The King's Dogge (36 page)

On the other hand, I was hardly in a position to prove that Hastings had not been plotting. Indeed, his unswerving support for King Edward's son, combined with a desire to remain in power, made it entirely logical that he would have rebelled. If you took that point of view, then not only was Catesby's story entirely consistent, but he had done Richard a considerable service in identifying Hastings' plot so early. In all probability Catesby had been embarrassed by the scheming of his former master, I decided, and doubtless he sought to conceal his grief at his death by feigning indifference. He needed my help not my suspicion.

‘It is just possible that some of Lord Hastings' former supporters might wish to take revenge on you,' I said awkwardly. ‘It would be best for you to acquire some protection.'

Catesby nodded sadly.

‘It pains me that men might wish to do me harm for merely doing my duty. But I too am a realist, my lord.'

He gave a piercing whistle and two men stepped out of the shadows of the walls of the Tower. The older was short and white-haired but broad. The metal bands on his arms glittered as he hefted his double-handed axe.

‘Here is Bracher, and this is his son, also called William,' Catesby explained proudly. ‘It's really very surprising that even with a squint he's so quick in combat. The scar on his mouth is amusing too, isn't it? It makes him appear as if he's always smiling.'

The two Brachers scowled at me malevolently.

Catesby smirked as he saw my look of revulsion.

‘Every cat should have his own dogs,' he whispered as he tapped the spotted cat badge, which he always wore on his tunic. ‘I do hope that you like mine.'

‘Filthy wine this!' Broughton observed. ‘But I'll try some more.'

I grinned at him. I hadn't realised how much I had missed him. Indeed, come to think of it, I hadn't seen him since before the Berwick campaign. I pushed the wine flagon in his direction as he gazed round the tavern in disgust.

‘It's not much better in London,' I told him.

Northumberland's army was camped outside the walls, and entry to the city was forbidden to the soldiers.

‘So what happened after Hastings' death?' he asked.

Broughton was totally trustworthy so I told him everything. He listened carefully and then groomed his wild beard with his finger.

‘So Richard of Gloucester becomes king because his nephews are bastards. But, on top of that, Dr Shaa and Friar Penketh are saying that his brother, King Edward, was illegitimate as his mother had an affair with an English archer.'

‘You haven't been listening, Thomas! They didn't say that; Buckingham primed the other preachers to say that.'

‘The others!'

‘Mm… I'm not sure that they didn't put in the bit about the Woodvilles using witchcraft to ensnare Edward into marriage too. Anyway, the Duke of Buckingham addressed the lords and gentry at the Guildhall and told them how far the country had deteriorated under King Edward and, with the threat of civil war, they should accept Richard as king.'

‘Were they enthusiastic?' he wanted to know.

‘Not particularly,' I replied truthfully, ‘but they saw the sense of it.'

Then I remembered something else.

‘Even Lord Stanley has accepted the situation; he's carrying the Lord High Constable's mace at the coronation procession.'

I smiled at Broughton across the table. To be truthful, it was a relief to have Richard's coronation organised, and to be able to look forward to an era of peace and tranquillity for England.

‘It's all settled now, Thomas.'

But Broughton frowned at me.

‘Maybe you're right, Francis, but I'm not so sure. I can understand why Richard needs to be king, but I rather wonder if everyone else will.'

I put his statements down to the wine.

‘If the aim is correct, Thomas, do the methods really matter?'

Thomas put his mug down with exaggerated care and looked at me owlishly.

‘Francis, it might be the best thing for England if Richard of Gloucester takes the throne, but it doesn't seem right.'

‘Why not?'

‘Kings inherit the throne from their fathers; that's the way of things and always will be. But this business of tales of bastardy and witchcraft doesn't seem natural. It just seems…'

He tugged at his straggly beard in frustration as he sought out the right word. At last, he lowered his hand and looked me straight in the eyes.

‘It's like theft, Francis; it looks like Richard is stealing his nephew's throne.'

C
HAPTER
15

O
ddly enough, Broughton's comment seemed to sum up the mood of the whole of London at that time. Despite the glittering splendour of Richard's coronation, there was a curious air of sombreness in the city.

‘You're starting at shadows!' Ratcliffe snorted angrily when I raised the matter. ‘There's nothing to fear. People need time to accept the change, that's all.'

He must have seen my dubious expression.

‘Listen, Francis, people are bound to be a bit bewildered. They were used to King Edward and his ways – it's only natural considering he ruled for twenty years or so. But, within a mere three months after his death, his wife's family have been disgraced and his children declared bastards. It's hardly surprising that men feel slightly disorientated. Give it a few months and everyone will accept the change.'

‘You sound pretty certain.'

‘Of course I am. In six months' time, no one will remember any king other than Richard.'

‘The people seem resentful.'

