The Sunne in Splendour: A Novel of Richard III (41 page)

York
March 1471
"7
say we vote on it. . . .Who favors opening the city gates to him? I thought as much. "Tis settled then. We deny him entry."
"The Hell we do!"
"The Hell we don't!"
"Hear him out, Will; 'tis only fair. Go on, Tom, speak your mind."
"I only think we should not be hasty in this. Not when it's a decision likely to come back to haunt us.
Before we do decide, you'd best be sure you're willing to make an enemy of the man who might well be
King again within the month."
"The truth of it, Wrangwysh, is that you've always held for York. Admit it, you'd be well pleased to see a
Yorkist victory!"
"What if I do? That doesn't change the facts, Holbeck. If we deny Edward of York entry, we antagonize him to no purpose."
"But if we admit him, Tom, we do for a certainty anger Warwick."
"They did turn him away from Kingston upon Hull-"
"Aye, and gave him entry into Beverley. As I say we should do in York!"
"What says His Grace of Northumberland?"
"We've had nary a word."
"Well, does that not give you pause, gentlemen? As long as Henry Percy keeps to Topcliffe, I'd not be so quick to bury York. If Percy will not fight for Warwick, that does change the odds somewhat, don't you agree? We should think on that ere we decide."
"Jesu but you lawyers are never happy unless you're muddying the waters. Even if you be right, Asked, and the Earl of Northumberland chooses not to move against York, what matters that to us? I say we dare

not risk the Earl of Warwick's wrath by opening the city gates to his sworn enemy!"
"Ah, but he's not!"
All heads turned toward the doorway of the council chamber. That morning, Richard Burghe and
Thomas Conyers had volunteered to ride out to warn the Yorkists away from the city. Now they found themselves assailed on all sides.
"You did see him, Conyers? What says he?"
"How does His Grace, Tom?"
"What meant you when you said he was no sworn enemy to Warwick?"
Conyers was grinning. "I do mean your problem has been solved, gentlemen," he said, somewhat smugly.
"Suppose I were to tell you there is a way by which we can accommodate York and yet still pacify
Warwick?"
"I'd say you were suffering from sun sickness!"
"Not even Merlin could perform such a feat, Conyers."
"Well, we lose nothing if we do hear him out. . . . Tom?"
" Tis very simple, in truth. Edward of York did assure us that he has no intent to seize the English crown."
He raised his hand to still their outbursts. "He says that he means only to lay claim to those estates which are his by right as the Duke of York. . . . No more than that. Moreover, he swears he'd be willing to take an oath of allegiance to Lancaster should we admit him into the city . . . to show his good faith!"
Ir The stunned silence that followed, Burghe nodded confirmation of this story none could yet believe.
Conyers claimed a seat, and nudging Tom Wrangwysh in jovial complicity, he observed to the room at large, "As for me, I thought it a right fair offer-one which will gladden the heart of King Harry, I daresay!"
They were all staring at him, with expressions that ran the gamut from outrage to amusement.
"Christ, man, who'd believe such a tale as that? Does he think us fools?"
"I never said you need believe it, Will. I'm only saying that when the Earl of Warwick does demand to know why we opened the city to York, we can say that he was but seeking what was his by right... the duchy of his late lord father."
Holbeck snorted. "Do you want to be the one to tell His Grace of Warwick that, Conyers? I say no, and let's have an end to it!"
Tom Wrangwysh leaned across the table to say pleasantly, "Will, I trust you'll not take this amiss, but I
think you do need reminding that you are no longer Lord Mayor."

In the sudden expectant hush, Holbeck's in drawn breath was audible to all. But before he could retaliate, the City Recorder had turned to one who'd so far taken no part in the debate, said hastily, "What think you, Chris? What with the city lacking a Mayor till the dispute over the elections be settled, we'd be most interested in your views on this matter. You are, after all, Esquire of the Mayor, and if troops need be raised, yours is the responsibility."
"I see no such need," the man thus appealed to said quietly, as his colleagues settled back to give him the respect due both his office and his person.
"I think we must put politics aside, do what be in the best interests of our city. I would suggest that we compromise, that we do offer admittance to Edward . . . Duke of York."
The resolve found ready acceptance in the glances now exchanged with nods and relieved murmurs of satisfaction.
"Gentlemen, I move that we vote upon the suggestion put forth by Master Berwyk."
"Is that truly necessary, Rob? I'd venture we're in agreement... except perhaps for Will here? What say you, Master Holbeck? Do you want it writ in the city records that you alone would deny entry to Edward of York?"
Holbeck glared at him, and then said, as grudgingly as if words had the worth of gold, "You win, Wrangwysh. Do as you wish. But I'm damned if I like it any. And this I can tell you for true, that the Earl of Warwick will not like it, either."
ROB Percy had decided that if he were ever asked to name the worst night of his life, he would, without hesitation, say that it had been a Thursday, the fourteenth of March. But if the same question were to be put to Richard, he felt sure that Richard would have chosen today, the eighteenth. He had never seen
Richard so tense, so quick to anger as he was on this most miserable of Mondays, the fourth day of their arrival in England.
They'd sailed from Hushing on the eleventh, in the heaviest seas Rob had ever seen; the mere memory was enough to dredge up a queasy pang. He thought they'd been damnably lucky, though, for they'd evaded the English fleet under command of Warwick's kinsman, the Bastard of Fauconberg, and they'd lost only one ship during the crossing, one of the supply ships carrying their horses.
By the twelfth they were within sight of the Norfolk coast, where they could reasonably expect aid from the Yorkist Duke of Norfolk and from Edward and Richard's brother-in-law, the Duke of Suffolk.
Edward

