The King's Dogge (46 page)

‘I hear that Northumberland is unhappy,' Catesby simpered.

‘Dear God, why's that? He's already benefited far more than anyone else through Richard being king.'

‘The ingratitude of our loyal lord beggars belief,' agreed Catesby indignantly. ‘But it could, of course, be connected to the fact that he has not retained responsibility for all three marches in the North.'

‘He's not competent enough.'

Catesby narrowed his eyes.

‘I could not agree with you more. But naturally, as a lawyer, I feel obliged to point out – with the utmost reluctance you understand – that in every dispute there are always two viewpoints.'

He gave me a sideways glance.

‘You've heard, of course, that the Council of the North is another problem for Northumberland?'

‘I hadn't.'

‘I'm surprised. Well, apparently there's a rumour that the Earl believes that its sheer existence impinges on his authority.'

‘He's a member of it!'

‘Do you know, Francis, I'd have to say that it's not precisely the same as heading the Council of the North.'

‘Well no, John of Lincoln – the king's nephew – leads the council. Now I admit that he has limitations, and people don't like working with him.'

‘Oh, but I have complete confidence in our understanding Earl of Northumberland's ability to tolerate the inexperienced Earl of Lincoln,' Catesby hurriedly assured me.

‘You do?'

‘Certainly!' Catesby gestured expansively. ‘His tolerance is renowned throughout the land. He'll put up with the king's nephew as enthusiastically as he welcomes his monarch's visits to the North. I am reliably assured that at the end of each visit our hospitable earl implores his beloved monarch to extend his stay.'

I realised that he was mocking me now. Northumberland had hoped to have the North to himself when Richard became king and hated his presence there.

‘By the way, Francis, there is one matter you could clarify for me,' Catesby continued merrily. ‘With your knowledge of the North, I mean.'

‘I'll try.'

‘Excellent!' he beamed. He took my arm and we moved forward slowly. ‘You'll forgive me from mentioning it, but I was reflecting just now what an excellent impression you would make in a court of law. You seem so honest.'

I waved away the compliment.

‘What's the question?'

‘Am I right in thinking that our noble king is from the Neville family and that Northumberland's family are the Percies?'

‘You are.'

‘So succinctly put!' Catesby cried delightedly. ‘Juries would love you, Francis! No “ifs” and “buts”, just the plain truth every time.' He chuckled delightedly and I laughed too at the ridiculousness of the suggestion that I could charm juries.

‘And just how well do the Percies and Nevilles get on?' Catesby asked pleasantly.

My smile faded abruptly. The Nevilles and the Percies had always been bitter rivals and loathed each other, but I was growing tired of his insinuations and allegations.

‘You're absurd!' I snapped. ‘Northumberland worked with Richard when they were in the North together. Why, he helped him become king.'

‘So did Buckingham! Francis, can't you see that we must take nothing for granted. Not everyone has your honest stupidity and plodding loyalty. Recognise that Northumberland might possibly be regretting giving his support to our naive king.'

His green eyes flashed angrily.

‘God knows, I've told him about this enough times, but he just maintains that Northumberland is completely trustworthy. Will you tell him as much? It might eventually get through to him.'

‘I'm not sure I believe you either!' I told him flatly.

Catesby stamped his foot in frustration.

‘All right, don't believe me, but consider two points. Firstly, where is the king's primary source of support?'

‘The North.'

‘And who is entrusted with bringing all that support to our expectant monarch?'

‘Northumberland.'

We parted on bad terms. Later that day, I pondered on his words and reported his fears to Richard, but he waved my words away – he had faith in Northumberland. I returned to Southampton unhappily.

I turned in my bed restlessly and tried to tell myself that I was making myself afraid of shadows rather than anything of substance. Catesby was jumping to conclusions. He would not have known that the distances in the North are so great that it takes longer to gather men together. Consequently, Northumberland's muster would have been far more protracted than, say, Norfolk's.

Then again, once Northumberland had actually raised his men, it would take him a considerable time to march south to Nottingham. Being no solder and being unfamiliar with the North of England, Catesby would not have known these things. His worries had to be groundless, surely?

‘I trust our northern contingent will join us soon…'

But what would happen if Northumberland's mustering took too long and he failed to arrive before the battle? Devoid of the support of the men from the North, we would be in considerable trouble. Then again, what if Catesby's insinuations were correct? Suppose Northumberland joined Tudor? Angrily I tossed and turned. All this could have been avoided if Richard had listened to me and mustered his army before Tudor's invasion, but he would not because he was overconfident. This was not caused by an overly optimistic assessment of our military situation that I could have corrected for him, rather his confidence stemmed from a much deeper belief that I could not get him to abandon. It was Ratcliffe who illuminated me when I came to Nottingham to report on the southern defences.

