Chapter Eleven

1466–1467

Ambitious Elizabeth was more than a match for the great earl of Warwick.

After returning to Yorkshire from standing godfather to Edward’s first-born, Warwick again subjected Richard to a tantrum as he listed off the formidable favors Edward boldly granted the queen’s large Woodville clan. Edward had no qualms about offending his exalted cousin, and the two men had become, even to a casual observer, further estranged during the earl’s sojourn at court.

“The Woodville patriarch, a mere chamberlain when Jacquetta of Bedford’s wandering eye caught his at her first husband’s court, has been put on a rank with me,” he said, in a tone hovering between menace and malice. “And no sooner had Edward created the man Earl Rivers than he took away that loyal supporter Walter Blount’s position as treasurer of England and gave it to the wormy Woodville.”

“My Lord Mountjoy?” Richard could not help interjecting. “But he was there at the beginning for us—I mean for Edward. How foolish to offend so faithful a friend.”

Warwick nodded eagerly. “You see the way of it, Richard. And wait, there’s more.”

Richard stood aghast as the earl reeled off the important marriages Edward had apparently arranged for his new family: the young duke of Buckingham for one sister; the duchess of Norfolk for a brother; another sister for the heir of the earldom of Arundel; and the earl of Essex’s son for a third sister.

“But Her Grace of Norfolk is in her late sixties,” Countess Anne exclaimed. “That boy John is only twenty-one. ’Tis monstrous and…” she tailed off as she recognized signs of an outburst in her husband… “is there more, dear?” The whitening of Warwick’s knuckles around the stem of her favorite Venetian goblet told his wife there was, and she tensed.

Too late, the twisted, colored glass snapped, and the bottom fell into the rushes. Lady Warwick sighed sadly, as the rest of the useless vessel was flung against the wall. Richard, on the other hand, was impressed. He had often been tempted to throw something in anger, but he was afraid the event would be reported to Blackbeard, and pleasing that exacting master of henchman had always suppressed his urge.

“The most heinous decision involves our family, my lady,” Warwick was saying, sucking his bleeding finger. “You remember my brother’s son—our nephew of Northumberland—was promised the hand of Nan, heir to the traitor Exeter’s lands and fortune?” Binding her husband’s injured digit in her kerchief, Lady Anne nodded. How could she forget? The mother of the girl was Anne, duchess of Exeter, Edward’s oldest sister. “The ingrate Edward has now rescinded those thanks to please his queen,” Warwick continued. “Instead, the king paid his sister, the duchess, a vast sum to buy the marriage contract for Elizabeth’s wastrel and no-name son, Thomas Grey. It is an insult.”

Richard could not help himself. He suddenly laughed. “That means Tom Grey becomes Ned’s nephew as well as his stepson!” The innocent irony tickled him, but the earl glared at his young cousin, and Richard hastily covered his laughter with a fit of coughing. “It is an insult to our Neville house indeed, my lord,” he demurred.

“And one I will not soon forget, my lord of Gloucester,” Warwick assured him. “I hope your loyalties run deeper than your brother’s. At least deeper than the length of a woman’s passage.”

“My lord!” his wife protested vehemently. “Curb your tongue, I beg of you. Would you use such description in front of our daughters? Nay, you would not! Richard is younger than Isabel and like a son to me. Now, apologize at once.”

Astonished and warmed by the mild-mannered countess’s defense of him, Richard found himself the recipient of a reluctant, none-too-sincere apology from the outraged earl. Hoping one day he might repay her, Richard bowed low over Lady Anne’s hand. He gave his patron a more cursory nod and left the room.

His mind was in turmoil. He desperately wanted to believe the best of Ned, but his sense of justice understood how the earl might feel his honor had been violated. As well, he was beginning to comprehend just how much Edward was ruled by his sexual urgings, and this deeply disturbed him. Could his brother be losing his way?

In the years at Middleham he had become the earl’s loyal servant as much as his brother’s, and that his family loyalties might somehow be conflicted had never crossed his mind. He hoped he would never have to choose as he hurried to find Traveller, the one constant in his life and in whom he could confide without fear of judgment or recrimination. And above all, a creature he could trust.

