The Sunne in Splendour: A Novel of Richard III (111 page)

need to perform some reassuringly familiar task. He'd not yet fully absorbed the import of Stillington's revelation, needed an anchor of some sort, needed time to come to terms with it all.
Ned and Nell Butler. A secret plight-troth. Sweet Jesus God. But it explained much, explained
Elizabeth's reckless refusal to accept the protectorship. It explained, too, why she'd been so unrelenting in her hatred for George, Ned's lawful heir. . . . His fingers froze around the wine flagon. God, no!
Swinging about, he grasped Stillington's wrist.
"Tell me," he demanded, "was this why my brother was put to death?"
Stillington shrank back, pulled ineffectually against Richard's grip. "That was none of my doing, Your
Grace! Your brother Clarence stumbled onto the truth on his own, was foolish enough to let the King know it. But I played no part in it, I swear I didn't! I had no choice but to obey the King's will. My lord .
. . you are hurting me!"
Richard released Stillington's arm, stepped back. For a moment, no one spoke, and then Buckingham said admiringly, "I confess I didn't at once see the link to your brother of Clarence. You're very quick, Cousin!"
Richard stared at him, said nothing. Anne had yet to move from the settle, where shock had held her immobile. Now, however, she came hastily to her feet, moved toward Richard. But when she touched his arm, he pulled away.
Stillington was speaking again, was still insisting that he was innocent of any blame for George's death.
Anne scarcely heard him. The voice echoing in her ears was Ned's, the words those he'd spoken to
Richard that September afternoon at the Archbishop of York's Palace. "Do you think I could put my own brother to death unless I were convinced there was no other way?" Was Richard, too, remembering that? He'd moved to the window, but she didn't need to see his face. The rigid set of his shoulders was as expressive as anything he might have said. As she watched, he clenched a fist, sent it slamming into the wall above his head. Anne winced, and tears filled her eyes.
"I know this be a shock to you, Cousin, but I don't think you've fully realized what it does mean. Once
Dr Stillington does make this known, there's no way the boy can be King. The crown is yours for the taking. We need only put this before the council, let them-"
Richard spun around. "No!"
For the first time, Buckingham looked disconcerted. "Cousin, it's yours by right. All you have to do is reach for it. ..."
"I tell you no, Harry! I need time . . . time to think." Richard sounded shaken, but there was no doubt he meant what he said. "You're

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to say nothing of this. Be that understood? I do want your sworn words on that. Nothing at all."
"MY lord Lovell, you do know His Grace of Gloucester as well as any man. I implore you, tell me the truth. Be there any chance he might refuse to take the crown?"
These were the first words Bishop Stillington had spoken since they'd left Crosby Place and returned to
Buckingham's manor in Suffolk Lane. Francis hesitated, but while he sympathized with Stillington's predicament, he didn't feel up to allaying his anxieties with lies.
"I don't know," he conceded. "I realize that be of little comfort, but I truly don't know."
"But he's the rightful heir!"
Francis shrugged tiredly. "Yes, but it be a right to leave a bad taste in a man's mouth. Whatever the sins of the parents, the boy be blameless. It's no easy choice Dickon faces. To brand his brother's son a bastard before the world, to claim the crown Edward thinks to be his birthright?"
"He has to take it. He has to! If he doesn't, my life will be worth next to nothing. As long as I need only open my mouth to disinherit the young King, I'm too dangerous to let live!"
Francis wished he'd given Stillington the reassurance he so needed. "My lord Bishop, you're agitating yourself for naught. We don't know that he will-"
"What don't we know?" Buckingham had come unheralded into the chamber. Not wanting witnesses to the confidential conversation to follow, he'd summoned no servants. Moving to the sideboard, he began to pour wine for his guests, saying, "Well? What have I missed?"
"We were discussing whether or not Dickon would take the crown," Francis said reluctantly, and
Stillington nodded. Both men were rather 1 taken aback when Buckingham began to laugh.
"Is that what be bothering you, Reverend Father? Well, you may put your mind at rest. He'll take it."
It rankled with Francis that Buckingham should so presume to know Richard's mind, enough to provoke him into saying coolly, "I don't see how you can be so sure of that, my lord. We're talking about more than legal rights; there be moral rights to take into account, too. While there be no question of the late
King's culpability, it may well be that Elizabeth! Woodville married him in good faith. And be that as it may, the children at least are innocent of any wrongdoing. You think that doesn't trouble Dickon? If so, my lord, you don't know him as well as you seem to think."

