Royal Mistress (53 page)

Richard of Gloucester had prayed the coronation would not be brought up at this meeting with the little princes. He was not prone to lying, but he did so now.

“I agree with Aunt Anne, blue would be very suitable and complement your brother’s white cloth of gold coronation robes.”

Dear God, Richard thought, when would he be able to bring himself to tell Ned he could not now be king. He would put it off until the last, he decided. First he needed to inform the whole council of the truth. Fiddling with his signet ring, he left Anne to carry the rest of the conversation as he questioned his own conscience while pacing the richly appointed solar. Harry wanted him to be king, he knew, as did Francis Lovell. No one else knew of the precontract yet, except Catesby, but he felt sure Jack Howard and his son Thomas would support him, as would his brother-in-law Suffolk and his nephew John, earl of Lincoln.

Richard watched as Anne listened intently to the two boys as they chatted and saw that they blossomed with her gentle encouragement. Instinctively he knew she would not want the responsibility that being queen would entail, but she would dutifully follow whatever path he took.

The larger question was whether he, Richard, wished to be king? Only if it were his duty, he concluded gloomily.

“B
astard slips shall ne’er take root,” preached the learned Friar Shaw the following Sunday to a multitude crowded around Paul’s Cross beside the cathedral. Londoners had wondered what was afoot when they viewed the bulletins posted on church doors and the standard on the Chepe encouraging all to attend, and those who could read told others that the lord protector would be present to hear the famous orator speak. And indeed, Richard of Gloucester
had ridden in solemn procession with many lords and magnates to listen to the mayor’s brother deliver his sermon.

It soon became plain why the preacher had chosen that particular biblical text. He began by praising the late duke of York, founder of the ruling house, and quickly brought the focus of his speech to Richard, duke of Gloucester. He exhorted that Richard was the only one of York’s sons to have been born in England, the only one who resembled his royal father, and of such noble character that he was worthy of the crown.

Richard sat stoically on his horse and people watched him curiously. One of those was Kate Haute, standing with Margaret Howard and listening to the extraordinary sermon. Kate hoped he knew she was there, but she dared not reveal herself. Her heart went out to him, knowing how he hated these public occasions. He would rather be hawking in the dales, she was ready to wager.

Richard knew what Shaw was about to reveal to the citizens, and he judged from the lowering brows, mutterings, and stony stares that the tenor of the crowd was not friendly. His cousin Harry had suggested he should attend the event that Harry had orchestrated. He had entrusted his cousin with the crux of Shaw’s sermon, but in what terms the news would be couched, only the preacher knew. Richard had longed to stay away, but Anne had prevailed, reminding him that when duty called, Richard would not disobey. Thus he heard, along with his fellow Englishmen and women, how the late King Edward had been betrothed in secret before his marriage to Elizabeth Woodville, nulling the second marriage and making bastards of their children. Gasps and clucking followed the news as now the spectators began to understand where the friar’s words were leading.

However, Kate was shocked when Shaw proclaimed, “It is said even the late king was not born of his father’s blood.” Then the loud voice of the preacher was drowned out by the angry protestations of the crowd who defended Cecily of York’s reputation
as a pious, honorable consort of the late duke of York. It was too much for some, and several people began to turn away. Kate saw Richard flinch at the damning words about his mother and give Buckingham an irate look. She guessed they were none of Richard’s writing, and yet who would believe him when this event had so obviously been planned. Aye, Kate thought sadly, he could say nothing without calling the whole sermon into question as Friar Shaw continued, “And as the offspring of King Edward are illegitimate and the duke of Clarence’s son attainted through his father’s treason, the only true heir to York and rightful king of England must be Richard Plantagenet, duke of Gloucester, now named protector.”

A stunned silence came over the crowd as every head turned to look at Richard, unsmiling upon his mount. Kate willed him to show the world the face she loved, but instead she could see his pain plainly. Buckingham tried to raise Richard’s arm in the air to receive accolades at this pivotal moment, but other than a few cheers from those planted in the crowd by that duke, the citizens quietly went back to their homes to mull over this unexpected turn of events.

Richard gave Friar Shaw a salutary nod, swiveled his horse, and returned to Westminster the way he had come, along Bower Row to the Ludgate, where he looked up at the window of the gaol, unaware that Jane Shore was watching.