Surprisingly, it was hard to find a contemplative spot in massive Middleham Castle, but Richard had found one not far from its walls. Early in his time there, when Traveller had bounded off after a rabbit, ignoring his master’s commands to “Come!” Richard had followed him into the copse surrounding the rubble of the original castle on William’s Hill a few hundred yards away. The ruin had become Richard’s favorite place of solitude when he found the thick castle walls and bailey teeming with people suffocating.

The refuge called to Richard one spring day after a strenuous practice with the mace and war hammer. He actually preferred these effective weapons when in the saddle. There was something not quite right with his posture when he tried to wield a longer sword on horseback. The day after he had worked with the sword, he again noticed his back ached considerably, and Rob had teased him that he was getting old.

The meadows around Middleham were peppered with sheep, the frisky lambs gamboling near their dams. The faces of bright buttercups turned up to the sun as Richard sauntered through them. Traveller loped beside him, as happy to be outside the confines of the castle as Richard was. Richard breathed in the fresh air, expelling the stench of sweaty squires, horse manure, and effluence from the latrine chute nearby in the tiltyard, where the knight trainees spent their mornings.

From the top of the sole remaining but ruined tower, built in the time of the Conqueror, Richard could see the vast, forested, rolling dales beyond the Cover River valley, stretching forever to the south. Seated in a niche vacated by one huge stone that must have tumbled from the wall a century or so ago, he basked in the sun, idly swinging one leg to and fro. After a while, he drew a letter from his jacket.

How now, little brother, Meg began, her elegant script impressing Richard, I trust I find you well. Perhaps you have not heard up there in the wilds that Ned may finally have succeeded in foisting a husband upon me. Richard sighed. Poor Meg, Edward had offered her at least four other bridegrooms, but then, for one reason or another, the arrangements had come to naught. She was twenty-one, past the usual marrying age, and had decided, when last Richard had seen her, that she was destined for spinsterhood. He wondered who the lucky man was this time and read on. It seems Ned has come to terms with Burgundy, much to French Louis’s disgust, and I am offered to the widowed Charles, Duke Philip’s heir.

“Christ’s nails!” Richard exclaimed to Traveller, sacked out precariously on the ledge beneath him. “My lord of Warwick must not be pleased.” The dog did not raise his head or open his eyes but thumped his tail on hearing his master’s voice. Richard knew the earl was at court at that very moment to advocate for an alliance with France. Warwick had seemed confident Edward would listen to his mentor this time and had ridden off with high hopes for a reconciliation. Burgundy was no friend to France, however, and Edward’s design for Meg would thwart Warwick’s plans once again. Richard frowned. He loved and admired both men and wished they could see eye to eye. The earl was older and more experienced, but Edward was the king and his own man. “And my brother,” Richard said to himself, sighing. “Ned must always come first.” But Ned did not make it easy.

He lowered his eyes to the vellum again and read on. You may know that Antoine, the bastard son of Duke Philip, will come to London next month to take up the queen’s Flower of Souvenance challenge made to him by our English Anthony—Woodville that is. Richard had heard that the queen had revived the ancient tradition of asking a knight to carry out a deed of chivalry in her honor. Anthony had taken up the challenge, his namesake in Burgundy was to meet him in London for a joust. Richard did not have much patience with jousting, thinking his burgeoning skills as a soldier should only be exercised in real combat. “One should not use them to pretend to fight,” he once told Rob, who had once again rolled his eyes at his sanctimonious friend.

Margaret’s next statement surprised Richard as he well remembered her bemoaning that women had to marry where they were told. Ned has not yet agreed to my marriage and, I am astonished to tell you, he says he will wait for my response before signing anything. It sounds kinder than it is in truth, for, as I write, French emissaries are in London to negotiate with Edward through Warwick to see if there is a better match to be made for me. Dear God, I feel like a ball being kicked around Europe until I score a suitable alliance. I want to ask you, dear Richard, if you remember Count Charles during your time in Bruges. Is he a pleasant man? Richard cast his mind back to those months of exile in 1461 with George at Lord Gruthuyse’s house, but it was only the bastard Antoine he remembered. Tall and proud, the duke’s favorite son was far closer to his father’s heart—and side—than the younger, legitimate, French-favoring Charles. He also knew, having been privy to yet another diatribe from Warwick the previous autumn about Edward’s failed foreign policy, that Warwick had loathed Charles on sight. Probably not what Margaret wanted to hear, Richard decided. All I know of him is that he dislikes his father, Meg wrote on, likes soldiering a little too much, and that he has a ten-year-old daughter, Mary. She has even been dangled in front of Edward for George, who stormed off in a fury when he heard.

