Chapter Twenty-Four

June 1–15, 1483

Despite the lack of funds due to the Woodvilles’ thievery of the king’s treasure, Richard was able to demonstrate his administrative capabilities within the first few days. By the time the council formally proclaimed Richard protector and regent, he had won most of the members to his side. Jack Howard called him “masterful” to his son, Thomas, who was also appointed to the council. Richard gave the chancellorship to John Russell, bishop of Lincoln, and soon the rest of the spiritual lords ranged behind Richard’s protectorship, including Bishop Stillington of Bath and Wells, once a close friend to George of Clarence. Only one, John Morton, bishop of Ely, equivocated.

As with any change in government, guarding a kingdom’s borders was paramount, and Richard quickly gave his northern ally, Henry Percy, earl of Northumberland, captaincy of the Scottish border. Then he sent a naval force into the Channel to find Edward Woodville’s fleet and offer his mariners a pardon if they abandoned Woodville. Most of the rebel fleet gladly complied, preempting any threat of a Woodville alliance with France.

A new date for the coronation was set for June twenty-second, and to keep Edward safe from any possible Woodville coup, Richard moved the king and his servants to the royal apartments in the Tower—the best garrisoned palace in London. In truth, Richard made the decision, but it was Buckingham who proposed it. More and more, Hastings and Richard’s close friends watched jealously as the royal cousin wheedled his way into Richard’s confidence.

Of all, the loyal Will Hastings had the most to lose with Buckingham’s ascendancy. Was it then that he began to question Richard’s motives? Or shore up a future for himself? At first he had been the most ardent supporter of Richard as protector, but as an older statesman, he perhaps believed by counseling Richard he would retain his close position to the throne and thus the young king. It was this expectation that made him send for Richard in April in all urgency, and Richard had duly rewarded him by according him governorship of the royal mint and the captaincy of Calais—no paltry offices. Surely, Will had thought, his loyalty was unquestioned, and thus he would also remain as chamberlain to the young king and on the protector’s council. He had expected the inexperienced Richard of Gloucester would gratefully seek his guidance upon arriving in London. Instead it seemed the now-mature Lord of the North had a mind of his own. As well, Richard’s generosity towards his young cousin threatened those expectations, and thus Will was wary of Buckingham.

Following one of the many council meetings in May, in which he had played a major part and was beginning to relax his guard, Will strolled over to Richard expecting an acknowledgement of his invaluable insights.

“I thought that went well, Lord Gloucester,” he offered. “If there is anything else I can do for you…”

He was rudely cut off.

“There is, Lord Hastings. You can kindly remove the whore Jane Shore from the house my brother, in his folly, thought necessary to give her. And she must return any jewels she was gifted,” Richard said, coldly. “They all belong to the crown, and, if you have not noticed, we have an innocent child as king, my lord, not a Caligula. I will not allow my nephew to have his father’s mistress sully his young reputation by allowing that woman to publicly flaunt her former liaison with my brother at court. She must go. Do you understand?”

Stunned, Will went pale but for two pink spots of anger on his cheeks. “Jane Shore is a decent, kind woman,” he asserted, “and, what is more, your brother loved her.”

A long time ago, Will and Edward had decided Richard was a prude, but even so Will had not been prepared for Richard’s contempt now. “It does not surprise me that you defend such a woman, my lord,” Richard parried. “You are as debauched as she is. I pray you, have her removed immediately from the house and the court or…”

Furious if not not a little uneasy, Hastings shot back, “…or what, my lord duke?” This conversation was not going at all as he had anticipated, and he began to be concerned. What if Richard knew that Will himself had taken Jane as his mistress, having loved her throughout her time with Edward? Perhaps Richard already knows, Hastings thought, alarmed.

“Or I shall question your loyalty to me and our new king,” Richard said evenly. “I am determined to purge this profane court, and I consider you to be at the center of its immorality.” And he walked off.

The viciousness of Richard’s attack made Will realize that not only had he lost the power he had held under Edward, but he might well lose his position on the new king’s council entirely.

After safeguarding the kingdom from any possible attack and assigning the new council their roles, Richard turned his attention to the stubborn queen, who refused to leave sanctuary. He assured Elizabeth that he held no animosity towards her and attempted to persuade her, in vain, to rejoin the court. He was met with dramatic tears and an emphatic rejection of his offer.

