Chapter Fourteen

1468

With a magnanimity born of stubbornness and naïveté, Edward did exactly as he had confided to Richard. He summoned Warwick again to his council at Coventry in early February and insisted on a reconciliation with the Rivers family, father and son. Blessed as he was with an almost exuberant optimism, however, Edward badly misjudged the overly sensitive Warwick. While the earl smiled benignly, he was forming his own plan for England, one that did not involve Burgundy—or Edward. Oddly, for one who was so decisive on the battlefield, the young king disliked conflict and tended to procrastinate on matters of governance. Some might even have seen him as duplicitous, or even lazy, while others praised his ability to charm his way out of confrontations. These traits and his hedonism were to plague his reign, and on his death leave England in a dangerous state of instability.

In the spring of 1468 and for the next few months, however, to all but the keenest observers, it seemed as though the king and his noble cousin Warwick were hand in glove once more.

Meanwhile, Richard was to once again be a guest at Jack and Margaret’s charming manor of Tendring. The Howard party left Coventry following the reconciliation and wended their wintry way to Suffolk.

Once there, Jack Howard was helped from his saddle by his squire and a groom. He still had a great deal of pain in his leg from the goring he had suffered during a boar hunt several months before. Richard slipped gratefully from his horse and gave the reins to his own groom. After a four-day ride from Coventry, made longer by Jack’s handicap, Richard had so enjoyed the councilor’s jovial company that he had hardly noticed his own physical discomfort.

Besides, Richard was delighted to be spending a week with the Howards because it meant he might, if he were fortunate, renew Kate Haute’s acquaintance. The very thought gave him a pleasurable rush. He cleverly raised the subject at the private supper later in the Howard’s solar.

“I met Martin Haute when I was in London last summer,” he began, pretending to focus on cracking a filbert instead of the Haute family. “He is your neighbor, is he not? A pleasant gentleman, I found. I told him how his daughter-in-law had rescued Rob and me in the forest last autumn. You remember the day you went to Ipswich, Jack? His son is in your service, I believe.” Whatever he was he blathering on about, he could not seem to stop.

Jack appeared not to notice and unwittingly pursued the topic. “Aye, young George Haute is, like you, a knight in training under the duke of Suffolk’s banner. His grace was decent enough to have taken him in at my behest.” Then he shook his head. “I fear he is not made for soldiering like his father was—seems to enjoy gaming more than tilting, but out of respect for Martin, I cannot bring myself to dismiss him.” This tidbit was music to Richard’s ears. Thanks be to the Virgin, George Haute is no paragon and so does not deserve a faithful wife like Kate, he thought. It also helped Richard’s dislike of the fellow that he had the same name as his least-favorite brother.

“Besides,” Jack went on, patting his wife’s plump hand, “Kate, George’s wife as you know, was a blessing at the time of my little Cat’s delivery last October. Martin, George and Kate were here when our babe came early, and Mistress Lackseat’s way with herbs and kind heart saw Margaret through. We are forever grateful, are we not, my love?” Margaret nodded, her mouth full of venison.

“Mistress Lackseat?”

Jack regaled Richard with Kate’s ignominious arrival in London at the time of the coronation, when her horse had unseated her right at Jack’s feet. “Such a bold-faced wench, I have to say,” Jack said, chuckling. “Upon our short ride to her accommodations in the Chepe, I gained a hearty respect for her spirit.”

“Aye, I, too, noticed it,” he said a little too enthusiastically for sharp-eared Margaret. It sounded to her as though Richard of Gloucester had a great deal of interest in young Kate Haute. Embarrassed by his own fervor, Richard hastily added: “Rob Percy and I both noted it.”

Later, behind the heavy curtains of their tester bed, Margaret said to Jack: “We should invite young Mistress Haute for a visit, don’t you think? There is no one here of Richard’s age, and he must be bored with us old folks.”

“What are you up to, my wily wife? Think you Gloucester lusts after our beautiful Kate? The king did confide in me that he fears his brother has a dull, moral streak and has eschewed the pleasures of the flesh—if I may be so profane—and Edward could wish he would unbend somewhat.” He propped himself up on one elbow and allowed Margaret to twirl his long mustache between her fingers. He would do anything for her when she gazed up at him lovingly from the pillow. “But, come, come, my dear, Kate is wed. Should we be encouraging adultery? And they are so young!”