Richard chuckled. “Poor Georgie,” he said out loud. “Serves him right.” He doubted George would be satisfied being consort to a girl—nay, a baby—who would have to wait for her grandfather and father to die before he might attain title to Burgundy. “Poor Georgie,” he repeated, with an unkind smirk.

He had not noticed Traveller’s low-throated growl until a voice behind him said sweetly: “Why ‘poor Georgie,’ may I ask,” and when Anne Neville revealed herself, the wolfhound stopped growling, thumped his tail, and raised his big head to welcome her.

Annoyed, Richard demanded, “How long have you been here? How did you know where I was?”

Anne flushed. “I…I always know wh…where you are, Richard,” she stammered. “You come here often.”

Richard rolled up the parchment and stuffed it back inside his jacket. “I come here for peace and quiet,” he told her. “If I had wanted company, I would have asked for it.” Damnation, he would have to find another more private retreat. Observing the downward turn of her delicate mouth and tears brimming, he was immediately contrite. “I did not mean to speak so harshly, Anne, but you do not need to follow me everywhere.” He patted the seat. “I pray you sit down now that you are here. Is there some reason for seeking me out today?”

Certes, there was, she wanted to tell him. She would like to be near him always, but she knew he would not understand, and he didn’t seem to care for her. If only she were as beautiful as Isabel… She pushed the thought aside and, tiny as she was, slipped beside him, the space only allowing her to have her back to the view.

“Do you have bad news from George?” she asked, eyeing the bulge in his jacket. “In truth it is about him I am come, Richard.”

“Indeed?” Richard cocked his head, his gray eyes curious. He certainly was not revealing Margaret’s information to the child and chose to answer her question with one of his own. “What has George done now?” It was then he saw fear flit across her face, and he patted her hand. “Tell me, Anne. I swear I will not repeat it.”

“You know Father and the king have quarreled, don’t you? I do not understand the politics and I don’t want to, but it is on a more personal matter which they disagree.” She hesitated, looking sideways at him for permission to continue. “Do you remember last Christmas at Warwick?” She saw him nod. “Did you know Father had invited George to come? I heard Father tell Izzy that he hoped to talk to George about a possible marriage between them. But the king found out about the invitation and denied George permission to visit us. Izzy told me George had written to her to say the king would never allow them to marry.”

Richard was now staring across the Cover valley, chewing on his lower lip. So that was the way of it. He began to piece things together. Christ’s bones, no wonder George was angry when Mary of Burgundy might have been thrust on him. He means to marry Isabel, and Warwick wants the match! The why of this escaped him for the moment, but whatever it was, it obviously had upset Edward enough to forbid the marriage.

For a moment, the part of Richard that disliked George gloated over his brother’s lack of common sense. Why anger Ned like this? But then thought of Ned’s displeasure was drowned in a flood of self-pity. Isabel is in love with George! How stupid I have been thinking she could possibly love me, he thought miserably, concluding Isabel would now never be his. A sigh escaped from him.

“Richard?” Anne leaned toward him and touched his shoulder gently, making Richard jump. He had forgotten Anne was there. Anne, however, had recognized the signs of agitation in her idol, and pulling his silver ring on and off his little finger was one of them. “I hope you are not angry with me. I only thought you should know.”

Richard patted her hand. “You did right to tell me, little one. It explains much.” He was suddenly struck how brave the girl was: she had in essence betrayed her father’s confidence to him. And not just any father—Warwick was, after the king, the most powerful man in the kingdom. Richard bent over to kiss her on the cheek and was rewarded with a blush. Although only eleven years old, Anne had demonstrated more courage than he had owned at that age, he admitted. This was no mealy-mouthed girl, he could see, and he vowed to be kinder to her.

“Thank you. I will not forget this confidence.”

“Promise me you will not tell Izzy?”

“I swear. Now, we should go before someone wonders where you are.” As Richard moved to leave his perch, a painful twinge in his back made him wince, and he wondered, yet again, what part of all his exercising was causing him this discomfort.