“She is convinced I wish her and her children harm,” he confided to Buckingham. “At least that is the excuse she is giving the other mediators I have sent to her. ’Tis as clear as a mountain brook that her refusal to leave is proof she is guilty of conspiring to keep me from my duty.” He did not voice his fear that only by his demise could she keep him from his duty. “But to the people, it merely looks as though she is afraid of me, and that does my standing with them no good. Ah, but the witch is a wily one.”

Richard rubbed his right jaw, where a molar was screaming for a clove tincture. It made him irritable and impatient, but Harry was impervious to anyone else’s moods.

“Witch? I would more likely call her a bitch,” Harry said, wringing his bonnet as though it were Elizabeth’s delicate neck. “Let her rot in sanctuary with her brood, I say. But with Dorset in there with his mother, I would keep an eye on them. Why not send your man Catesby to watch the abbey and report on who comes and goes.”

Richard nodded slowly. “Good idea.” he said. “Incidentally, I don’t think I have expressed my gratitude yet for coming with me to London of your own accord. It could have been dangerous for you to ally yourself with me so soon. You have my thanks and will be rewarded. Trust me.”

“Oh, I trust you, Richard,” Harry said, unable to hide the greedy gleam in his eyes.

It was thus that Henry Stafford, duke of Buckingham, became the virtual viceroy of Wales, one of the most important regions in the country. And, much to the annoyance of Jack Howard, who believed the task belonged to him as lord high steward, Buckingham was put in charge of arranging young Edward’s coronation. Others on the council were watching and waiting to see how the protector would fare, some still on the queen’s side. Ignored all those years at court by King Edward, there seemed no heights to which the young duke of Buckingham might rise. Richard had observed Harry’s conceit, but he was willing to overlook it in his need of a powerful royal cousin as ally, as Warwick had been for Edward. So, for the time being Harry’s assets overcame any doubts Richard had as he felt his way forward.

It did not occur to Richard to express any trust issues with others in his circle, assuming they were as wary as he, but Richard knew Buckingham and Will Hastings had formed a mutual dislike of each other. Will’s staunch loyalty to Edward had always appealed to Richard, and Richard hoped he could count on that loyalty going forward with Edward’s son. He would, however, expose the young king as little as possible to a man Richard considered immoral. Therefore, for the moment and perhaps unwisely, Richard got into the habit of excluding Will from private conversations with Buckingham, fanning the flames of Will’s discontent. As well, when Richard went to the Tower to confer with the young king, it was Buckingham who accompanied the protector, not Hastings.

As protector, Richard was legally responsible for signing court documents in the king’s name, and after the crowning, Richard was determined to begin the transfer of power to the boy; for now, however, let him enjoy what remained of his boyhood for a few months longer. Edward had a quick mind and would learn fast, and Richard would be glad to relinquish his protectorate and eventually return to the relative peace of Middleham.

“Where is my lord Hastings?” the young king asked Richard one day when Richard had gone to explain a detail of the coronation. “He was my father’s councilor and should be here.”

An awkward silence followed. “I will bring him next time, Edward,” Richard promised. Just as soon as Will proves his allegiance by ridding the court of Jane Shore and her ilk, I’ll take him back into my confidence, he thought. Hastings still had much support on the council, and Richard could ill afford to lose it.

Richard was not to know that, on his part, Will was having misgivings about the protector’s motives based on Richard’s puzzling attitude towards him. Was Richard pushing him out, Will wondered, to take sole control of the king? Or was he seeking the crown for himself?

Richard was not sleeping well and, lying alone in the downy bed, he had too much time to brood. Although he was demonstrating his administration abilities in the council and had won support from many members—at least he thought he had, he was unsure of himself. As a northerner, he was looked upon as an outsider in London, and he was doubtful whom to trust. All smiled and nodded, appearing acquiescent to his demands, but how much was fawning, he could not tell. It seemed to Richard that his northerners were more plain speaking and did not dissemble nor put on airs like the courtiers who had surrounded Edward.

