Thwarted Queen Part 42

June, 1483 It was now time for Richard to explain things to the good people of London.

"My son," I said, "You must tell them of my sin. How else can you claim the throne? If you don't explain that Edward was illegitimate, they will think you are usurping it."

"But, Mother, it would ruin your reputation, and for a lady of your years"

"It is imperative that you get the Serpent out of the way," I said, interrupting. "And the only way to do that is to claim the throne of England for yourself. But you must get the backing of the Londoners. You cannot expect them to give you the throne, for they think it belongs to your nephew, whom they call Edward V."

There was a long pause. Richard got up and went to the window so that I couldn't see his face. But I could tell he was struggling mightily, for he twisted his ring and fiddled with his dagger.

Finally he turned around. "If you're sure, Mother?"

I glanced down. This was not going to be easy. Women who erred were not treated kindly, and I was not looking forward to the effect these revelations would have. But I had to crush the Serpent. I lifted my chin. "I am sure."

But Richard procrastinated and allowed the coronation arrangements for my grandson to continue. He did not show his hand until Sunday, June 22, the day of the presumed coronation. Naturally, the Londoners were buzzing with antic.i.p.ation.

Doctor Ralph Shaw of Cambridge University preached a sermon at Saint Paul's Cross in which he told everyone that Edward IV was illegitimate. Naturally, I was not present, and so I had to hear about it from members of my household. I thought that telling the truth about my sins would help my son Richard become king. But my informants told me something surprising. When Doctor Shaw made these allegations, the crowd became silent. When their murmurs eventually started up, it became apparent they didn't believe him.

Now it was my turn to be surprised. Why wouldn't folk believe it, especially as it happened to be true? I was not prepared for this. According to my informants-and I had many-people didn't believe that someone as pious as I could have sinned so greatly.

It was true that I heard Ma.s.s several times a day, and that I was a Benedictine abbess. But I never thought of myself as more saintly than others. If only they knew! I was pious because I had sinned so greatly.

I was dismayed: Everyone knew the Londoners had to be on your side if you were to govern England effectively. What was going to happen to Richard?

"They didn't believe you." I exclaimed. "Why not?"

Richard sighed. In the pearly light of an early summer evening, he looked grey and drawn. "I don't know," he replied sinking into one of my chairs. "What should I do now?"

I folded my arms. "Edward was always popular with the Londoners. It was the source of his power.

"Where does that put me, Mother?"

"They will know you in good time, my son. Meanwhile, you must develop a new strategy. It seems you are going to have to drop the story of Edward's illegitimacy, it is doing you more harm than good."

"What can I say?"

"Tell them the story of Lady Eleanor," I replied. "If they have difficulty in believing a pious old woman could produce an illegitimate son, they will have a much easier time believing that Edward was a bigamist. After all, they knew what he was like with women."

"That's true." Richard rose stiffly from his chair. "Why did I not think of that before?"

I put my hand on his shoulder, which felt fragile and bony to my touch. "Because you're exhausted," I said. "And you have not been nouris.h.i.+ng yourself for these past several weeks."

Richard took my advice, and that very same day sent his cousin Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, to the Guildhall to address the mayor, aldermen and citizens of London.

Buckingham spoke eloquently on my son's behalf, glossing over my foolishness and instead telling the good people about Edward's bigamous marriage with Lady Eleanor. He ended by appealing to them to offer the crown to my son Richard.

Again, they were met by that silence. Apparently, people were not happy about the way Hastings had been executed without trial. They were not happy that Richard had not crowned his nephew as promised. They were very unhappy that he had a large army in the north that he could bring down on them at any moment. For they hadn't forgotten how they'd suffered under the b.i.t.c.h of Anjou.

I sighed with impatience, but trusted Richard 's sterling qualities would sway them.

Buckingham remedied the situation by having his men throw their caps into the air and shout, "King Richard!"

The next day, there was a meeting of the Lords and Commons in Westminster. Again, Buckingham addressed them, dwelling on Edward's bigamy with Lady Eleanor. And so they declared Edward's marriage to the Serpent to be invalid, their children illegitimate.

Richard's reign had begun, and I could finally retire in peace.

For my work was done.

Chapter 69.

July 1483 My youngest son, King Richard III, dated his reign from June 26, 1483, the day he was installed on the King's Bench in Westminster Hall. He now had the t.i.tle Richard, Duke of York, had striven for, the t.i.tle that had been torn from him by his enemies in 1460. It was my son's task to ensure that he kept that t.i.tle.

Richard was crowned in Westminster Abbey on July 6, 1483, in the presence of his beloved wife Nanette, who was crowned queen, and their only son and heir, Edward of Middleham. I was not present, not because I disapproved of Richard as certain folk claim, but because I was indisposed, the strain of the previous weeks finally coming home to roost.

However, I rose from my bed to give the new king my solemn blessing before he set out for his coronation.

Richard was anxious that his subjects should know their new king, so only two weeks after his coronation, he set off on a royal progress to travel around the country. He'd been traveling only three days when he decided to pay me a sudden visit early one morning.

"My son," I said, coming forward and searching his face. "What troubles you?"

Richard had acquired a healthy summer tan, but dark circles around his eyes betokened many restless nights.

"Come with me," I added, "and let us pray for guidance."

We went to my private chapel. It was a spare, white-washed room with a portrait of Saint Bridget and a statue of Our Lady carrying the Lord Jesus. The king and I spent the next several minutes in prayer.

Afterwards, I led Richard back to the solar, now warmed by a roaring fire. Richard had been kind enough to restore all of my lands, and so I was able to entertain in rather better style than previously. I signaled to the steward to open my best Bordeaux, which I poured for him myself. Then I settled in a large carved chair with cus.h.i.+ons and rug.