Margaret’s deep-throated chuckle always aroused Jack, and he reached under the covers and fondled her breast.

“Trust me, Jack, I know more than I am bound to divulge now about Kate and her so-called husband,” Margaret said on a sigh of pleasure. She pulled his face to hers and gave him a kiss full of promise. “Let us invite her and see where it takes them.”

Raucous cock-crowing awoke Richard a few dawns later to a typical East Anglian winter day. The sun had disappeared into a gray, damp mist for a week now. Even hunting was unpleasant in the snow-melted mud and leafless forest. He was in no hurry to leave his warm, downy bed.

But then he remembered: Today was the day Kate would arrive.

He sat up, flung the curtains aside, and slipping off the high bed, nestled his toes in the rich Turkey carpet. Was he ready to face Kate again? He had carried the precious few memories of her in his heart for months now. His excitement mounted as he splashed his face awake, hardly noticing the thin film of ice that had formed in the washbasin. But along with his excitement came the usual qualms of an inexperienced fifteen-year-old—and especially one whose insecurity about his body was already taking hold. Would she find him attractive? What would he say to her? Would she even like him? What would they talk about? They had very different lives. And would his crookedness be noticeable? His fingers crept back there, and he grimaced.

His servant scrambled off his pallet to tend to Richard, who insisted on scraping the meagre beard he had now managed to produce. That had been another worry, as Rob’s had come in dark red when he was only thirteen, and Richard had begun to doubt his would ever sprout. Warwick had spotted Richard feeling his chin for it one day and remarked: “’Tis only peasants who have beards before fifteen, Richard. It will grow. Just as you did. Have patience.”

Richard was in his chamber following the prayers at sext when Jack’s booming greeting told him Kate and her odd-looking servant girl had arrived. He straightened his padded, black fustian jacket, fashionably short to show off a man’s shapely buttocks and muscular legs, and checked that all his points were tied—how horrifying if one of his stockings were to slip down his leg. He ran a comb through his thick, chin-length hair and then, silently standing on the landing, observed the scene below.

Despite her sodden appearance from the drizzly day, Kate’s beauty glowed. At his shadowy post, Richard took full advantage of his view of her. She was as lovely as he remembered. From the tendrils of chestnut hair curling around her cheek from under her simple caul, the adorable freckles on her nose to her merry eyes accepting the teasing Jack was giving her, he was in her thrall. He allowed his gaze to take in her ripe young body, and to his horror felt himself go hard. Mortified, he turned away. But merely imagining the horror had his erection been seen magically reversed it, and, relieved, he was able to casually stroll downstairs.

“Who is your guest, Jack? May I be introduced?” He could have sworn he had said something, but the thin, inaudible voice surely wasn’t his? What a stupid question, he told himself upon seeing the astonishment on Jack’s face. What is happening to me, he wondered? His astute host, however, had immediately grasped an infatuated youth’s distress and pretended to do the introductions. It helped that Kate seemed surprised by his presence and appeared to falter in her curtsey. How charming, Jack thought, wishing Margaret could see how perfectly her plan was working instead of supervising the servants in the pantry.

Richard lifted Kate’s hand to his lips. “I am right glad to see you again, Dame….”

“Mistress Haute, Kate Haute, my lord,” came the quiet response. Kate was acutely aware of Richard’s warm fingers wrapped around hers.

“My friend Rob will be envious we are reacquainted, mistress. We dubbed you ‘the Lady of the Forest,’ that day,” Richard said, releasing her hand, and then cursed himself for mentioning Rob’s name. He need not have worried; Kate was too busy trying to calm herself. She had thought of the young duke many times in the loneliness of her unhappy marriage, and he was the last person she had expected to see today. He excited but unnerved her at the same time. However, thanks to her resilience and quick tongue, she rallied: “The Lady of the Forest is happy to see you again, too, my lord.” And her voice, she was pleased to note, sounded almost normal. “What brings you into Suffolk at this dreary time of year?”