Richard was so different from his affable, backslapping brother that the council, for its part, was wary of him. But he was optimistic that by showing good judgement and listening well, he would win the skeptics to his side. Unbeknownst to Richard, several of the barons had been shocked when, a few years before, a report had filtered to them that he had sided with a man of York—a yeoman—in a judicial dispute with one of the northern lords over land rights. Richard had found the baron guilty and fined him heavily. “If he takes the word of a commoner over a fellow nobleman,” Lord Stanley had remarked to Will, “what does our rank protect?”

One sleepless night, after going over the day’s events for the third time, he turned to where Anne should have been lying. I miss you, my dear wife, he thought, and in that moment he made up his mind to call for Anne. He needed her, and he hoped he could persuade her to leave Ned in safety at Middleham. After all, she deserved to be with him at the coronation.

A gray drizzle greeted the small procession of riders as they entered the city from the north, and Anne was glad she was on horseback as she watched the townsfolk teetering on their pattens picking their way through the mud. The damp did not suit her, and her persistent cough had worsened since leaving Barnet earlier in the day. Of course, Anne had been to London before with her father during her childhood, but it had been many years since she had been persuaded to leave her beloved Yorkshire for this god-forsaken, overcrowded, and stinking city.

Francis Lovell proudly escorted the protector’s wife along Chepeside towards Bishopgate and Richard’s domicile there at Crosby Place. “Gloucester’s lady,” somebody cried out recognizing the white-boar cognizance, and once the word was passed that the Kingmaker’s daughter was in their city again, Londoners flocked into the Chepe to cheer her. Despite his treason, they still had a fondness for the deceased Warwick. It warmed Anne’s heart to hear the shouts of welcome, thinking it was due her as Richard’s wife. She waved and smiled shyly, recognizing the important role she now played, but she hoped Crosby Place was not much farther.

She caught sight of two lovely women standing by the conduit, looking past her to someone in her entourage. One of them in a widow’s wimple looked familiar, and Anne frowned trying to remember where she had seen her before. She turned in her saddle to ascertain who they were focused on and saw it was Richard’s son, John. All at once, she knew. “Kate Haute!” she murmured, dispirited by the widow’s beauty despite the unattractive head covering. She was Richard’s leman and mother of John and Katherine, who was now one of her ladies and the image of her mother. No wonder Richard had tumbled Kate, Anne thought, as she noted the remarkable amber eyes in the heart-shaped face that were fixated with longing on John. A momentary pang of sympathy for the widow engulfed the gentle duchess as she imagined the pain of having to give up Ned.

When she was lifted down into Richard’s loving arms at Crosby Place, Anne forgot Kate. It was Anne’s first visit to the large, gothic mansion. “It is magnificent,” she enthused, noting the ceiling-high windows of colored glass, gilded carved beams overhead, and the red-and-blue tiled floor in the great hall. A servant removed Anne’s soggy velvet cloak and hood, and she shivered. Richard looked anxiously at her, for she had lost weight and dark smudges ringed her eyes.

“Are you unwell, my dear?” he asked, leading her along a passageway to her chamber, where he had thoughtfully ordered a fire to be lit on this dreary day. “I will order you a hot bath after you have rested. Perhaps I was selfish to ask you to come.” He smiled, and Anne noticed he had lost a tooth. “Aye, it had to be removed last week. I regret I could no longer withstand the pain.”

He took her in his arms and sighed with pleasure. He had been right to send for her; how he had missed her steady, loving presence. All the stresses of the past month were released in that sigh, and Anne looked up, concerned. “I swear you look ten years older, Richard,” she murmured, stroking his back. “Has it been aching more than usual?” Anne was the only person he allowed to mention the evidence of God’s displeasure that protruded below his shoulder; he knew he would never atone for King Henry’s murder, but he could not tell Anne that.

“Aye, I get tired more easily now. Standing as straight as I can and doing my best to conceal the monstrosity puts a strain on my whole body.” He kissed her mouth softly and felt himself aroused, but now was not the time for seduction; now was time for her to recover from her six-day journey. “How is our son?”

“He wanted to come so much, but Mistress Idley will keep him occupied until we return or send for him. He sent a million kisses. I worry he will forget me.”

Richard chuckled. “Have no fear, he won’t. If truth be told, I expect he will miss John more than us. And speaking of John, did I tell you that Francis is ready to take him on as squire now. ’Tis time the lad flew the coop.”