had prudently sent two of his party ashore before they all disembarked, and his caution had served him well, for they'd rapidly returned with grim word that the Duke of Norfolk was under arrest, Suffolk absent, and the Lancastrian Duke of Oxford had the entire region under close surveillance. Edward had ordered their ships to put out to sea again, this time to head for Yorkshire. But they'd been hit by squalls and their small fleet scattered.
On the night of the fourteenth, Richard's ship had dropped anchor off the Yorkshire coast, a few miles north of the tiny fishing village of Ravenspur, and thus began the most harrowing ten hours of Rob's life.
There was no sign of their comrades, and it occurred to him that they alone might have ridden out the storm, that they might be stranded here in a land hostile to York, to face the armies of John Neville and his own kinsman Percy, just he and Richard and the three hundred men under Richard's command. It was a chilling thought, and one that he was sure had crossed Richard's mind, too.
Looking back, Rob found he still marveled at the icy control his friend had shown during that darkest of nights. Richard had rallied their men, somehow kept panic from spreading through their ranks, and at dawn, he'd led them south in search of the others.
Rob had never been so thankful as when they encountered the five hundred men of the Antony, the ship under command of Edward and Will Hastings. While Edward sent out scouts to find Anthony Woodville and the two hundred men who'd sailed with him, Rob had ventured to compliment Richard on what he saw as an admirable display of courage. But Richard had merely given him a quizzical look and said laconically, "I wasn't aware I had a choice, Rob."
Yet if Richard had shown no nerves at all on Thursday, today he was nothing but nerves, and had been ever since Edward had shouted him and Will Hastings down and ridden alone into the city of York.
It was no secret in their camp that the Yorkist leaders had quarreled bitterly over Edward's intention to enter York. Their voices had carried clearly beyond the tent flaps, and Rob was not the only one to have gathered at a prudent distance to listen. They'd all vehemently opposed Edward in this, Richard and Will
Hastings and Anthony Woodville, and the conversation had become quite heated at times. But Edward had prevailed, and then Richard and Hastings had demanded to accompany him into the city. Edward had refused and they'd insisted, but in the end, Edward had his way.
More than three hours ago, he'd spurred his horse toward the city gate known as Walmgate. They had watched as it opened to admit him and then closed ominously behind him. It was at once the most courageous act Rob had ever witnessed and the most incredible folly, and as

the hours passed, he watched Richard's composure shred like parchment under pressure.
He'd briefly considered making an attempt to reassure Richard that Edward was in no danger, but decided against it. His encouragement was bound to be hollow, as he thought Edward to be in the greatest danger imaginable. Moreover, as short-tempered as Richard had shown himself to be all afternoon, Rob preferred to keep him at a distance.
It wasn't only Dickon, he thought glumly. They were all as jumpy as wet cats, as quick to take offense.
They'd just seen proof enough of that, as the normally unflappable Hastings startled all within earshot by tongue-lashing one of the Flemish gunners. Rob wondered how long it would be before Dickon and
Hastings fell out with Anthony Woodville. He wasn't sure how they felt about each other, but he was damned well sure that neither one of them could abide Anthony, who returned their dislike in full measure. And he wondered what they would do if Edward had ridden into a trap, encountered an assassin's dagger.
There was a sudden stir among the men. The iron-barred portcullis was rising; several horsemen were passing through the Walmgate barbican. The youth stationed to keep watch now forgot all protocol and yelled, "Tell Gloucester!" and Rob hastily adjusted his scabbard, moving closer for a better view of the approaching riders.
Richard and Will Hastings were standing together, and Rob saw Richard grin suddenly, heard him say in a low voice, "The news be good, Will! That's Tom Wrangwysh with them. If there'd been trouble, we'd see it in his face."
Both city sheriffs were impassive, but Tom Wrangwysh and Thomas Conyers looked enormously well pleased with themselves, and Conyers blurted out their news even as he was dismounting. They were all welcome now within the city walls, and my lord of York did await them at the guildhall. If they would-
Tom Wrangwysh interrupted happily, "My lords, you should have seen him! You'd have thought he had an army at his back, so cool he was. . . . There were many he did win over by his courage alone. And then he did speak to the people and made a marvelously fair speech in which he said he would content himself to be Duke of York and serve good King Harry and the crowds cheered him till we all were hoarse!"
Word was spreading swiftly; all around Rob, men were laughing and pounding each other on the back.
Richard was trying to make himself heard over the uproar, but soon abandoned the attempt and watched with a grin as their men raised a cheer for His Grace of York and the city that was now willing to admit his army.
Rob moved to Richard's side, just in time to hear Tom Wrangwysh confide, "My lord, how ever did His
Grace think to lay claim to the duchy