Seeing the two young people now comfortable with each other, and feeling superfluous, Jack Howard sneaked off to fetch Margaret just as the dinner bell rang.

Once the rain stopped, the afternoon was spent with the gentlemen of the house enjoying friendly sport at the archery butts while the women dallied with their needlework, usually an excuse to gossip.

Richard shone at archery and proved it by besting all but one in the group in the first two rounds. However, at that moment he was only aware of the proximity in the house of the lovely young woman from Chelsworth. Glancing up at the solar window, where he imagined the ladies were plying their needles, he was sure he could see those amber eyes watching him. He quickly looked away as Jack called for his next shot, which flew wide and surprised even him.

“Come, come my lord,” Jack teased, “one would suspect your mind is on cupid’s bow, not on your own.”

Richard’s attempt at astonishment made Jack laugh. “’Twould be a fool who did not see the lady pleases you,” he said, conspiratorily. “Who could blame you. If only I were younger…”

“Sir John,” Richard protested, pulling another arrow from his quiver. “Let me demonstrate that my mind is indeed on our sport.” He took aim and his arrow found the bullseye with a thud. “Observe, Sir John, I shall prevail yet. Wait and see.”

No doubt you will, young man, Jack thought with amusement. No doubt you will.

Richard sat entranced.

Jack and Margaret had persuaded Kate to take up her harp and sing as they all gathered in the Howards’ private solar. “You must remember her, my lord, from Westminster? At the coronation feast? You were there in the room when she sang.”

“Certes! I knew I had seen you before, Kate,” Richard had said happily and was rewarded with a smile. “Why did you not remind me? Aye, please sing for us again.”

It was a cozy family scene, with Jack lounging on damask cushions at his wife’s feet as she rocked their baby daughter in the cradle while two of Margaret’s gentlewomen sat apart diligently embroidering in the light of a small candelabra.

Kate’s pure voice and eerie tale transported them all to an imaginary king’s hall where the ghostly voice of his drowned younger daughter miraculously rose from the strings of a harp standing by itself in front of the king. Betrayed and murdered by her sister for the love of sweet William, the harp revealed the tragic story, finally accusing the false Helen in the last melancholic minor notes.

The company sat transfixed for a few moments until Jack said quietly, “’Twas well done, Kate. You have moved us all.”

Kate glanced up at Richard and was taken aback by the intensity of his expression. Humbled, she lowered her eyes and carefully wrapped her harp in its velvet covering. Richard said softly, “Mistress, you have a rare gift. My compliments.” How he managed to keep from reaching out and touching her he did not know. Every fiber in his body yearned to know this woman. This felt different from his childish infatuation for the untouchable Isabel. Could this be real love?

An explosive snap from the dying fire startled everyone, and heaving himself to his feet, Jack pronounced it time to retire for the night. “Come, Margaret, we should leave our guest his room. God give you a good night, Kate.”

Clutching her harp, Kate dropped a curtsey not daring to look directly at Richard again. After the women had gone, Jack turned to Richard to bid him goodnight. “I believe my cursed leg is healed enough to hunt on the morrow. If it dawns fine, we should go.”

“Tell me of your injury, Sir John. ’Twas a boar charge, was it not?”

“I pray you call me Jack while we are privately at Tendring. And aye, it was a boar. A noble beast, in truth, which, in the agony of dying, will make one last charge at its adversary.” He chuckled. “Alas, that was me.”

It cannot be said that Jack Howard’s praise of the fearsome wild boar that night inspired Richard to choose the animal for his badge, for he had been pondering a choice ever since Edward had given him leave to order new livery for the small household he was setting up for himself, but he now decided the beast would serve him admirably. One of York’s enemies, John de Vere, earl of Oxford, had used the Blue Boar as his cognizance until his execution at Edward’s hands, thus Richard came to choose the white, Blanc Sanglier, which was to be associated with Richard throughout his life.

Not a half hour later wild boars and badges fled his mind as soon as he blew out the candle hanging on the bedpost. His thoughts were all of Kate and how much time he could snatch with her the next day. For once, his desire to hunt was doused by a fount of passion for the enchanting young woman sleeping not thirty paces away.