Anne smiled. “You indulge both your boys, Richard, and do not lie, you are besotted with your daughter.”

Richard grinned. “You’ve noticed? I shall try and be impartial from now on. But she is a beauty, is she not?”

Just like her mother, Anne wanted to say. “Pah! Impossible,” she said instead, giving him a gentle swat. “In truth, it is your kindness to the young ones that I find so dear.”

A tap on the door meant an end to their privacy, and giving Richard a peck on the cheek, Anne called, “Come.” One of her tiring women came in with Katherine in tow, and on seeing her father, the auburn-haired fifteen-year-old forgot all decorum and threw herself into his arms.

“Father! I am so happy to see you.” As she pulled back, she studied him. “Are you unwell, my lord? You look tired.”

Richard smiled, adoration in his eyes for his comely daughter, reminding him daily of Kate; she was filling out a little more rapidly than an anxious father would have liked, he admitted. “I am tired, poppet. Tired of waiting for you all to arrive,” he teased, and hoped he did not look as bad as his wife and daughter made him feel by their concern. “I thought you would never come.”

Richard recalled his father’s long-ago remark, “Being born noble means to court an early death,” as he rode through the city on his way to Westminster, and his eyes darted right and left anticipating danger. Despite Anne’s calming presence at Crosby Place, Richard still worried about his personal safety in light of the Woodville ambition. It did not help that one of the prelates who had gone to negotiate with Elizabeth to leave sanctuary had given Richard disturbing information. The queen had commanded her astrologer to chart Richard’s birth stars. Nay, he had not exactly seen it, the bishop had said, but he had heard rumor there was one. (Superstition held that a death date could be predicted from the charting—or in the case of the black arts, a death date could be manipulated.) It was no wonder Richard tossed and turned at night. His back had never pained him as badly, and he would wake up with one arm stiffened. His superstitious mind questioned whether Elizabeth was dabbling in witchcraft—after all, she was descended from the water-witch Melusine—and, together with her astrologer, was perhaps plotting his death. Richard’s superstitions had grown with his fear, which made him testy and unapproachable.

Thus when Buckingham gave Richard the news that Hastings had flouted his orders to dismiss the Shore whore, and worse, he had taken her to mistress himself, Richard flew into a rage.

“Did the lying dotard think I would not discover this? Now I know he is truly depraved and certainly not to be trusted. Can he believe I will entrust him with any position around my nephew? Over my dead body!”

Quickly Buckingham pressed his advantage. “Then wait until you hear this. Guess who Catesby spied going in disguise to visit the queen,” he said, mentally rubbing his hands. “None other than Jane Shore.”

Richard stared at him in astonishment, and then he frowned. “What possible reason could Jane have for visiting the queen? It is common knowledge Elizabeth hates the woman.”

Then Harry whispered the words Richard had tried to suppress in consideration for Will’s friendship with Edward. “I think there must be a conspiracy, and Hastings’ mistress is involved.”

Or Hastings himself, Richard thought, as he lost control of his ring and it fell with a clink to the floor.

He confronted Hastings at Crosby Place in mid-June after a supper with Buckingham, Jack Howard, and his son Thomas. Catesby hovered around his master, ready to do Richard’s bidding at the flicker of an eyelid. Jack Howard had long decided Catesby looked like a weasel and hoped he was less devious than his animal counterpart. A brilliant young lawyer and one-time servant of Will Hastings’, Catesby had inveigled himself onto Richard’s council by dropping Will’s name, making Richard believe he had come with the councilor’s blessing. Worrying for Jack, the man had already impressed Richard with his legal mind and become a member of the inner council. Keen to trust anyone with no ties to the old regime, like Buckingham, Richard had gladly accepted him.

Richard soon turned the conversation to the queen in sanctuary. “We must persuade her to release my other nephew or we cannot have a coronation. The people would not sanction it, and Edward is demanding to see his brother.” The others nodded in agreement. “Master Catesby here has kept me informed of any unusual visitors to my sister-in-law. I was not surprised to learn that Margaret Beaufort has been, as has her friend my lord bishop of Ely.”

“Lancastrians both,” Buckingham grumbled.

