The Sunne in Splendour: A Novel of Richard III (108 page)

What now? Jesus, Lamb of God, what now? Twelve years ago, she was still young. She was only thirty-three and she'd known . . . she'd never doubted . . . that Ned would come back. She'd known he would not fail her.
Elizabeth found she was standing by the window; how long she'd been there she did not know. I am alone, she thought. I am utterly alone and there is no one to deliver me from mine enemies. No one. She leaned forward, brought her hands up to her face and wept, bitterly and without hope.
THE Lord Mayor of London, the city aldermen, and five hundred of the most prosperous citizens gathered at Hornsea that following Sunday to welcome their young King into the capital. Edward wore blue velvet; on his right rode his Uncle Richard, Duke of Gloucester, and on his left, his Uncle Harry
Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, both in the stark black of mourning. The people of London turned out to cheer, ready to love the son as they'd loved his father. With considerable ceremony, he was installed in the Palace of the Bishop of London. Buckingham retired to his own manor in Suffolk Lane, Richard to
Crosby Place.
"I AGREE, Dickon, that it's damnably awkward." Will Hastings smiled, rather sourly. "To have our
King's mother and her children huddling in sanctuary not a stone's throw from the palace . . . well, it be downright embarrassing. But we've had no luck in getting her to see reason, to come forth with young
York and his sisters. You know, if she had a brain in her head, she'd have stayed put, brazened it out.
What could have been done to her, after all? As a woman and the King's mother, she'd have been well nigh immune to the consequences of her treacheries, whatever price Thomas Grey might have paid. By scrambling for sanctuary, she did only confess her own guilt, show one and all that her conscience could not stand the scrutiny of close light."
Richard was only half listening to Will. "I truly think," he said abruptly, "that I was gaining ground with
Edward. At least, he was no longer looking at me as if he suspected me of having a cloven hoof."
Will grinned at that. Richard did not. There was an hourglass before him on the writing desk. He picked it up, flipped it over.
"And just like that," he said bitterly, "whatever progress I may have been making has been obliterated.
Did you see the boy's face, Will, when we had to tell him? Can you imagine how it looks to him? By retreating into sanctuary, that bitch did confirm in Edward's mind every fear he'd

been taught to harbor against me. How can I ever hope to win his trust now, with his mother proclaiming to the world that I am not to be trusted with the lives of my brother's widow and children?"
Francis gave him a sympathetic look. "It'll take time, Dickon, but it can be done," he said, with far more confidence than he felt.
Will, too, was sympathetic, but not to the extent of letting Richard's bad humor dampen his own good spirits. Will had been celebrating for four days now, ever since word of Richard's actions at
Northampton had reached London. To Will, the future looked to be full of promise. The Woodvilles had broken like branches in a high wind. Edward was securely in their keeping. Till the boy came of age, he and Gloucester would have the government. He'd be Lord Chamberlain to Edward as he'd been to Ned, thought he stood a good chance of eventually winning the boy's confidence.
It stood to reason, after all. By taking such drastic, decisive action to sever Edward from the Woodvilles, Gloucester had done the country no small service, but he'd paid a high price. Will did not think Edward was likely to forgive Gloucester for it. In his mind, Gloucester would be ever branded as the man who'd separated him from the uncle he loved. Will was sorry for that, but still, it did work to his advantage. It was true he was no friend to the Woodvilles, either, but he hadn't been at Northampton. That, he thought, would count for much with Edward.
"She does have an uncanny knack for poisoning the well," he commiserated. "But take heart, Dickon.
Sooner or later, she'll come to her senses. It cannot be that comfortable for her, after all, and our Lady
Lisbet has ever been a one for her own ease! They damned near stripped the palace, you know, took tapestries and plate and whatever else they could get their hands upon. Not to mention Ned's treasury.
Edward Woodville sailed with most of it on Tuesday last; the rest Thomas Grey and the Queen have with them in sanctuary."
Richard stood up suddenly, moved aimlessly to the window and back again. As ever when agitated or angry, he could not keep still; he was beginning to make Will nervous with his pacing and restless fidgeting. Moreover, Jane was awaiting Will even now at his manor by Paul's Wharf. She'd invited herself to supper; whether she had more in mind, Will didn't know, but he was very interested in finding out. He rose, made his farewells to Richard, to Francis Lovell, and to the Duke of Buckingham. He was at the door before he remembered.
"Dickon, it almost did slip my mind. Rotherham came to me the other day. In a sweat, the old boy was, shaking in his shoes that he was going to be held to account for that gaffe with the Great Seal!" Will grinned reminiscently, shook his head. "He pointed out that he'd soon

