White Boar and the Red Dragon, The (20 page)

‘You are a tower of strength, Ruth! What would I do without you? I could not manage at all! Who would look after the baby while I worked?’

Indeed, she could not have come this far without her faithful maid’s help. She had been lucky to find a job almost at once in this tavern in Southwark, ‘The Prince of Wales’. The tavern keeper had no doubt been attracted by her striking appearance and offered her work immediately—probably seeing her as a draw to his customers—though his wife was not so certain, maybe seeing Kate as a threat initially, as her husband was known for his dallying. But she had treated Kate well, nevertheless, giving her this room for herself and not objecting to the baby and Ruth. The pay was not much, but her board and food were free and there was plenty of good food. There were drawbacks, of course. She did not like the clientele at all—they were mostly coarse, rough men, working men, over-familiar, who leered at her drunkenly and never missed an opportunity to grab at her thighs or buttocks, some even sliding their dirty hands up her skirt to fondle her. The bolder ones squeezed her breasts as she leant over them bringing tankards of ale or clearing the tables. They just laughed when she objected and did it all the more, so she had learnt to laugh off their attentions light-heartedly and to avoid them when she could. No real harm had come to her yet from their good-natured attentions anyway. The tavern keeper’s wife had told her shortly, when she first complained, that it was all part of the job unfortunately. If she didn’t like it, she knew what she could do. The men propositioned her too, frequently, but, unlike the other girls, she always refused, though the extra money would have been very useful. She had discovered that babies were expensive and felt guilty that she had not been able to pay Ruth for her help and companionship yet. Not that Ruth minded. She was happier here than if she had been left behind at Appleby Hall with Kate’s rather short-tempered and irritable mother as her mistress. And she loved Kate and baby John.

Other types came there occasionally—and these she was very wary of, especially the noblemen of the court, who sometimes came to drink and whore—on the prowl for willing girls to spend the night with. They paid well, but many were known to be perverted and depraved in their desires. The tavern keeper’s wife told her to avoid them, if possible. In their search for new thrills to titillate their jaded appetites, they were capable of anything. One of her girls had been taken away by a group of them not long ago and subjected to torture and gang rape—then left for dead down on the towpath by Westminster Bridge. They regarded themselves as above the law and were never caught. Even those who were identified in these cases avoided punishment by their ability to pay bribes to lawyers and judges. It was a shameful situation, but the laws had all broken down under Henry VI’s inadequate rule, and now he was back. Edward and Richard’s attempts to enforce them and bring in effective new ones would surely lapse again.

Kate was determined never to resort to getting money by this means—with rich or poor. She could just about manage on what she earned—and the tips helped.

But her resolution was put severely to the test a few nights after Henry’s procession. And things changed for her from then on. Her new security—such as it was—was completely undermined. She knew terror again—the kind she had felt in the wood with the vicious army deserter determined to have his way with her.

Two noblemen, obviously of very high degree by their sumptuous clothes, came tavern-crawling to the ‘Prince of Wales’. And Kate’s whole new fragile world was turned upside down, destroyed utterly. The look in these men’s eyes, far gone in drink, as they gazed at her was exactly the same as that in the eyes of the filthy would-be-rapist encountered in the Appleby woods. It was predatory, determined, completely without compassion, cold and fixed, like that of a poisonous snake about to strike. They took their time—waiting patiently whilst the tavern gradually emptied, intent on their prey. They said nothing—but she knew what they were about. She shuddered and sweated, not from the heat in the crowded inn, but from naked fear—which she was forced to hide, as she went mechanically about her duties all evening. The two followed her round with their eyes, meanwhile drinking huge quantities of wine, as if priming themselves for what they planned to do later on. At midnight, when the tavern was due to close and most of the other stragglers had drifted away home or been ejected, they got up from their seats in a corner, somewhat unsteadily, but very determined on their course of action. It was time to show their hand—and Kate knew it. She tried to appear unconcerned as they approached her. One produced a bag of silver and tried to give it to the innkeeper, indicating what they wanted for their money. Luckily, he shook his head. He did not sell his girls—it was up to them what they did after hours, she heard him remark acidly and turn away. Kate shuddered in utter horror as he left the taproom to go to his quarters, leaving her to deal with these two she knew to be all evil—it emanated from them like an animal scent. She tried to sidle in an unconcerned way towards the door behind which the steep stairs lay—her way to safety. The door was shut. She hoped they did not realise what she was about. But they were only too aware. One took her wrist, while the other dangled the bag of silver under her nose. She only knew she must not show fear, but like a trapped animal, she shuddered inwardly as they smiled ingratiatingly at her—perhaps trying to dissemble. She decided to challenge their hand. She smiled back and tossed her curls, taking the bag of silver and putting it down her bodice. Then she jerked her head, as if in invitation towards the stairs door. She was taking a terrible chance. But what they did not know was that there was a strong bar behind the door. If only she could get through the door and slam it in their faces and throw the bar before they realised and could follow! They had consumed enormous quantities of wine that evening—her reactions were surely better than theirs—even in her terrified state.