“Let us not forget the Woodvilles, too, were red-rose wearers until Towton,” Jack Howard offered. “Margaret is godmother to one of Elizabeth’s daughters, I believe, so perhaps she went to pray with the girl.” The group chuckled at the reference to Lady Stanley’s famous piety.

“But Morton is two-faced and often in the Beaufort woman’s company. I would not trust him as far as I could launch his paunchy body across St. Paul’s yard.”

“I would not lose sleep over those visits, my lord duke. They seem innocuous enough,” Hastings remarked, picking up a plum and biting into its juicy flesh.

Catesby glanced at Richard, whose frown silenced him. Richard turned to Hastings and controlling his rising anger, he said: “I thought I could trust you, Lord Hastings, but you have disappointed me in the matter of Mistress Shore. I had asked that you dismiss her.”

It was an odd non sequitor. Hastings was taken aback but, unsuspecting, he swallowed the piece of plum. “I regret I have not had a moment to explain, my lord, but be assured I have procured her a new house with my own funds,” he said, and as if to prove he was not underhanded, he took a chance. “She is now my…well, you know, er…” Dear God, he thought amused as Richard’s face showed no emotion, do I have to spell it out for the man? Still seeing no reaction, he explained: “She is now under my protection and no longer the crown’s concern,” and he waved his hand airly. “Rest assured, this has nothing to do with my loyalty to you or the king, Lord Richard. You can trust me.”

“Trust you, Lord Hastings? I think not,” Richard snapped back. “You must truly believe I am a fool. I also do not trust your whore. You have lied to me about her, have you not?”

“I would trust Jane Shore with my life!” Will cried, bristling at the ugly moniker. “She is a good woman. Why do you bring her into this, my lord. Jane is an innocent.”

Richard gave a derisive snort. “An innocent? Your idea of innocence is obviously quite different from mine, my lord. I give you a goodnight.” He gave Will a long, unwavering look before pushing his chair back, rising, and ending the encounter. He would let Hastings sleep on the matter, he had decided. It was the best he could do for the well-respected chamberlain. Perhaps Hastings would make a clean breast, avert a plot, and Richard could bring the man back onto his side.

Puzzled, Hastings bowed and returned the salutation. Turning, he asked the Howard men: “Shall I see you at meeting in the Tower on the morrow, gentlemen? Splendid. Then may God give you all a good night.” Buckingham held the door for him and soon after, Jack and Thomas bowed their way out, leaving Richard still nettled.

“Good evening, my lord bishop.” Richard heard the muffled greeting through the open door, and he frowned. Who would come here just before curfew? He hoped it wasn’t Morton; he could not abide the man. He sighed, wanting nothing more than to shut out the world and his daily cares and hide himself in Anne’s comforting arms in their soft tester bed. But it was not to be.

“His lordship the bishop of Bath and Wells, my lord,” William Catesby announced, as the elderly prelate shuffled in. After bowing to Richard and Buckingham, Stillington moved to the fire to warm his bony fingers.

Richard raised an eyebrow. “My lord, what may I do for you?” The cleric hesitated, his gaze shifting from Buckingham to the unfamiliar face of William Catesby. “You may speak freely,” Richard assured him. “I have no secrets from my advisors. What brings you here at this hour? Speak, I pray you.”

What the priest did say was to drain the blood from Richard’s face.

“A pre-contract? My brother was previously spoken for before Elizabeth?” he demanded in as loud a whisper as he dared. “By all that is holy, it must be a lie!” He pulled his book of hours from under a pile of signed letters and held it out to the bishop. “Swear you are telling the truth.”

Surprised, Stillington placed his hand on the book and swore. “The lady’s name was Eleanor Butler—Talbot that was—the daughter of the old earl of Shrewsbury. ’Twas some time before the late king wed the queen. The lady took the veil and is long dead, my lord. She cannot make trouble, but I could not in all good conscience keep this secret to myself now that King Edward is dead. It means that the new king…”

“…is a bastard,” Richard breathed, his heart pounding. He did not add: and so cannot wear the crown.

The news was stunning. Richard had so many questions for the old man, which he answered without hesitation, swearing that he was telling the truth. He caught Buckingham’s eye and Harry pursed his lips in a silent whistle. The implications of the revelation were enormous.