‘Sweet Christ, Francis! What does it matter if the people are a little unhappy? We're the ones with the power. We can count on all the major lords to support Richard – Buckingham, Norfolk, Suffolk, Northumberland. Of course Stanley's backing Richard now, as is everyone in the North.'

‘Mm… I suppose you're right.'

‘Of course I am. Now look on the positive side; Anne Neville has an ingenious idea of taking the king out of London and showing the new monarch to his people. The way I've planned it for her is that the royal progress will be so magnificent that folk will speak of it for years to come. Of course, in the early stages Anne Neville will remain here so as not to take any of the focus away from Richard, but she'll join him at Warwick and then they'll journey triumphantly up to York together.'

The vision of Richard and Anne's magnificent tour cheered him immensely, as he leapt to his feet and grinned at me.

‘We're in the ascendancy now, Francis! Put away your fears of sulky southerners and imaginary enemies, and start enjoying the fruits of victory.'

I was temporarily reassured, but this feeling was put to an end when I found myself alone with Catesby. I remember seeking him out in the castle at Windsor just before we left to commence the royal progress.

He listened attentively to my proposed plan for Richard's personal security on the progress and made a couple of useful suggestions, since he was familiar with the country in the West of England and I was not. I thanked him for he was clearly extremely busy. The large number of scrolls on the table of his chamber indicated as much. But, to my surprise, as I rose to leave him he asked me to remain.

‘I understand that Master Ratcliffe believes it unnecessary to watch the situation in the South while we accompany the king on his royal progress,' he said softly.

‘Correct.'

He pursed his lips.

‘A mistake, I would have said, Francis. The Woodvilles still have some support, as do the young princes. It would be prudent to take precautions.'

I thanked God for his loyalty and his foresight.

‘I agree with you.'

We spoke of arrangements which would be required to monitor events while we were away. A great deal of work was required and I wondered in exhaustion whether we would not be better off abandoning the royal progress altogether. But Catesby was quick to point out that this would be construed by all as a sign of weakness.

‘I suppose you're right,' I told him.

‘But, even if I wasn't, the tour should still proceed.'

Catesby's eyes glittered excitedly and I sensed that his mood was changing. Clearly, the serious work had been dealt with, and now he was ready to play.

‘After all, we must naturally consider Master Ratcliffe's feelings. Richard Ratcliffe is not only a friend and colleague, but, like all of us, he is one of God's children.'

He shook his head solemnly.

‘How cruel it would be for poor Ratcliffe to return to his Heavenly Father prematurely! Believe me, Francis, the cancellation of the royal tour would be a death blow to the man.'

‘It would? I accept he's put a fair amount into it.'

‘It's his masterpiece!' exclaimed Catesby. ‘Hitherto I had no inkling that behind those homely features and the humble trappings of a dear friend and colleague lay the mind of a genius.'

Catesby looked at me mistily.

‘Believe me, Francis, the plan that he has created is of such scope and magnitude that it is almost of a divine nature.'

‘You believe Ratcliffe to be divine?'

‘Well I'm not suggesting that the infant Ratcliffe was actually born in a stable.' Catesby chuckled cheerfully. ‘Although I grant you that, judging by the odour that clings so resolutely to his person, it is not wholly inconceivable that he spent many of his formative years in one. But, my lord, believe me when I say that it is hardly credible to think that a child born of human parents could have created such a plan.'

I thought for a moment. Presumably Ratcliffe was making the royal tour as magnificent as he possibly could in order to advance himself still further. Certainly his strategy was sound provided the tour was successful. On the other hand, by so clearly identifying himself as its creator, he would receive the blame were something to go wrong.

I glanced at Catesby, who was now smirking at some secret joke.

‘I hope you haven't encouraged Ratcliffe to make the tour too complicated,' I said suspiciously.

‘Me?' Catesby was a picture of wide-eyed innocence. ‘But why on earth would I wish to do anything to harm my good friend, the talented Master Ratcliffe?'

I must have looked dubious for he assumed a hurt expression. ‘It really is too bad of you to think like this, Francis.' He pouted. ‘Instead of contemplating such evil thoughts, you should be attending to the arrangements of how we will proceed to the first major point of the tour, Oxford University.'

I shifted uncomfortably on my seat, earning yet another disapproving glance from the rotund Bishop Dudley, who had been placed next to King Richard. Presumably Ratcliffe had put him there so that he could amplify the points made, but by this time I suspected that even Richard's interest in the proceedings had lessened.

I looked round the great hall of Magdalen College where, after three hours, the first of Ratcliffe's Great Debates was approaching the halfway stage. The young Oxford scholars were quietly awed by the presence of the king and his nobles, but I sensed that they were only pretending to pay heed to the sonorous tones of their Professor of Sacred Theology as he argued pedantically with his famous opponent, the eminently learned, albeit sharply spoken, Master William Grocin.