short at sight of
Richard, and then extended her hand for him to kiss. He did, but with such obvious reluctance that those watching smothered smiles.
"He's resting now," Elizabeth said coldly. "I think it would be best if you not disturb him."
"He did send for me, Madame," Richard said, no less icily, and moved past her into the bedchamber.
Bess seized her chance, and slipped quickly in behind him.
Edward was as pale as Richard had ever seen him; there was a queer greyish cast to his complexion that was far from reassuring, and his eyes were rimmed in red. But he was sitting up on the bed, buttoning his shirt, and to judge from the way he was arguing with Dr Hobbys, whatever had afflicted him was of passing moment.
"Of course I do respect your medical judgment. But you'd have me roped to the bed if you had your way and I-Dickon! I'd just about given up on you. How did you come, by way of the Welsh Marches?"
"What happened, Ned? Bess did tell me-"
"Nothing happened. I suffered from a brief indisposition, no more than that." Seeing that Richard was about to press him further, Edward said impatiently, "Dickon, let it lie. There be more important matters to discuss. Jack Howard is back from France and he brought me word that Burgundy has come to terms with France. Maximilian and Louis did sign a treaty at Arras on Monday last, a treaty that does amount to a virtual sellout to that whoreson on the French throne."
"As sorry as I am to hear that, Ned, it comes as no surprise. Since; Marie died, Burgundy's been in turmoil. It was bound to come to this. Maximilian was backed to the wall."
"Don't waste your sympathy on Maximilian," Edward said, so acidlyJ that Richard started. "That he was gutless, I've often suspected. But If never knew the half of it. Do you know what that spineless wonder has! done, Dickon? He's agreed to marry his infant daughter to Louis' son/f

and to provide as her dowry no less than the two richest provinces of Burgundy!"
Richard's jaw dropped. While there was little he would have put past the French King, he'd not expected this, had not thought Louis would dare to flout his English ally so openly. Jesii, no wonder Ned was so wroth! For more than seven years, Bess had been acknowledged at the French court as Madame la
Dauphine, as the bride-to-be of Louis' young son. And now this! More than a stab in the back, a scornful slap in the face.
Edward was now expressing himself on the subject of the French King, drawing upon a vocabulary that a
Southwark brothel-keeper might envy. Some of what he was saying was anatomically impossible, much of it was true and all of it envenomed. When at last he'd exhausted his imagination, if not his temper, he slumped back tiredly on the bed, said with considerable bitterness, "Jack says they were laughing about it at the French court, calling the Treaty of Arras Louis' last jest, saying he's cheating death with one hand and the King of England with the other." He spat out an oath even more profane than his earlier epithets and then gave Richard a sudden level look.
"What was it you said to me at St-Christ-sur-Somme, Dickon . . . that we did sell ourselves not for blood, but for promises, pensions, and silver plate. It surprises you that I do remember? It shouldn't. I
remember, too, what else you told me then. You warned me that Louis would disavow our treaty whenever it did suit him to do so."
Richard felt first surprise and then a surge of admiration, of the sort his brother had rarely evoked in recent years. Ned didn't have to say that. Not one man in a hundred would have. He doubted whether he would have done so himself had he been in Ned's position, and he opened his mouth to say this when he caught movement from the corner of his eye, turned to look at his forgotten niece.
"Ah, lass, don't! It's political, not personal, Bess, has nothing whatsoever to do with you."
Edward swore under his breath, sat up so hastily that a spasm of discomfort crossed his face. "Dickon be right, sweetheart."
Bess had bowed her head, but now when Edward held out his arms, she came quickly into them, buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed. "But Papa . . . don't you see? The French King. ... He shamed me, shamed me before the whole world. I was to wed with his son, and all knew it. ..."
"Hush, sweetheart, hush. That's not so. It was England he was reJecting, not you, Bess." Tilting her chin up, Edward kissed her wet lashes, stroked her hair. "No man with eyes to see would ever reject you, sweetheart, that I can tell you for God's blessed truth!"