“I witnessed the plight-troth when I was an archdeacon,” the bishop told the astonished group, “and as you know a plight-troth made with a witness is tantamount to…”

“…the giving of a ring,” Catesby interrupted. “The king’s marriage to Queen Elizabeth was thus invalid.”

Richard was regretting he had not dismissed Catesby. Could he trust the lawyer yet? He had not thought Stillington had anything of such importance to divulge and had wished merely to test Catesby’s loyalty with whatever insignificant item the bishop disturbed them. Who could have guessed it was this monumental?

As Richard put the pieces of the puzzle together, the truth became horribly clear: Edward had given Stillington a bishopric to buy his silence. But why had Eleanor not come forward and denounced Edward when he and Elizabeth first revealed that they had been secretly wed? Certes, he realized, she would have been laughed out of court. Who would have believed her—a widow woman with no man to fight for her? No wonder the poor lady took the veil! God’s bones, Edward, Richard thought, what an unholy mess you have left me. Yet how typical of his reckless, wayward brother.

“Who else might know of this, my lord bishop?” Richard demanded.

Stillington shrugged, but tiny pink patches appeared on his cheeks that alerted Richard. “You told someone else, did you not?” he pressed. “I can see it on your face. Who, who?”

The protector’s irritability was new to the bishop, and he trod warily. “It was my understanding that the Lord Hastings was in the king’s confidence. And…” he broke off, obviously riddled with guilt and weighing whether to confess to Richard’s scowl. He was regretting he had come for he did not like the look in Gloucester’s dark eyes. “…And, I foolishly made mention of it to Duke George of Clarence, b…but I paid for that folly with a t…term in the Tower,” he mumbled.

Stunned, Richard now realized the condemned George must have threatened Edward. Could that have been why Edward had chosen not to pardon his brother for a third time? He needed to be rid of George. George had already cast aspersions on Edward’s own birth—the rumor of bastardy with which Warwick had tempted George. That conjecture was ludicrous, but this new one may well have been the final straw for Edward. Richard shook himself. What devilish dark thoughts of Ned were these? He ought to dismiss the accusation outright. But the temptation to believe that Hastings might have known of Edward’s bigamy for all these years and had kept silent was too great.

“Hastings knew?” he snapped, and the bishop nodded. “’Tis hard to believe he has not come forward since my brother’s death to prevent a wrongful crowning. It was his duty.”

Catesby suddenly stepped forward. “May I suggest that this is why Jane Shore was seen at Westminster, my lord. Could he be in league with the queen and sent his mistress as a go-between?”

“Hastings despises Elizabeth more than most,” Richard retorted, twisting his ring. “Why would he choose to side with her rather than with me?”

The lawyer’s mind saw a plausible reason. “Perhaps he resents your new order, my lord,” Catesby ventured, braving his lord’s displeasure. “You have chosen my lord Buckingham as your second in command, easing out Lord Hastings from the position he held with the late king. Since my lord bishop’s story has revealed that Hastings has known all along, he may want to offer his help to the queen to oust you and, as a reward, become the new king’s close advisor.”

Richard noted Catesby’s easy betrayal of his one-time mentor, but all that consumed him now was the lawyer’s implication. If Hastings aided the queen and together were able to get possession of the young king, Richard would lose everything he had strived for. They could easily silence Stillington—and him. Buckingham and Catesby would be finished without him, and no one would listen to them. Then nobody would know the truth. He stared at the floor, but aware all eyes were on him, he rose and began to pace.

Buckingham, who had no love for Hastings, broke the silence by bringing his fist down on the table, making everyone start. “By the Virgin, the man has threatened the royal line by remaining silent. If young Edward is a bastard, he should not be king. Hastings has deceived you, the council and the whole kingdom. He is a traitor and should be punished!”

Richard thought so too, but not so much for keeping silent as for plotting to oust the rightful protector. In Richard’s eyes, the man’s loyalty was now doubly suspect. At the May council meeting, Hastings had sworn to uphold Richard as protector and regent until Edward was crowned and able to assume kingly duties. Richard was king in all but name. But now it seemed, just as Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan had attempted to deny Richard’s right as protector at Stony Stratford, Hastings was plotting to do the same.