Buckingham looked amused. "Am I poaching on your property?"
"What mean you by that?" Francis snapped.
"Just that I realize you're an old and intimate friend of Richard's. You do know him well, I don't doubt.
But in this, I'd wager a great deal that my reading be the right one." Buckingham handed Stillington a gilded cup, stood for a moment looking down at Francis with silent laughter hovering on his lips.
"Don't be so thin-skinned, my lord. I'm not jealous of your friendship with my cousin of Gloucester; we needn't be rivals. I'm simply saying that whatever his doubts, he'll take the crown."
"You do sound so positive of that," Stillington said nervously, almost wistfully.
"And with reason. If Richard felt he could not in conscience put the boy's crown upon his own head, there be yet another option open to him. While he lived, George of Clarence was the rightful heir of
York. Well then, why not crown his son? By so doing, we'd be solving the problem posed by Edward's illegitimacy, and Richard need not feel that he was profiting at his nephew's expense. However, I don't recall any mention being made tonight of Clarence's boy, nary a word. Now why do you think that was?"
Stillington was shaking his head. "Have you forgotten, my lord Buckingham, that the Duke of Clarence was attainted of high treason? That Bill of Attainder does bar his son from any claims he might otherwise have had to the succession."
Buckingham did not appear to be impressed. "And do you mean to tell me that a Bill of Attainder has never been reversed? If my memory serves, both the late King and Richard himself were attainted by
Warwick's parliament! No, the attainder be an impediment, but not an insurmountable one. It could be dealt with, but it won't. There's no need, after all. Why seek to legitimize the tainted claim of a child when we can have a man grown, a man of proven abilities and a blood right to the crown?"
He saw Stillington was convinced. The priest was smiling for the first time since leaving Crosby Place.
Francis looked as if he still harbored doubts, but he seemed inclined to keep them to himself, said nothing.
"No, my lord Bishop," Buckingham said contentedly, "you needn't fear. For a man to turn down a crown, he'd have to be either a fool or a saint. And my cousin of Gloucester, I can assure you, be neither!"
ANNE closed the solar door, and after a moment's reflection, shot the bolt into place. Richard was still standing by the window. Half expecting another rebuff, she touched his arm.
"Richard, sit down . . . please. I'll fetch some wine and-"

"I don't want any."
She hesitated, knowing he wanted only to be alone and yet unwilling to leave him. Reaching for his hand, she saw then the damage done when he'd hit the wall; his knuckles were scraped and bleeding.
"Richard, your hand! Let me wash it clean with wine," she entreated, and was faintly surprised when he offered no protest. He followed her to the table, watched in silence as she poured wine onto her handkerchief.
"Can you not talk to me about it?"
He raised his eyes to hers at that. "I find myself wondering if I ever truly knew him at all," he said, very low.
Not knowing what to say, Anne busied herself in wrapping the handkerchief around his hand.
"Shrewsbury's daughter! How did he think he could get away with it? And George. . . . How in Christ can I ever tell my mother that, Anne? How can I tell her that Ned lived a lie for twenty years and George died for it?"
For the first time within memory, Anne found it easy to come to her brother-in-law's defense, for not only could she understand his motivation, it was hers, too.
"The plight-troth I do not understand, no more than I ever understood that secret May marriage to
Elizabeth Woodville. For all his abilities, your brother's judgment could at times be frighteningly flawed.
But once it was done, once George found out . . . well, I can understand why he felt he had no choice then but to do what he did. He was thinking only of his children, did put their welfare above all other considerations." She drew a deep breath, said, "And so must you, my love. You have no choice either, Richard. You must take the crown. For our son's sake, you must."
Richard tensed, and for a moment, she thought he was going to pull I away. "Edward was entrusted into my care. I did give my sworn word that I would be loyal to him, that I'd look after him. Do you think I
can forget that?"
Anne shook her head. "No," she said sadly. "I know you cannot. I But tell me this, Richard. In three years, Edward will be sixteen. What] then? What happens when he demands payment for
Northampton?"
"It doesn't have to be that way. In three years, he could come to un-J derstand why I took the actions I
did."
"Yes, he could. But you don't expect that, and neither do I. Thel Woodvilles have taught him too well.
And even if Edward could learn Too forgive, Elizabeth Woodville never will. Nor will her kin, and sooner of| later, they're going to have to be set free. They do hate you so, Richard