E
lizabeth’s shrieks of rage and despair rent the cloister’s tranquil silence, causing monks to hesitate in their prayer and laymen to stop their labor. The young priest who had brought her the news of Edward’s disinheritance ducked as a cup of ale was flung at his head. He tripped on his robe as he raced from her presence, and sprawled onto the flagstones before scrambling away. The queen had finally gone mad, he decided, congratulating himself on his escape.

Her daughters and her ladies rushed to her aid, and it was a
good half an hour before Bess could calm her mother and discover the cause of her distress.

“It must be a lie!” Bess cried. “Father would not have endangered us like this. Surely a proper marriage supplants the precontract?”

Elizabeth stopped crying for a second and admitted: “We, too, were married in secret, Bess. As much as I want to shout ’tis a lie, your father was not above deceiving desirable noble ladies to get into their beds. I am proof, God damn him to hell,” she said and she began to sob again. “Your father was a monster. We are undone! Do you not understand? We are destitute. His lust has reduced us to nothing. I hate him, I hate him!” she spat. “May he rot in hell!”

“Did you know about this, Mother?”

“No, I did not!” Elizabeth averred, and she beat her pillow. “I would have taken care of it long ago, had I known. Your father was a fool!” She turned onto her stomach and motioned them all away. “I want to be alone.” How many other secrets had Edward kept from her? she wondered. He could have confessed it to her when he learned of Eleanor’s death. They could have sorted it out, surely. Could they not have remarried and this time in public? Ah, but now it was too late. The dreadful deed was done, Edward was dead, and the whole world knew her children were bastards.

She lay weeping for most of the day, but then, experiencing a moment of brilliant clarity, she sat up. “Christ’s nails,” she said aloud, “Edward was not confused at all at the end. He was trying to confess the secret plight-troth to me right there on his deathbed, not ask Nell’s forgiveness.”

T
he inmates of the Ludgate had not been able to hear the speech from Paul’s Cross, but their gaolers were happy to impart all the news that was racing around the city. Boredom became a thing of the past. They heard that not only had the late king’s children been declared bastards, but also that the duke of Buckingham had used his oratory, on Monday, to persuade Parliament and, on Tuesday,
the members of the all-important guilds gathered at the Guildhall that Richard of Gloucester should be proclaimed king of England.

Jane was not as surprised as the rest of her fellow prisoners, for if she weighed all the extraordinary events that she had heard firsthand from Will, the news of the precontract and Richard’s attempt to connect her to the queen in a plot, she could see where it all would lead. The question for her was, would Richard now let her rot in gaol, as he had more lofty goals to achieve, or would he now have the authority to punish her more severely? If he were king, he might accuse her of treason, as he had done so falsely with Will. Jane knew she might face the stake, and, shivering, she stared around forlornly at her bleak surroundings and felt chilled.

A
t the end of the tumultuous week, when Londoners heard Richard accept the crown offered by the duke of Buckingham on behalf of a great crowd of lords and commons who had gone to Baynard’s to beg him to take it, word was brought to Elizabeth that her brother Rivers, her younger Grey son, and Sir Thomas Vaughan had been executed at Pontefract Castle for treason. Her tears spent for her little boy lost, she could only fall on her knees and pray for the three men’s souls.

Then she turned her focus to her own fate. Witchcraft, if it were proved, would mean burning at the stake. How she wished her mother, Jacquetta, had not been so boastful of their ancestor, Melusine. Had those potions Jacquetta had given Edward actually caused the king to fall in love and marry her? Richard had seized his opportunity to charge Elizabeth with witchcraft just as Warwick had done with her mother fifteen years before to no avail. Certainly Richard had used the well-worn story in his proclamation against Elizabeth. Pah, she thought, where was his proof? Since her mother’s death, there had been no whisper of Woodville witchcraft. It was just an excuse, she decided, although why he had not leveled the charge of conspiracy and treason on her if she was
supposed to have been embroiled with Hastings, she could not fathom. No matter, she thought, as either an accusation of treason or of witchcraft carried the same punishment for a woman—the stake. She shuddered and prayed fervently that none of her adherents would turn against her. They had indeed been plotting to overturn Richard’s protectorate and restore her young son to the throne, which reminded the queen of her duty as a mother.

“And may God have mercy on my young sons,” she begged the miniature of the Virgin and Child from whom she found comfort, and, railing at herself again for letting Dickon go, she added, “and keep them safe.”

Surely, under Richard of Gloucester’s care, they would come to no harm.