‘You'll find that not a great deal has been done,' he snorted angrily after I had enquired how the preparations for the army were proceeding.

‘Dear God, why not?'

Ratcliffe's shoulders sagged.

‘The king believes that he's protected by God now,' he said wearily, ‘so now he's content to let matters take their natural course.'

He looked at me hopefully.

‘Maybe you'll be able to talk some sense into him?'

I tried, but I failed. I argued that we should muster our troops earlier. It was already mid-July and the campaigning season would not continue much after September. If we concentrated our forces before Tudor landed, we would be in a position to fall on him before he could attract too much support. It could be expensive to summon men prematurely and doubtless they would resent it, but it would deter men from joining Tudor. But Richard was reluctant to take men from the harvests; nor would he issue personal summons to the northern lords. True, some were already with him, but many were not.

‘Northumberland will bring our northerners,' Richard assured me. ‘With him, Norfolk and Stanley, I have more than enough men.'

‘But…'

‘In any event, Francis, either you'll halt Tudor in the South or he'll be destroyed by our followers in Wales.'

‘Look, Richard, I accept that, in theory anyway, we should be able to halt Tudor on the coast or in Wales, but I can't guarantee it. Surely the obvious thing is to start planning for a scenario where Tudor penetrates our outer defences and starts to move inland. We need to arrange this now as it takes time to organise. Bring up the serpentines and other cannon from the Tower and the castles near here immediately rather than waiting to hear that Tudor has landed. Start assembling your followers now. The earlier you start the greater number of men you'll gather.'

‘There is no need,' he announced calmly.

‘How can you be so certain?' I demanded furiously.

He disregarded my anger and showed no offence at my tone. Instead, he rose from his elaborately carved chair and moved slowly towards me.

‘You still have your ring?' he asked.

I touched the chain around my neck.

‘And you will still keep your promise?'

‘To put the Earl of Warwick on the throne if you die before you can ensure his succession? You know I will.'

He smiled and for a moment his pale face lit up with happiness.

‘Faithful Francis.' But then he turned and moved to the window. ‘Yet for all that, I am certain that you will not be the one to ensure that Clarence's son rules after me.'

I sat silently, not understanding. He turned and saw my enquiring look.

‘God will allow me personally to attend my nephew's succession,' he explained.

This was beyond my comprehension.

‘How do you know?'

I think my question interested him for he resumed his seat and placed his fingertips together.

‘Tell me, Francis, what do you recall of the process whereby we may hope to earn remission from our sins?'

I was growing tired of this.

‘Nothing.'

‘You are still to come to grace,' Richard chided me gently. ‘But first we bring to mind all our sins, admitting all and concealing nothing. Then we confess them daily in a manner which is both humble and penitent, and we beg for forgiveness. Indeed, it is as our very tears wash away our evil-doings that we seek to make restitution and hope to earn Our Lord's favour by doing good works.'

He touched the cross he wore lovingly, its jewels burning fiercely against the sombre hue of his tunic.

‘There are some who argue that restitution is unnecessary and faith alone can bring us to salvation, but they are wrong to think like that, I am certain.'

This was not the Richard I knew.

‘Why is that?'

He smiled at my seeming interest.

‘God rejoices in our desire to make restitution,' he explained. And, indeed, He helps us to do so. He is truly content that I seek to make amends to my brothers by placing Clarence's son on the throne to rule after me.'

‘Well, He won't be very pleased if, due to your inactivity, Henry Tudor gets to the throne first.'

My bitter remark was probably both sacrilegious and treasonable, but I was past caring. Somehow Richard had to be dragged back to reality, but he just shook his head sadly.

‘You still fail to understand don't you? Listen, Francis, the Almighty knows that I wish to make recompense to my brothers, and he is both fair and generous. How can you believe that he will deny me this chance to do so by allowing a usurper to steal the throne, which will rightfully belong to my nephew Warwick when I am dead?'

He began to pace up and down in his frustration at my inability to understand. Suddenly he stopped and whirled round to face me.

‘Francis, can you not see how God is already helping me? By allowing Henry Tudor to invade he is ensuring my nephew Warwick's inheritance.'

This was ridiculous.

‘Well I've heard that He moves in mysterious ways, but really.'

‘Just think, Francis!' he howled and sprung towards me to seize my arm. I winced for, despite his lack of stature, he was strong. ‘While Tudor was in France he was safe. I could never have persuaded the French to have handed him over, but now God has delivered him into my hands in England.'

He released his grip and beamed up at me.

‘Surely, Francis, by doing so the Almighty, in his loving goodness, will ensure that I will now defeat Tudor, and with him dead there is no one to prevent Warwick from succeeding me.'

He nodded happily and watched my expression.

‘Surely you see it all now, Francis, as indeed it was revealed to me. By killing Tudor, I begin to earn absolution for my sins.'