Richard made up his mind. He must do what was right for England, and he must protect himself and his family from whatever Elizabeth Woodville was conspiring. That very night he had John Kendall write an urgent letter to York, beseeching the loyal city to give him aid: …we heartily pray you to come unto us to London in all the diligence you can after reading this, and with as many as you can defensibly array, there to aid and assist us against the queen, her blood adherents and affinity, which have intended, and daily do intend, to murder and utterly destroy us and our cousin of Buckingham and the old blood of the realm… John Kendall paused in his writing and looked up. “You are certain, my lord?” he asked.

Richard nodded. “It has come to my attention that the queen’s astrologer has been busy plotting my chart, and you know they are not doing it to pass the time.” He did not mention his excruciating back pain at night and his suspicions that the queen was putting a curse on him.

Kendall gave a low whistle of surprise. “Then let us hurry and finish this,” he said, dipping his quill in the ink.

“I will send Ratcliffe to York, so they know I am serious,” Richard said. He dictated a few more lines and subsided into his chair, listening to Kendall’s scratching. His mind wrestled with all the pieces of information he had been given in the last few days and where it all led. He suddenly saw clearly what should be done.

Hastings must be punished.

“What will you do?” Anne asked, her face pinched with worry. “Hastings served Edward loyally. Are you accusing him because he took a mistress? Be careful, Richard. You, too, committed adultery.”

Richard swiveled to face his wife. “How dare you! Are you calling me a hypocrite?” he demanded. “Are you still jealous of Kate? After all these years? Nay, do not answer that, the subject is not important.” He ignored her tiny gasp of hurt. “What is important is how I deal with this new information and how I lead England out of a morass. This news will cause a crisis of the monarchy. According to English law, young Edward cannot be king and Hastings knew it and said nothing. He was willing to keep silent so that he might stay in power. And worse, he has been plotting to undermine my position as protector by going to the Woodvilles. I cannot allow him the freedom to continue down this path. He must be contained—nay, detained.”

Anne had retreated to the bed and was watching him stalk up and down. What had happened to the man she loved who had ridden grieving from Middleham not six weeks before? She had been stung by his retort, but she recognized he was merely lashing out at the nearest person because he was angry and afraid. She decided to appeal to his fair-minded, honorable self.

“I understand now why you are upset, my dear, but do not let your anger impede justice. William Hastings should be given the chance to defend himself in a fair trial. You will grant him that at least?” she implored him. “If not, what will people think of you? What will God think?”

“God knows I am right!” Richard shot back and then mumbled, “if He is even listening anymore.” Nothing Anne could say would change his mind. Hastings’ silence and subsequent plotting was a treasonable offense. “I must do what is right for England now,” he told his alarmed wife. “You can pray for me if you want, but I can no longer wait for His counsel.”

“My lord, I am innocent of treason, I swear!” Will Hastings cried, his ruddy face ashen with fear. “I have no knowledge of any plot to overthrow you. Whoever says so is a liar.”

Unmoved, Richard watched as the big man wrestled out of the guards’ hold to go down on his knees and beg for his life.

Despite telling Anne to the contrary, Richard had spent hours on his own knees the night before, but not only did his aching back interfere with his prayers but voices from his past insisted on whispering in his ear, tormenting him and shutting out anything God might have advised.

“He was my most loyal servant and friend,” Edward’s ghost reminded him.

“A good man and true,” Warwick’s agreed.

And even George from his grave had admonished him: “Don’t blame Hastings, blame the Woodville woman.” But then Richard of York’s face, all bloodied, its head crowned with paper, spoke, “Remember your duty, my son, to God, to England and to York.”

“It is what I am doing, Father,” Richard had whispered into the darkness. “I am trying to uphold my position and govern my nephew and England as faithfully as I can. But I fear betrayal—betrayal by those I thought were friends.”

“Then you know what you must do.” His father’s words reverberated in Richard’s exhausted brain as the image faded. But it was the last voice he had heard last night that made him cringe. “Sometimes you must play God, Richard Plantagenet,” the murdered King Henry murmured. “You played it once before, remember. Now you must do it again for the good of England. I said ’twould not be easy.”