They followed her somewhat unsteadily, but still very intently, as she moved towards the door and opened it a little. They must not see the bar on the back of it, or she was lost! She turned, beckoning and smiling, and they came, all unsuspecting. At the last moment, she lunged backwards into them, knocking at least one of them half off his feet and was through the small aperture and wrenching the bar across to lock the door. Drunk they may have been—but they were not stupid. And they were stronger than her. They pushed furiously at the door with their combined weight and made it impossible to fix the bar in place. She abandoned the attempt and ran like the wind up the narrow stairs and along the corridor, up another flight of stairs, and stumbled gasping for breath into her little room, slamming the door and barring it, just as they stumbled to the top of the second flight. At last, the huge amount they had drunk was telling on them. But in a moment, they were hammering and banging angrily on her door, shouting to be admitted. Luckily, she had thrown the bag of silver down outside the door, and after a while, she heard the rattle of it as they picked it up and, abandoning their futile quest, moved away, stumbling in an erratic fashion down to the taproom and yelling to the landlord that his girls were nothing but teasing sluts and needed a good beating. Luckily, they were not answered and must have found their own way out after throwing a few chairs and tables round in their drunken fury. Then there was silence. Ruth, holding the baby fast, turned to her where she stood leaning against a wall trying to get her breath.

‘I told you this would happen! And it will happen again! Next time, you may not be so lucky!’

Westminster Palace, London, November 1470

Henry VI sat staring vaguely at the courtiers that milled around him. He did not seem able to focus properly. It was almost as if he did not know what was going on. If only Margaret were here to support him. She was on her way here—he knew that—but without her, he was lost. He did what he was told. If Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, or his other councillors said, ‘Stay here,’ he stayed. If they said, ‘Go there,’ he obeyed likewise. But it was all too much. How he wished he was back in his room in the Tower of London! It may have been imprisonment—but there he felt safe. There was no stress.

Nothing was expected of him. Whereas here—he understood enough in his confused state to realise that the unwanted burdens of kingship had been heaped again on his unwilling head.

He had once more been thrust into the centre of things, much against his will, when he much preferred observing life from the fringes. How would he cope? If only he had not been born into this—for him—unnatural existence! His natural inclinations had always been towards the quiet life, complete withdrawal even. He would have been so happy as a monk, a priest, or a scholar. Books were his life. And prayer… He felt like a fish out of water, gasping for breath.

His great father, Henry V, had always denigrated him, made him feel utterly inadequate, when he was alive—and he still felt the same—though his father was long gone.

‘Sire, your visitors have arrived from Wales! Will you be so gracious as to receive them now?’ The king’s Chamberlain was on his knee in front of him, looking excited about something.

‘Visitors? From Wales?’ he murmured, confused.

‘Yes, Sire, the Earl of Pembroke, Earl Jasper, and young Henry Tudor, his nephew! You’ll remember the boy’s mother, Lady Margaret Beaufort, wrote to you, telling you that they were coming? The boy is now thirteen years of age, and Earl Jasper and Lady Margaret are most anxious for him to meet you. As the boy is also!’