of York? I can say with certainty that had it not been for that, the city would've stayed closed to him."
Richard laughed. "It was used once before, Tom. Harry of Lancaster's grandfather did return from exile to claim only his duchy of Lancaster and, of course, deposed a King. My brother thought it only fitting that a gambit used by the first Lancastrian King should now serve York!"
2 4
COVENTRY
March 1471
-THE Earl of Warwick was rereading the letter he'd just dictated to one Henry Vernon of Haddon in Derbyshire, a man long allied both to the Earl and his son-in-law of Clarence. The letter was brief, to the point, an appeal for military aid in this, Warwick's time of greatest need. Scanning the page rapidly, he picked up a pen and signed, ". Warwick," saying, "It will do."
But as the man moved toward the door, Warwick turned and, on impulse, reclaimed the letter.
"Give me that pen again," he demanded, and hastily scribbled a postscript in his own hand on the margin of the page:
"Henry, I pray you fail me not now as ever I may do for you."
FROM the white city walls of Coventry, the Yorkist army stretched as far as the eye could see, spread out in battle formation under the Sunne in Splendour banner of Edward of York. The Yorkist herald had just given challenge to combat, as he had on each of the two preceding days, and as he had done then, the Earl of Warwick refused to pick up the gauntlet, staring down in silence from the city walls at the army of his cousin of York.
They were well within recognition range; he had no doubts that he was watching Ned himself, mounted as always on a showy white stallion,

giving commands, dispatching messengers, and all the while gazing toward Coventry. Warwick was sure the blue eyes would be aglitter with mockery and triumph . . . and why not? Ned had reason and more for jubilation. In just a fortnight, he'd come as far as the walls of Coventry, when by rights, he should never have left Yorkshire alive.
A slighter figure on an equally eye-catching mount was now at Ned's side. Even before the second rider removed his helmet, thus revealing a head of tousled dark hair, Warwick knew this was Dickon. His brother-in- law Hastings would be there, too.
The thought of/Hastings brought to mind another brother-in-law, Lord Stanley. He should've known he could not trust Stanley. The Stanleys were ever a shifty lot, always with an eye to the prevailing winds.
So it had come as no real surprise to him when the self-seeking Stanley had not responded to the urgent summons for aid. Instead, he'd seized this chance to besiege the castle of the Harringtons in Lancashire, for whom he'd long harbored a grudge.
Warwick had expected more, however, from Henry Percy. But that Judas-in-the-making Percy had kept to his estates in the North, refused to give challenge to Ned, and because the Percy family cast so long a shadow in Yorkshire, Warwick knew Ned had benefited enormously from Percy's apparent neutrality.
The people of the North were weary of these endless wars of succession. The House of Percy had always held for Lancaster. But if their lord was not disposed to oppose the Yorkist King who'd restored to him his forfeited earldom, they were content to follow their lord's lead. Let the blood be spilt elsewhere; there were too many northern widows and orphans who still grieved for the dead of Towton.
The thought of Percy was an especially galling one to Warwick, for Northumberland could so easily have ended for all time the hopes of the House of York. Once again, one of Ned's high-stakes gambles had paid off.
The Devil tends to its own. It must be true. How else explain the way Ned had passed unscathed through three hostile armies?
Now that he stood before Coventry, he'd cast aside all pretense and openly proclaimed himself as King of England. But that perfidious claim to the duchy of York had served its purpose. It had gained him entry into York, and once word had spread that the chief city of the North had opened its gates to him, the smaller towns had been loath to deny him entry. Few had joined his ranks, it was true, but fewer still were inclined to offer resistance. Like the Earl of Northumberland, they chose to wait and watch.
Ned always did have unholy luck. Warwick vaguely recalled saying something of the sort to his brother
George at Warwick Castle less than a fortnight ago. But it wasn't luck that had gotten Ned safely past