Richard banished Henry’s ghost now and, clearheaded, he glared at Hastings. “Take him away,” he commanded the guards. “Let him be shriven, but then execute the traitor!”

The others in the meeting room gasped as Hastings was pulled to his feet.

Jack Howard stepped forward. “Without trial, my lord? Where is justice in such haste? What is proof of his treason?”

“Aye,” Thomas Stanley, Margaret Beaufort’s husband, agreed, “we must have proof.”

“Look to your wife,” Richard spat at him. “She is not innocent in this.” And Stanley cowered in his chair. His fellow councilors, Lord Chancellor Rotherham and John Morton, bishop of Ely, remained silent. Richard knew why—they were complicit, he felt certain of it.

“As protector and chief constable of England I do not need to answer to any of you, but I will tell you that Lord Hastings has been dealing secretly with the queen to plot my downfall.”

“’Tis a lie!” Hastings cried, now terrified. “Why do you accuse me of this?”

“Your mistress was seen visiting the queen in sanctuary. Prove to me you did not send her. ’Tis certain the two have been practicing witchcraft to aid my demise,” and he held out his stiffened arm. His superstition blamed witchcraft at this volatile time instead of a perfectly natural result of sleeping heavily on one side of his body. “Do you see their work?” he shouted. “Witchcraft, I tell you, and I have sent Tom Howard to convey Mistress Shore to prison for it.”

Richard was surprised by the anguish in Hastings’ face. The man is in love with the harlot, Richard realized. Was she really so desirable, or did the woman’s witchery entrap her prey, including his brother Edward, which had led to his demise? She was immoral and a necromancer, and he was right to arrest her. All of these thoughts further enraged him. “If that is not enough for you, my lord,” he continued, loudly, “then shall I accuse you of withholding a secret from me and the council that would put the monarchy in jeopardy. You have such a secret, do you not? And by not confiding it to me, you have betrayed your country and your king.”

With this damning disclosure Hastings knew he was doomed. He knew exactly to what Richard was referring. As Richard divulged to the others the devastating secret as reported by Bishop Stillington the night before, Hastings’ legs crumpled under him and he fell to his knees. The councilors exchanged worried glances, and Jack Howard sat down hard.

Frantic, Hastings attempted to defend himself. “I was always faithful to your brother, Richard. ’Twas his secret I held, God help me.” He appealed to the group, wringing his hands. “My lords, you know me. You know my loyalty is to the king! I implore you, speak for me now. I am no traitor.”

Either in fear that they might be the next in line to face Gloucester’s wrath or they were too stunned, no one spoke. Hastings tried again: “Richard, for the love of God—and of your brother, punish me for immorality, for lacking in judgment, but do not accuse me of disloyalty.” When Richard turned away, in desperation Hastings raised his voice. “Remember your oath, Richard of Gloucester!” he cried. “You pledged to protect your nephew’s throne. Some protector! I believe you are only serving yourself.” Now petrified and with nothing to lose, he warned the others: “Mark my words, my lords, Gloucester seeks the crown. He destroys me for no other reason.”

Richard’s fist smashed down on the table and shouted, “The reason is treason!”

At that, more guards rushed into the room causing the councilors to leap from their seats in surprise. They were even more surprised when Richard ordered the arrest of the three unsuspecting of them he believed were Hastings’ and Elizabeth’s co-conspirators: Rotherham, Morton and the loudly protesting Stanley.

Hastings, now firmly held by his guards, cried triumphantly: “You see, my lords, I was right. The lord protector has his eye on the crown.”

“Away!” Richard shouted, pointing towards the door to an outer stair. “Find a block and execute him at once.”

When the prisoners were removed and Hastings’ loud protestations could still be heard, Jack got down on his shaking knees. “Come, my lord, the least we can do is to pray for Will Hastings’ soul.” Only his long association with Richard gave him the courage to suggest this generous action. “You know in your heart he deserves our prayers.”

But Richard was in no mood. He had yet another violent death to beg God’s mercy for, and this one would surely lie as heavily on his heart. “You pray for him, Jack,” he said as he left the room. I’m beyond prayers now, he thought. I fear no prayer can bridge this chasm between me and God. Nay, I will answer to no one but England now; it is she alone in whom I must put my faith. She is my religion now.