Bess wiped away tears with her sleeve. "Papa, you'll make Louis pay for this, won't you? You won't let him get away with making mockery of the treaty, of my marriage?"
"You needn't fret, Bess." Edward sounded suddenly grim. "Louis does owe me a debt, and I swear to you that it is one I'll not be forgetting."
Richard's head came up in surprise. Ned had never been one to bluster, and still less was he one to make empty pledges to his children. But how could he hope to make good on what he'd just promised Bess? If his health had kept him from dealing with the Scots, how could he even contemplate a campaign on the
Continent? He studied Edward with troubled eyes, but tact had never been his strong point, and he could think of no way to phrase such a question without giving offense.
"God help your uncle, Bess, if ever he had to hide what goes on in his head! I've known no man whose thoughts be so easy to read. Shall I tell you what he's thinking now? He's asking himself where in
Christendom could I hope to find a war-horse sturdy enough to carry all this bulk!"
That was so patently ludicrous an exaggeration that Edward got the response he'd been aiming for; both
Richard and Bess burst into startled laughter.
For a man once acknowledged by even his enemies as "the handsomest Prince in Christendom," Edward was surprisingly free of vanity. It was true that since his teens, he'd shamelessly exploited his good looks to get what he wanted-the favors of fascinated women and;j the admiration of his subjects. But he'd long since come to realize that, with most women, their dazzled eyes got no further than the crown upon I his head, and in recent years he'd begun to believe that a King who waif respected and feared was better off than the one who was loved.
To the fading of a once eye-catching beauty of face, he was truly in- J different. To the weakening of the body that had served him so well for sol many careless years, he was anything but. Only to Hobbys, however would he admit to shortness of breath, to chest pains, to queasy stoma spasms. He had no intention of discussing these ailments with eit Richard or Bess, and he'd taken care to divert the conversation awaythe rocky shoals of health, into more innocuous channels.
He'd introduced a new style at court that Christmas, doublets very full hanging sleeves that did wonders to disguise his increasing But in a half-opened shirt, such camouflage was impossible. He made I the slightest attempt now to do so, said with a faint smile, "You neec worry, Dickon. None of this fat has yet gone to my head! Whatever I failings, I'm no fool. I know I'm not up to leading an army into Fra He paused and then said quietly, "But if I cannot. . . you can.'

Richard caught his breath. That Edward trusted him, he'd long known. That Edward needed him, he had known, too. But not until this moment had he realized just how deep that dependence did go. There had been no doubt in Edward's voice, only an assurance that was absolute, a faith that had been forged in the blood of Bamet and Tewkesbury and hammered over the years into a bond beyond breaking. It was no small tribute Edward had just paid him. He was by no means blind, however, to the magnitude of what
Edward was asking of him.
"I'm honored ... I think," he said wryly, and Edward laughed.
"I've been told that Louis did mark you at Amiens as a man dangerous to France. We can hardly let
Louis go to his grave thinking he misjudged you, now can we?" Edward was smiling, but the flippancy fooled no one. He was in deadly earnest, had just enunciated what amounted to a declaration of war.
2 1
WESTMINSTER
April 1483
J.T was dusk as Thomas Grey's barge neared Westminster. He was not pleased to be summoned back from Shene on such short notice. Like most men who'd enjoyed a life free of illness, Edward made a very poor patient, was given to venting his frustrations upon doctors and innocent bystanders alike. He'd caught a chill on a daylong fishing trip soon after his return from Windsor, and on Easter Monfay, he'd taken to his bed. Even the mildest royal indisposition cast a doud of gloom over Westminster, and
Thomas had soon grown bored. More than once, he found himself squirming under the lash of Edward's
Peevish sarcasm, and he was not long in deciding to make himself scarce til his stepfather was up and about again. But he'd not been gone four ays before a message had come upriver from his mother, an abrupt crypc demand for his immediate return to Westminster.
Thomas was not particularly sensitive to atmosphere, and yet he

sensed almost at once that something was amiss. Westminster was subdued, eerily still, and the few people Thomas encountered were wandering about like sleepwalkers. By the time he reached the
Queen's chambers, an instinctive unease was threatening to flare up into active apprehension. But he was still not prepared for what he found in his mother's apartments.
Elizabeth's women were red-eyed, sniffling into crumpled handkerchiefs, and at sight of Thomas, a pretty blonde he'd bedded occasionally burst into tears. He was patting her shoulder awkwardly, trying to make sense of her sobbing when the bedchamber door was flung open and suddenly his mother was screaming at him like one demented, incoherently abusive, demanding to know why he was out here dallying with one.of her ladies when he knew she'd been expecting him for hours.
Thomas gaped at her, too taken aback by her raging tantrum even to offer a defense. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him into the bedchamber, and at once began to berate him again.
"Where in the Name of Almighty Christ have you been? I did send for you last night!"
"Your messenger did not reach Shene till after midnight. I was already abed," Thomas protested. Even at age twenty-nine, he was very much in awe of the beautiful woman who'd given him birth, and he made haste to say placatingly, "I did come as quickly as I could. Mother, what is it?" Too shaken for tact, he blurted out, "You do look ghastly! What be wrong?"
"It's Ned." Elizabeth swallowed, passed her tongue over her lips. "He . . . he's dying."
Thomas's expression didn't change. He continued to look expec-1 tantly at her, his face intent, puzzled.
"What?"
Elizabeth said nothing, and Thomas gave an abrupt unconvincing! laugh. "That can't be! It was only a chill, no more than that. A chill!" But! even as he mouthed the words, his body was sagging, absorbing the blow; I that had yet to penetrate to his brain.
"That be what the doctors thought, too," Elizabeth said dully. "Bt then he began to have pain in breathing and his body temperature suddenly shot upward. He's been burning with fever for two days now ano nothing seems to help. Yesterday he began to cough up phlegm flecke with blood, and Hobbys says there be no hope, says he be dying. . .
"They're wrong; they have to be! He can't be dying. He can't!"
Elizabeth had said much the same thing when first confronted by tt despairing doctors, had clung to a stunned disbelief with all the frenzie illogical passion of panic. At last even she could not deny the evidence her own senses, could not deny that in Edward's pain-racked breathii and hacking cough lay the seeds of coming death. But although she ha