and now we know why. You're the rightful heir of York; think you that they could live with that?
"No, Richard, we'd best face it. Our future holds naught but grief. You're not likely to live very long under your nephew's reign, my love. And should evil befall you, what do you think will happen to our son? To me?"
"Anne, I don't want to hear this!"
"Surely you don't think I like saying it.' But it has to be said. If you fall, Richard, Ned and I will be dragged down with you. If I'm lucky, I'll find myself confined to a convent for the rest of my days. If I'm not, I'll be forced into marriage with a husband handpicked by Elizabeth Woodville, a husband hot for the lands I could-"
Richard had jerked his hand from hers. "You think I don't know that? You think I can forget for a moment what befell Humphrey of Gloucester's wife once he was stripped of his protectorship? Charged with witchcraft, forced to do penance through the streets of London and condemned to life imprisonment on the Isle of Man! You think I don't lie awake at night and see you in her place? Christ, if you only knew!"
The anger in his voice was raw, wrenching, wasn't anger at all. Anne hated herself for what she was doing to him, for using his love as a weapon. But she had no choice, no more than he did. Ned had to come first.
"Richard, I love you. I'd not want to live without you. But what of Ned? What do you think would happen to him? Need I say it? I've seen what five years as Thomas Grey's ward has done to my sister's son. When I think of Ned in their hands, I-Oh, God, Richard, we cannot let that happen!"
Richard sat down abruptly, sagged into the nearest chair as if his body had suddenly been sapped of all strength. Anne yearned to go to him, but the fear of rejection kept her where she was. Would he ever be able to forgive her for this? She moved to stand behind his chair, let her hand rest on his shoulder in a tentative caress. He reached up, covered it with his own, and only then did silent tears begin to streak her face.
"It's so unfair," Richard said softly. "So bloody unfair. ..."
"I know, love," Anne said, just as softly. "I know."
IT was nearly dawn when she asked the one question as yet unanswered. Neither one of them had slept.
For several hours, she'd lain awake beside Richard, watching him stare into some inner vista she couldn't share. Finally she leaned over, touched his face with soft fingers.
"Richard, might I ask you something? We've talked tonight of what

you must do, of what you can do, of what you ought to do. But we've said nothing of what you want to do. Richard, do you want to be King?"
At first, she thought he wasn't going to answer her. But as she studied his face, she saw he was turning her question over in his mind, seeking to answer it as honestly as he could.
"Yes," he said at last. "Yes ... I do."
LONDON
June 1483
LT was a Tuesday evening, three days later. Richard was still resisting Buckingham's demands that they summon Stillington before the council, still refusing to let the plight-troth be made public. He needed more time, he insisted, time to think it through, and with that, Buckingham had to be content.
A goldsmith had just been ushered out of the solar. He'd crafted for Richard a delicate pendant, a heart-shaped emerald set in gold filigree. The pendant was Richard's present to his wife; the next day was her twenty-seventh birthday. Richard held it up to the light, and then lowered it again into its velvet wrapping. As he did, a discreet knock sounded at the solar door.
"Your Grace? Lord Howard be without in the great hall, does seek a private audience."
John Howard was not a man to waste words. Taking a seat, he leaned forward, said bluntly, "I might as well tell you straight out. I do know about the plight-troth, about your brother and Shrewsbury's daughter."
Richard caught his breath. "How. . . ?"
"Stillington," Howard said succinctly. "He did come to me this morning. He's badly frightened, Dickon, seems scared out of his wits that he's put his neck on the block. I expect he figured that by telling me and

Will, he'd reduce the chances of his secret being buried, and him along with it."
"Will? You mean he did go to Hastings, too?"
Howard nodded. "He said he went to Will after the council meeting yesterday. He had it in mind to go to
Dr Russell, too, but I think I persuaded him to hold off on that."
"More fool I," Richard said slowly, "for not anticipating this. I should have foreseen what he'd do." He raised his eyes, met Howard's steady grey ones. "Tell me the truth, Jack," he said tautly. "What think you of all this?"
"The truth? I think it be a godsend. For you, for York, and for the country."
Richard's tension was dissipated in a rush of relief. He'd not realized until that moment just how much he'd come to rely on John Howard's judgment. Buckingham and Francis were far from disinterested, after all: the one motivated by ambition and the other by friendship. But Howard was both tough-minded and fair. His approval would go far toward resolving many of the tangled doubts and uncertainties of these past three days.
"You think, then, that I should take it?"
"I think you'd be making the biggest mistake of your life if you didn't."
"What of Will? What did he say?"
"I saw him briefly this afternoon, but we didn't have much time to talk. Stillington's tale hit him as it did me, like a bolt from nowhere. He does remember your brother's involvement with Nell Butler, says there was much talk at the time, what with her being a lady of rank, an Earl's daughter."
"He said nothing else?"
"He did say it might be best to have an ecclesiastical court pass judgment upon the plight-troth. I'd advise against that myself, would submit the issue to the council and parliament. I can think of nothing more dangerous than delay."
He rose, then, said, "Well, I've said what I came to say. I think I do understand why you've held back so far. But don't wait too long, Dickon."
"Jack . . . There's something else you should know."
Howard sat down again. "Trouble?"
Richard nodded. "We both know there are some members of the council who have not reconciled themselves to the protectorship. They Wed once before to take it from me, and this morning we were given proof that they do mean to try again."