June and July passed leisurely enough, and the great distance between the dales and London meant very little news from the south filtered northward.

All that changed when it was learned the earl was returning to Yorkshire at the end of July, and he wanted his household to remove to Sheriff Hutton castle, ten miles north of York. Countess Anne was puzzled; they always spent summers at Middleham. Packing and moving a household of hundreds would be even more irksome in the heat, she had told her girls.

“I don’t much care for Sheriff Hutton,” Isabel announced in response to this news. She put down her needlework and picked up her little dog. “It’s always so windy there.”

“Well I like it,” Anne countered. “It’s much smaller and cozier than Middleham, and so close to York. Besides, the wind will cool us.”

Isabel ignored her. “What do you think, Richard?” She tilted her head and smiled at him.

Strangely, Isabel’s flirting no longer excited her cousin; it had not done so since Anne had told him about Warwick’s plans for George and her sister. He had been surprised, and a little dismayed, how swiftly he had been able to relegate the lovely, buxom young woman of his wet dreams to the rank of friend. Is it that easy to fall in and out of love, he had mused, sadly.

Unwilling to side with either sister, he diplomatically replied: “I could not say. I like both castles for different reasons.” Both girls looked crestfallen, and the countess sighed to herself. She thought Richard a nice young man but enigmatic. Too serious and secretive were words she had used to her husband, and Warwick had laughed: “Nay, Richard is old beyond his years. He just thinks too much.”

Richard was also perplexed by the earl’s command to move, and later, as he and Rob walked the ramparts in the late evening sun, he shared this news with his friend.

“In truth, I should enjoy a change of scenery,” Rob said. He had been disappointed the earl had not taken him to France with him, Warwick having told Rob that his training was nearly at an end and he could soon relinquish the title of squire and become a fully fledged knight. “Do you think the move is significant?”

Richard shrugged. “Countess Anne said they have always remained here in the summer.”

“Perhaps it is the plague. I heard the court had removed to Windsor because of it. Sheriff Hutton is farther north.”

Richard shook his head. “Nay, it is as though he is retreating farther from the king’s reach. It causes me to wonder if the earl’s embassy to France went awry. Or, more seriously, that Ned sent him on a fool’s errand, and they have quarreled again.” Richard pulled at his ring and stared over the treetops far below them in the Forest of Galtres. Should I be sharing such thoughts with Rob? He was a Percy after all, although not of the Northumberland Percies who favored Lancaster, but distant kin nonetheless. He looked at his friend who was busy pretending to pull back an arrow in an imaginary bow and letting it loose. Richard’s hesitation made Rob look back at him, and he saw the question in Richard’s gray eyes.

“Christ’s nails, Richard, can you still not trust me after three years?” Swiftly unsheathing his dagger, he held the point at Richard’s throat before laughing and taking the hilt to his lips and kissing the cross. “Dolt! You will always have my bond, my lord of Gloucester.”

Richard relaxed. “My pardon, Rob. Aye, I trust you—although thousands wouldn’t!” Grinning, he dodged a feigned blow from his friend. “I will confide that my lord of Warwick told me before he left that he was enjoying Ned’s friendship again. I was much relieved. It is true that Warwick favors the French alliance and the king, Burgundy’s, but I cannot believe Ned would have sent Warwick to France for nothing. And yet…”

Rob answered with a raised eyebrow. “Who knows? If you are right and Warwick lost his temper…” He grinned as Richard mimed their lord’s propensity for throwing things.

“Then I would expect our patron needs to remove himself from court for a while,” Richard finished for him. “Et bien, we shall know soon enough, I suppose.”

Richard’s logic had stumbled on the very reason for Warwick’s retreat north. The king had used the earl’s absence to forge ahead with his own diplomatic alliances without interference.

Within a week, the earl was greeting his family in the courtyard of Sheriff Hutton, pretending he had not a care in the world. But new furrows along the earl’s brow and dark shadows under the piercing eyes told a different tale. The division between the kingmaker and his king had deepened.

Richard eyed with interest a youth quietly standing behind Warwick waiting to be presented. Richly garbed, an ostrich feather bobbing from a jewel in his velvet bonnet, his demeanor at once told of a confidence that could only come from his nobility. In truth, as Richard was to discover, the lad was rather shy.