Richard put his wine cup down untouched, covering his face with one hand. I signaled for Mother Avisa to get a tonic for headaches.

Then: "Those accursed Woodvilles," he finally spat. "Am I never to be free of their plotting?"

I frowned at the rawness of his outburst. His life had not been easy of late, and he needed rest. Otherwise he would damage his health.

He looked up. "Two plots have I uncovered: One is to spirit Edward's daughters out of their sanctuary in Westminster Abbey and send them abroad. The other is to rescue Edward's sons from the Tower."

"No." I put my wine cup down.

"Indeed yes, Mother," he replied.

I rose stiffly to my feet and went to put a hand on his shoulder. My son ached for comfort, I could feel it. "We must act decisively to stop this nonsense once and for all," I said. "We cannot lose heart now. You are the legitimate ruler of England. No one can take that away from you."

I sat next to him and chafed his hands. "As for Edward's daughters, all you need do is tighten your cordon around Westminster Abbey. You have enough men for the task. You must insist no one goes in or out of the abbey without your permission."

"What should I do about Edward's sons?"

I paused, for that was a knotty problem.

"We should plan for the future," I replied. "Of all my children, only Edward, Beth, George, and you have male heirs. George's son, Edward, Earl of Warwick, also has a claim to the throne, but he is only eight years old. He is too young and not strong enough in his wits to be a real threat to you as long as you keep him with a trusted member of the family. Perhaps you should have him stay with Nanette, as she is his nearest female relation. The poor child needs some kindness in his life, and your wife will be kind.

Richard's smile wiped away his lines.

"Beth has many sons, all strong and healthy," I continued. "And more to the point, they are loyal to you. If anything happened to your boy, perhaps you should consider making her eldest, John de la Pole, Earl of Lincoln, your heir."

The color drained from Richard's face.

I took his hands. "Richard, I know you find this painful, but we live in dangerous times. Your Edward is only seven years old, and not strong. Beth's eldest son has twenty-one years, old enough to a.s.sume the responsibility of being your heir. He can fight for you."

Richard made a face as I pressed a wine gla.s.s into his hands. He took a sip and put it down. "What about Edward's sons?"

"Folk do not want to believe they're b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," I replied. "The Serpent and her horde of Woodville relatives will never stop plotting. Edward's sons are Woodvilles at heart, their mother saw to that. Edward was too weak-willed to stop her. As Woodvilles, they pose a danger to your throne. You've already discovered one plot. There will be others."

Richard nodded, and we gazed at the fire together.

"How I blame myself," I said, "for my own lack of responsibility. If Edward had not been born, none of this would have happened."

"Edward seemed like a hero to me when I was a boy," murmured Richard.

I winced. "The plain truth is that he and I were too much alike. I was irresponsible in the getting of him, and he was irresponsible in his marriages, particularly in bringing that awful Woodville woman into the family. His fault compounded my own. The worm in the apple was his wife, his second wife."

Richard was silent.

I leaned forward. "For the good of our family and for the good of England, we must set right these wrongs." I took both his hands in mine and gazed into his eyes. "We must destroy the Woodvilles once and for all."

Richard stared at me. "Do you really believe that?" he whispered. "Rid ourselves of those two boys in the Tower?"

I paused for a long moment. I could hardly believe what I was suggesting, but what could I do? The Serpent was dangerous.

"It grieves me much that you have to bear the weight of my sins and of Edward's folly," I murmured. "That you are the person burdened with putting everything right."

Richard sat for many moments. Finally, he rose and kissed me on the cheek.

"I thank you," he whispered softly. "You have given me the strength I need. It shall be done."

Chapter 70.

Berkhamsted Castle, Hertfords.h.i.+re September 1483 Madam, I beseech you most humbly for your daily blessing and prayers for matters have been accomplished which you know of. I make a solemn oath that I will found a chantry at York, where one hundred priests will say ma.s.ses for my soul.

Written at York, the eighth day of September, in the first year of our reign, by the hand of your most humble son, Ricardus Rex I wobbled and sank into my seat, motioning Gerard to rise. He was now in his early forties, remaining at my side since the day I'd arrived at Berkhamsted some fourteen years before.

"How did it happen?"

Gerard hesitated.

"I must pray for my sins, of which there are many. But I cannot take responsibility for something if you keep me in the dark."

"Tyrell saw to it." Sir James Tyrell worked as a secretary in Richard's household.

"And?"

"Smothered," he said hoa.r.s.ely.

My stomach churned. I sat up in my seat.

"They were smothered in their beds in the dead of night," continued Gerard.

"When?"

"The night of September third to fourth. Tyrell had to leave London at first light on the fourth to make it back to York on September the eighth for the invest.i.ture of Lord Richard's son, Edward. He left York on the night of August thirtieth to London to collect robes and wall-hangings for the invest.i.ture."

Richard's son and only child, seven-year-old Edward of Middleham, had been made Prince of Wales in a special ceremony held in York on September 8, 1483. It took about four days of fast riding to travel between London and York, a distance of some two hundred miles.

"Did they suffer?"

"I don't know." He avoided my eyes.

I rose. "Where are they buried?"

"Under the stairs in the White Tower. In a chest."

I rubbed my hands together to warm them. "Master Gerard, this has been most painful"

"I'll not work for you no more," he growled.

"Gerard!"

"That was evil," he spat. "Pure evil."

"Gerard," I said, putting my hand on his arm, "You don't understand."

"I understand full well!" he exclaimed, glaring. "You murdered those two boys, innocent lambs they be. Why couldn't you let them live?"

"Because," said I, sinking wearily into my chair, "if they'd lived, we would have been killed."

"They wouldn't have killed you. They had the souls of angels."

"Maybe not, but their mother would have. She had to be crushed."