come to his senses, hied himself back to Westminster to reclaim the Great Seal from Elizabeth, hoped that might count in his favor. I did assure him we'd let bygones be bygones, that-"
"Out of the question." This was the first contribution Buckingham had made to the conversation in more than an hour, was said in so cold a tone that Will's eyebrows arched upward.
"Come now, Harry," he protested amiably. "I grant you the old man made a right proper ass of himself, but no harm was done, after all. More to the point, I think it good politics if we keep a light hand on the reins just now. Don't rock the boat, if you will. There'll be time enough to ease Rotherham out later, and until-"
Buckingham was no longer slouching on the settle. Sitting upright, he shook his head, cut Will off in midsentence.
"The man's either a Woodville collaborator or a Woodville dupe. Whichever, he's a liability, one we don't need."
Will's amiability was now edged in ice. "As one new to the councils of government, Harry, I think you may be somewhat green in your judgments. I happen to believe it would be a mistake to dump
Rotherham now, and with all deference, my experience be rather greater than yours in these matters."
Jesus, Francis thought, was it to start as soon as this? He agreed with Buckingham; Rotherham had to go. But why did Buckingham have to act like the lord of the manor dispensing justice to the serfs?
Hastings was no man to take orders; for twenty-two years, he'd been England's Lord Chamberlain, had been at the very heart of the Yorkist King's government. Why didn't Dickon take a hand in this, intercede before it got truly sticky?
Glancing toward Richard, he saw why, saw that Richard wasn't even listening. His face was shuttered, remote; wherever he was, Francis thought, it was miles from Crosby Place and this ugly little confrontation. Well, if Dickon wouldn't intervene, he'd damned well better.
"If I may," he said hastily, "I think I do have the solution. You each make a persuasive case; why not act upon them both? Take the chancellorship from Rotherham as my lord Buckingham advocates, but let him retain a seat on the council, as you suggest, my lord Hastings."
Neither man looked much impressed by his mediation. Fortunately, Richard had belatedly become aware of the sudden tension. "I haven't had much time to think it over, but I was inclining toward giving the chancellorship to John Russell, Bishop of Lincoln. How does that strike you, Will?"
Russell was an ideal compromise choice, and Will was not petty enough to deny that merely to soothe a chafed pride.

"A good man," he conceded. "I think he'd be most acceptable to the council. I certainly find him so."
The room temperature seemed to return to normal. Will engaged in easy small-talk for a few moments more, made an unhurried departure. But Francis had seen the way his dark eyes kept coming back to
Buckingham. There was on his face, Francis decided, the surprise of a man traveling a familiar path and encountering a roadblock where one was least expected.
We are, he admitted uneasily, going to have a problem with these two. Hastings be not a man to yield willingly his place in the sun. For all his talk about keeping a light hand on the reins, he fully expects one of those hands to be his. As for Buckingham, he'll be one to watch; his first taste of power seems to be going to his head.
After Buckingham called for his escort, galloping off down Bishopsgate Street at a pace to rattle windowpanes and send cobblestones flying, Francis joined Richard again in the solar. He'd meant to caution Richard about the jealousy he'd just seen, but at sight of his friend's face, he relented. Dickon had enough cares at the moment. There was no need to burden him with yet another. He acted himself as cupbearer, brought Richard a full goblet of vernage.
"You know, Dickon, it be rather sad. Edward doesn't even know his own brother and sisters all that well. How often has he seen them, after all? The girls, hardly at all. I understand the younger boy did spend some time at Ludlow, but not enough for them to become truly close. Not the way brothers should be, the way you and your brother were-"
He stopped abruptly, for he'd seen what Richard would rather he hadn't, the tears that had come suddenly into his eyes.
Francis tactfully busied himself in pouring his own drink. This was the second time today that he'd seen
Richard at the mercy of his memories. That morning they'd passed through Barnet on their way into
London, and Richard had thought to show Edward the battlefield. Whether he'd succeeded in awakening in the youngster a genuine spark of interest was difficult to say. Edward was polite to the point of insult, clutched courtesy to him as if it were a shield, the only one he had. But for Richard, the recollection of a battle twelve years past had only lacerated anew a wound less than three weeks old. He was not yet up to talking of his brother without pain, as Francis had just inadvertently proved.
The numbness be wearing off, Francis thought. It's beginning to sink Jn, to seem real. God pity him, these next weeks will be the worst, will be the hardest to get through. And to find now that the Queen be refusing to leave sanctuary! Embarrassing, Hastings had called it. No, it be far worse