“My lady, this is Sir Francis Lovell, or more formally Baron Lovell,” Warwick informed his wife, bringing the boy forward. “He will join our household and train for knighthood with the others. The king has graciously given me charge of him.”

Francis bowed and kissed the countess’s hand. “My lady.”

“You are right welcome, Francis. These are our daughters, Isabel and Anne.” The countess watched as the dark-haired youth bowed to both girls before adding, “and this is our cousin, Richard…” she broke off amused as Francis eagerly finished the salutation.

“…of Gloucester. Your brother, His Grace the King, told me to seek you out particularly.”

The warm smile and enthusiastic greeting made Richard like Francis immediately, and he grasped the boy’s outstretched hand. “My brother was right to advise you thus, my lord. You will find a fine welcome in Yorkshire. The Lady Anne is kindness itself.” He saw the recipient of his compliment smile and demur. “How did you leave my brother?” he asked.

“Your brother is as headstrong as ever,” Warwick suddenly snapped, startling Francis into silence and causing the countess to wince. “Isabel, Anne, see to making Lord Lovell at home.” He watched as the girls took Francis in hand followed by the long-suffering countess, then he glared at Richard and jerked his head towards the smaller of the two solars in the earl’s apartments. “I would speak with you, my lord.”

Richard had hoped to escape to his dormitory and did not like Warwick’s formality. What now, he thought, as he dutifully followed his lord into the sparse solar that served as Warwick’s office. The earl frowned as he realized his steward had not readied the room in time for his master’s arrival, but he flung himself in the only chair, used the arm to prop his head on his hand, and left Richard awkwardly standing and fidgeting.

Richard waited. After a few moments, Warwick raised his head and looked wearily at him. “Your brother has betrayed me yet again. He has made me look a fool and for all his pleasant rhetoric about wanting my counsel, his sops—like putting Lovell in my charge and giving me more estates, shows he cares not a whit for the work I have done to ensure his place on the throne.” He then rose so quickly, Richard took a step back expecting a blow. Instead, the earl brushed past him and went to stare out of the window.

“Because I value your loyalty to me and because of the friendship you have forged here with my family, I must tell you that I believe your brother is on the wrong course.” Turning to face Richard, he confirmed, “Edward is in danger of becoming a tyrant, of not listening to those who are more experienced. His dismissal—nay, his contemptible treatment—of Louis’s ambassadors was foolhardy. I am so close to a treaty with France because Louis trusts me, but he will now not trust Edward. France is a far more dangerous enemy to England than Burgundy, believe me. Oh, and while I was in France, Duke Philip died, conveniently sealing the tentative plan to have Charles marry your sister. As the new ruler of Burgundy, widower Charles needs a new wife—not to mention a male heir.” He muttered something about fate that Richard did not catch, but then the earl continued with his indictments. “As well, your brother is not dealing with the lawlessness in his kingdom, and ’tis no wonder rebellions are beginning to erupt. God’s bones, but he acts like a boy!” he cried. “All brawn but very little brain.”

The earl turned back to the window, his hands clenching and unclenching behind his back. He was weighing how much to tell the young Yorkist duke, but he could not reveal his hand yet. He needed this boy on his side if he were to regain control of the king. And if not, well then, he had other plans.

“Not only did the king undermine my work with Louis by treating with Burgundy, but while I was gone on his business, he also signed a treaty with another of Louis’s enemies, Francis of Brittany. Arrogant folly!” Warwick reached his hands either side of the casement and gripped the frame. When he spoke again, he was shaking with anger. “But most disturbing of all for me and my kin is that he removed my brother George Neville from the chancellorship last month. There was no reason for it, I warrant, and I am certain he only did it to spite me.”

For all he was still unversed in the politics of the court, Richard was surprised by this news, but he did not believe his brother had no reason. He remained silent waiting for the earl to involve him in some way. As he gazed at Warwick’s back, he briefly noted the window panes in this lesser-used of the Neville castles were still of polished horn and thus distorting Warwick’s view—not unlike his perspective on Edward, Richard mused. But then, if he were honest, perhaps he did not know his oldest brother very well as yet, and perhaps Warwick did. Was Warwick right about Edward? It did seem to the thoughtful Richard that his brother was deliberately pushing Warwick away. But why, after all the earl had done for his king? For the first time, Richard allowed himself real misgivings about Edward’s character.