‘Ah, yes, I remember now. You did tell me they were coming.’ His befuddled mind could not register a reason
why
they were coming though. But he nodded patiently and waved the Chamberlain away. If only everyone would leave him alone! He did not want visitors. For the thousandth time, he wished his queen were here. She kept writing that she was on her way but never arrived. She would know how to receive these visitors—whoever they were? For the life of him, he could not understand why he had to receive them, why they were so important?

Ah, yes, the boy Henry was the last of the Lancastrians—a future king perhaps? Descended from his own mother, Katherine de Valois, who had married Owen Glendower, the Welsh groom she had fallen in love with, after his great father’s early death from dysentery in the French Wars. Did he want his blessing? What did he want? What was he supposed to say to the boy?’ He shook his head, utterly perplexed.

There was a loud blare of trumpets! The Chamberlain was on his knee in front of him again. What now?

‘My lord, it is Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, who awaits your pleasure! Will you receive him now? He says it is very urgent! I am sure the Welsh lord and his protégé will understand and wait. Anyway, Lord Warwick takes precedence.’

Richard Neville—ah, yes, the one who had hoisted him back on to this throne, where he had no real wish to be, but who was his steadfast supporter and who was taking all the real burden of rule off his shoulders. He supposed he ought to be grateful, but somehow he wasn’t.

‘Of course, announce him at once and bring him straight to me!’

The Chamberlain bowed low and backed from Henry’s presence. A moment later, the great Kingmaker—so-called—Earl Richard Neville stood before him. Henry held out his hand, and Richard Neville knelt and kissed his coronation ring.

‘Sire, Edward the usurper has fled to Burgundy, to cast himself on the uncertain mercies of his brother-in-law Charles, Duke of Burgundy, his sister Margaret’s husband. He is only accompanied by his brother, Richard of Gloucester, William Hastings, his Chamberlain, Lord Rivers, his brother-in-law, and a few guards! He took nothing with him in his haste. All he has in the world are the clothes he stands up in! He is a spent force, utterly dependent on the Burgundians’ good will. He is gone for good! I feel I can assure you of that. You are safe—and in your rightful place, from which you should never have been ousted! And I am your most faithful and devoted servant unto my life’s end.’

‘You are a good man, Richard, and have great strength of body and mind—both of which I envy you! I trust you utterly to do the right thing by this great country of ours, which has suffered interminably for many years through the enmity between the Houses of Lancaster and York! I pray every day that peace will come soon and that all men will live in harmony, which is surely God’s will?’

‘Sire, I feel sure that now is the time to reinforce the peace by reinstating the Lancastrian lords with their estates which were attainted by Edward! Will you allow this?’

‘Of course. I will do whatever you think necessary and proper to bring peace to this troubled land of ours. That is what I pray for chiefly! It is men’s vaunting desire for power and position which causes all this strife in the first place. Why cannot men accept the lot which God has allotted them—rich or poor?’

‘My lord, I fear it is in the nature of nearly all men to desire more than they have! Only the saintly ones—such as yourself—have little or no ambition to better themselves! But then you are the king—what higher position could you crave?’

‘I am no saint, Richard, I assure you! Every day, I prostrate myself in prayer to the Good Lord to cleanse me of all sin and impure thoughts and desires! I had no wish to be king—it was thrust upon me! I am quite unfit for its burdens! Without you and Margaret, my good queen—may she return soon—I admit I would be quite lost!’

‘You denigrate yourself, Sire! It is only because of your sickness that you feel this way! Now you are reinstated and all the stress has ceased, you will recover quickly and regain your strength of body—and mind!’

‘I thank you for your faith in me, Richard! But I know myself better than anyone! Sick or well, I am unsuited to this position in every way.’

‘Sire, take heart! Relax and leave the problems and burdens to me! And now, I believe that Jasper, Earl of Pembroke, awaits outside with his young nephew, Henry Tudor, and the boy’s mother, the formidable Lady Margaret Beaufort! No doubt they come to petition you for the boy’s lands and title of Earl of Richmond. I do know that his mother frequently begged King Edward to restore them, after they had been appropriated by George, Duke of Clarence. I beg you to give these petitioners a fair hearing—they have waited many years for reinstatement!’