than that. It be a deadly insult, does hit Dickon where he's most vulnerable, in his love for the late King.
Richard was back at the window. "How I do hate Westminster," he said suddenly, almost violently. "I tell you, Francis, even the air seems unfit to breathe. It be just as I remember it. Men caring only for their own advancement, sucking up to those who can do them the most good, sycophants and lickspittles and worse. You never do know where you stand at court. Even my brother, even he could not keep himself from being dragged down into the mire. And if it could happen to as strong a man as he was, what do you think will befall a boy like Edward?
"Do you know what Jack Howard told me, Francis? That Jane Shore has become Thomas Grey's mistress." Richard shook his head slowly. "Can you credit that? Jack says Ned's bed was not even cold before she crawled into Grey's. And Ned did care for that woman; he truly did."
Striding to the sideboard, he reached for the wine flagon, poured and drank before turning back to
Francis. The anger had gone from his face; he looked very tired, looked utterly at a loss.
"You remember how I spoke apart with Edward this afternoon, once we'd gotten him settled into the
Bishop's Palace? Do you want to know what he said to me, Francis? He asked me why, if he were King, that he could not just order his uncle's release. . . ."
Richard's voice trailed off. He and Francis looked at each other, nei- ; ther speaking, while on the table between them, the candles that still clung to light splashed hot wax into silver holders.
LONDON
May 1483
, LlCHARD had reluctantly decided against cr ing Anthony Woodville, Dick Grey, and Thomas Vaughn with treasor He felt the discovery of four wagonsful of armor in Dick Grey's bagga

train more than warranted such a charge, proved beyond doubt that the Woodvilles had meant to use military force if need be to maintain their hold upon the government. Nor was it his personal inclination to be lenient. Had he his way, he'd have seen that the Woodvilles paid the full price for their treachery. But political considerations ruled otherwise. His relationship with his young nephew was too precarious to allow for private retaliation.
He was not prepared, therefore, when in a midmorning council meeting at the Tower, John Morton, Bishop of Ely, suddenly questioned the continuing captivity of Elizabeth's kindred. As he had no liking for
Morton, Richard's response was more acerbic than it might otherwise have been; he reminded the
Bishop sharply of the indisputable proof of a Woodville conspiracy, and was at once backed up by both
Buckingham and John Howard. Morton had persevered, however, wanted to know if Richard was so sure in his own mind that the men were, indeed, guilty of treason.
"Yes," Richard snapped, "I've no doubts whatsoever of it," and only then did he see how adroitly the trap had been laid. In that case, Morton said smoothly, the council should take action upon it; treason was the most serious of all crimes and should be dealt with as such.
The ensuing vote was a stalemate of sorts. Morton and the former Chancellor Rotherham argued against indicting the Woodvilles on a charge of treason, on the grounds that since Richard had not been officially confirmed as Lord Protector until his arrival in London, whatever the Woodvilles had plotted was technically not treason. Morton had prevailed, by a bare majority, but the council then sided with Richard in agreeing that the confinement should continue indefinitely.
Richard could take some satisfaction from that, but not much. The council's refusal to indict only underscored what he already knew, that he was presiding over a coalition government of rival factions and uncertain loyalties. By letting himself be maneuvered into seeking a charge of treason and then failing to get it, he'd not only exposed his own vulnerability and brought to light the council's inner dissensions, he'd antagonized his young nephew to no useful purpose. All in all, he thought sourly, a day's work to be proud of, and one sure to come back to haunt him in the troubled times ahead.
Edward's coronation date had now been set for Tuesday, June 24, and in accordance with tradition, he'd been installed in the royal residence at the Tower. It was only a short walk from the Council Chamber in the White Tower, therefore, for Richard to pay a courtesy call upon his nephew. Less than an hour had elapsed since the conclusion of the council session, and yet Richard saw at once that Edward had already been told. Too resentful to dissemble, he blurted out in lieu of greetings, "You