Читать книгу Rivals in the Tudor Court - Darcey Bonnette - Страница 9

My Alyss is not to journey to the Lord alone. She is accompanied by our king, Edward IV. The baron carries his banner during the funeral procession and keeps vigil over his body that night, shedding tears and mourning with such conviction, one would have thought he had never spoken ill of him and that they were bosom friends.

This leaves the crown to twelve-year-old Edward V. His uncle Richard Plantagenet, Duke of Gloucester, is to serve as regent until the lad reaches his majority.

However, it is not a smooth transition and on the way to the coronation, Gloucester descends upon the party and arrests Anthony Woodeville, Earl Rivers, along with several others for their supposed conspiracy to assassinate the young king. For their protection, King Edward V and his brother Prince Richard are taken to the Tower of London to be supervised by my grandfather, Constable of the Tower.

On 25 June, Gloucester names himself King of England—he is to be styled as Richard III now and installs himself at Westminster. My grandfather stood at his right as acting Earl Marshal. The baron’s heirs will be named earls marshal by heredity, which means someday I will hold the title. Then came the honour my grandfather had yearned for for as long as memory served. He is named Duke of Norfolk at last. My father is created Earl of Surrey. We are given many of the Mowbray lands along with properties that once belonged to Earl Rivers, who has met with the executioner’s axe.

I wonder at this and decide to question the newly created duke about it on one of his brief visits home (I admit with delight that since the accession of Richard III, my grandfather’s calls are few and far between).

“How can you be styled the Duke of Norfolk when Prince Richard already holds the title?” I ask, referring to one of the princes in the Tower.

Grandfather seizes my shoulders, shaking me till my teeth chatter. “Never mention that name to me again, do you hear me? Never!”

True to my nature, I cannot let it go. “But if they are in the Tower for their protection, they will be let out soon, won’t they?” I ask in subdued tones. “When the danger passes? Why has he been stripped of his title?”

Grandfather averts his head a moment. He works his jaw several times before returning his deep black eyes to me. He draws in a breath. His voice is surprisingly calm. “You must not think of them anymore, Tom. They are … they are to be forgotten.”

“Why?”

He pauses. “There is a new regime now.”

I feel a rising sense of panic. Something terrible has occurred, something dark and evil that I should not pry into. But I want to know. I have to know.

“What happened to them, Grandfather?” I whisper in horror. “What happened to the princes in the Tower?”

Grandfather releases my shoulders. He regards his hands a moment, turning them palm up. They are trembling. “In life, Tom, there is a time when it is expedient to do things …” He shudders. His voice is a gruff whisper. “Terrible things … in order to survive. Survival, Tom; that is what it is all about. The Howards are to be allied to the Crown, no matter whose head it rests upon. We are climbing out of the ashes and will be great. But we cannot hesitate. We carry out our orders without question. We demonstrate our loyalty. We crawl on our bellies and sing their praises; we cavort with demons—whatever it takes. We will rise up to be the greatest family in the land. Play it right and not only will we be able to claim a royal past, but we may see one of our own sit on the throne in the future. Do you see?”

I don’t see at all. He evaded my question by launching into some abstract philosophical discussion of our rise to power through justifiable treachery and shameless flattery.

He leaves it thus and my curiosity is unsatisfied.

Perhaps it is better I do not know the part Grandfather may have played in this particular instance.

For the princes are never seen again.