Warwick swung round to face the wary Richard. “I think I have earned your loyalty, have I not? All of your family’s loyalty if the truth be told. You know I want the best for York, don’t you, Richard? Your brother George does,” he inadvertently divulged. “He sees the unrest in the country; he sees the way the hated Woodvilles have usurped my proper place at the king’s side; and he believes in my ability to bring peace to this troubled realm. Talk to George, he will tell you about Edward’s indiscretions and how many other magnates are grumbling at his lack of judgment.”

By now Richard’s eyes registered his horror. Had he heard wrong? The earl’s words were tantamount to treason. Was he expecting Richard to agree with him? Was the earl lying about George’s support? Surely his brother would not turn on Edward; he might be vain, self-absorbed, and disaffected, but George was family. Richard’s mind thrummed with questions, but his tongue suddenly did not seem to work although his mouth tried to move. Unfortunately, his silence led Warwick to believe Richard was in accord and emboldened the earl. “I want you to think on all of this, and tell me true: Might England be better off without Edward as her king? After all, there are two more-deserving York brothers to take his place—with my help.”

Now Richard’s knees went weak, and he sank down onto the vacated chair. “Wh…what are y…you su…suggesting?” Dear God, was that feeble squeak mine?

Warwick decided he had planted the seed deeply enough for one day; he would wait until Richard saw the sense in his argument. He took Richard by the shoulders and said kindly. “’Tis a lot to digest, I know, Richard.” He raised the youth up and said, almost as to a child. “Why don’t you go and find young Francis Lovell and make him welcome in the henchman dormitory. He could not do better than have you as a mentor; you have all the makings of a great leader.”

Richard was dumbfounded. In a shake of a lamb’s tail, the earl had dared to speak treason and then, as though he had just remarked upon the weather, he had flattered his young charge so deftly as to make Richard disbelieve what he had just heard.

Richard pulled slowly away from the earl’s grasp, executed a bow and removed himself from Warwick’s presence without a word, revealing none of his feelings, now truly in turmoil. But the jut of the York chin and icy stare as Richard left the room registered the intensity of the young duke’s fury. Treason would not win Richard to Warwick’s side.

His head spinning, Richard descended the spiral staircase to find Francis Lovell. He almost knocked Anne over in his hurry, who was mounting the stairs to deliver a message from the countess to her father.

“Why so pale, Richard? Have you seen a ghost?” Anne enquired, smiling. “There is one in this castle, you know.”

Richard was in no mood to play big brother to Anne Neville and tried to get by with a weary, “Not now, Anne,” but Anne stayed him with her hand.

“So Father told you, didn’t he?” she whispered, looking for anyone coming up behind her. “He told you, didn’t he, that he and George have appealed to the Pope to help George marry Isabel?”

Richard froze. “What?”

Anne dimpled. “And if the Pope says yes, Father says he wants you and me to be married, too.” Her pert smile vanished as she watched Richard’s face fade from pale to furious white. “Are you all right, Richard? I thought you’d be pleased.”

“For the sake of our friendship, I shall pretend I did not hear what you just said, Anne. Now, pray excuse me.” And shaking off her hand, he brusquely pushed past her and sped down the stairs out into the balmy evening air.

Sweet Jesu, Warwick is seeking dispensation in secret against Edward’s barring of the marriage, he thought. Should I believe Anne? Surely the earl would not get away with such a flagrant defiance of the king’s command. The trusting boy in him did not want his hero to fall, and he was not yet mature enough to know that powerful nobles like Warwick would hold on to power regardless of cost. Richard had never yet experienced real power, and thus had not yet been seduced by it. Inevitably, all men of his high birth would at some time in their life feel its pull, and Richard would be no exception.

But for now, as he went towards the tiltyard to find young Lovell and, more importantly, Rob Percy, Richard’s young heart felt as though a briar had wrapped its thorny vine around it. He faced a terrible choice. He had sworn fealty to Warwick as his lord until his apprenticeship ended, but he had also sworn an eternal oath of loyalty to his brother, the king.

For the first time since he had come north, Richard wished himself far away from it.