The very next day, Richard lost his virginity. As he lay back on the bed in Kate’s small chamber, he marveled how easy and how natural it had been. No wonder Edward was so addicted, he shamefacedly admitted.

There had been a little awkwardness at the start when he struggled to undo his straining codpiece, but Kate had known what to do and with nimble fingers loosed the ties, impatiently allowing him to enter her. The pleasure was exquisite but short-lived as the climax was alarmingly swift. The coupling had lasted mere seconds, he was sure, but even so he felt unusually drained of energy as well as filled with amazement. When he turned to look at Kate’s perfect profile and make sure the pleasure had been as extraordinary for her as it had been for him, he was horrified to see her tears.

“Did I hurt you, Kate? You cried out, and I was selfish…”

She smiled then. “Nay, you did nothing wrong. My silly tears are happy ones.” She hesitated, but her joy could not be hidden. “May I confide in you, my lord? You did think I was experienced, a twice-married woman.”

Aye, and thus no virgin, Richard had supposed. He was astonished when she told him about her first marriage at thirteen to an old man unable to bed her as he had dearly desired, and who, in fact, died trying. Her second husband, George Haute, she revealed with a mixture of sadness and anger, preferred his own gender. “And so, Richard, this, too, was my first time,” she told him with a rueful smile.

A wave of relief washed over Richard. Although they had known their mutual desire would lead to adultery, Kate had assured Richard before they gave in to their passion that the blame would be hers as she was the married partner. Guiltily, Richard had not protested too much; he found the urge to lie with her had quelled all rational thought.

Now he understood. Although in the eyes of the church she was guilty of adultery, Kate’s two marriages had not been consummated. Hard for her to prove and thus outwardly she was culpable, but here was an instance when Richard refused to let worry take control.

“In neither case have you been truly married, sweetheart.” Where had that endearment come from? The word had never before come out of his mouth. But with Kate, it seemed perfectly natural. “God will forgive us, if we confess.”

Kate laughed and ran her hands over his chest and shoulders. He caught his breath; for the first time in their nakedness he thought of his misshapen back. Had Kate noticed? She must not have or she would have surely turned away in disgust. He drove the thought from his mind and succumbed to her caress.

“And so,” she answered slyly, “if we do confess later, what is the harm in doing it again?”

“And again, and again…” Richard whispered, surprised at how soon his body was able to respond to her touch. “But let us not rush it this time, if ’tis possible.”

Kate leaned over to kiss him, her impossibly long and lustrous red hair spread like a veil of satin over him. “Then let us learn together, my lord. At this moment, we have no one but ourselves to please.”

Ignorant of such matters as they were, the last thought they had was of consequences.

As a result of an afternoon of pleasure and more later that same night, Richard was to learn painfully of its uninvited fruit.

The few lines of untidy scrawl in between ink blots came soon after his first letter to Kate. Her elegant dexterity with the harp did not spill over to the quill he noted with a grin, and he loved her the more for it.

My dearest love, I, too, yearn to be with you once more. And more so now that I am with child.

Richard smothered his gulp with his hand and read the announcement again. Could this be true? They had only made love three times in the space of a mere twelve hours. Sweet Jesu, he was to be a father? Surely he was too young? His seed not ripened? Fifteen was young to sire a child, wasn’t it? And yet he did not doubt his beloved. He read on: My mother Haute knows, but she believes it to be her son’s.

Thank Christ, Richard thought and then crossed himself. “Forgive me, Father.” he mumbled, not meaning to take the Lord’s name in vain, especially not in the matter of bastardy.

Tell me what more I should do and when I shall see you again, Kate wrote. And fear not, for I am well. Your faithful Kate.

Richard knelt at his little prie dieu, and stared at the exquisite painting of the Virgin and Child in the well-used prayer book King Henry had given him. “Help me to be the man I need to be for my child, sweet Mother of God,” he said, feeling the comforting mantle of childhood slip away. “Help me shoulder this new responsibility. I shall not abandon the babe—nor Kate.”

He bowed his head, turned the page, and prayed.