A Dangerous Inheritance

‘Going back to Bishop Russell,’ he says, ‘he mentions the rumours of the Princes’ murder, and writes that, within weeks, they had had their effect, and Richard was seen by his subjects as a wretched, bloody and usurping boar. More crucially, Russell writes that many in Parliament were strongly critical of the legality of the Act Titulus Regius, but that even the stoutest were swayed by fear to approve and pass it. It seems that very few believed that tale about a precontract.’

‘I think Katherine convinced herself that her father believed it.’

‘We can only commend her for her loyalty.’ The Lieutenant takes a page from his sheaf of papers. ‘The Bishop made this observation about Richard’s forced loans: Why should we any longer dwell on things so distasteful and so pernicious that we ought not so much as to suggest them?But then he writes – and this may be significant: So too with other things that are not written in this book, and of which I grieve to speak.’ He looks up. ‘What do you make of that, my lady?’

‘Can he be referring to the Princes?’ I ask. ‘If so, it reads ominously.’

‘It might just be an oblique reference to the King’s morals, of which the Bishop had a low opinion. Maybe he did not wish to be explicit on a subject like that.’

‘Was Richard III immoral? His daughter writes of his uprightness and good morals.’

‘She, I fear, saw the man she wished to see. Yet the Bishop viewed the death of Richard’s son as a judgement on a man who had pursued his interests without the aid of God. That’s pretty damning. He also condemned the King’s pursuit of his niece Elizabeth as an incestuous passion, abominable before God. He says the Queen’s illness grew worse because Richard shu

‘That doesn’t show Richard in a good light.’

‘No, but in Russell’s account of the Battle of Bosworth, he writes that, in the fighting, and not in the act of flight, Richard was pierced with many mortal wounds, and fell in the field like a brave and most valiant prince. But if that sounds like praise, remember that immediately afterwards the Bishop states that Providence gave a glorious victory to Henry Tudor. He was just being fair, as he had averred: it’s well known that Richard died bravely. And that, my lady, is all. None of it is conclusive, and although it still appears that the Princes were probably murdered, there is no proof, and there are still some things that don’t make sense.’

He shakes his head, looking vexed, then pauses. ‘You seem tired, my lady. You should rest. Again, I have enjoyed our discourse. I bid you goodnight.’

When he has gone, I fall to pondering if this mystery of the Princes will ever be solved. It may be that what happened to them might never be known. It is highly improbable that they still live, and since no one has heard from them in nigh eighty years, the likelihood must be that they did die at Richard III’s hands.

Sir Edward visits me some days later to say that he has looked through the Tower records and is certain there is nothing of interest to us.

It is so frustrating. There must be some clue, somewhere! I read through Katherine’s account again, checking to see if there is anything we have missed. But there is nothing. All we have are dark hints, rumours and Bishop Russell’s curious statement that the Princes were suppressed. How can two boys just disappear, leaving no trace as to what became of them?

No sooner do I ask that question than I find myself looking out of my window at the grim walls of the Tower around me; and suddenly the answer seems very obvious.

Kate

November 1485. Westminster Palace.

Kate crept down the spiral stair near her lodging. It was a bitterly cold morning and she had put on her warmest gown with her fur-lined cloak over it, taking care to conceal her face. William had insisted upon that. She had told him she was going to see her mother, and prayed that God would forgive her the lie. She wasgoing to see Kat Haute, but not for two hours and more, so it was only a white lie. She did not think there was any risk of Kat coming to seek her out earlier.

William had made difficulties, as she had thought he would. Couldn’t her mother come here? he had asked, frowning. No, she’d told him, she had asked Kate to meet her in St Stephen’s Chapel. They wanted to give thanks together for being reunited, and then they would stay for the ten o’clock Mass. And may God forgive me, she’d prayed inwardly, hoping William would not insist on coming with them. But he didn’t. He was going hunting with the King and other favoured lords, and could talk of little else. At eight o’clock, he’d set off to join the royal party.

She had looked anxiously about her as she left her room, taking care to lock the door behind her. There was no one about – or so it seemed. But as she descended the stairs, she heard a sound above her – muted, stealthy. Someone was coming down behind her. When she paused to listen, they paused too. Then there was silence. There had been a landing above her. Maybe whoever it was had turned off there, their business entirely i

The staircase spiralled down through a corner turret. At the bottom, she pushed open the heavy nailed door and forced herself to stroll past the guards and walk at a sedate pace towards the fountain.

John was waiting there, looking like a hero of legend: tall, vital, splendid and illustrious – his beloved Chaucer’s perfect gentle knight in person. And he was smiling jubilantly at her. Her heart leapt!

But as she reached the fountain, she saw the smile on John’s face give way to an expression of horror. Without warning, strong arms grabbed her brutally from behind. She screamed, and instinctively reached out to John, but she was being pulled away, and she was appalled to see a man-at-arms rush forward and pinion him, holding a dagger to his throat.

‘What in hell are you doing?’ John roared. ‘Let her go! What is the meaning of this?’

Shrieking, and in terror for them both, Kate grabbed the stone rim of the fountain, but her fingers were roughly prised away. ‘Don’t struggle, my fine lady!’ a harsh voice muttered, as she was dragged back in the direction of the stairs. She screamed and kicked, fighting against her captor, but his grip was like a vice.

‘Help me!’ she shrieked, shocked at what was happening. It wasn’t real … It couldn’t be …

‘Stop at once!’ John yelled. ‘Let her go, I said! She has done nothing to deserve this.’

A man in black, his weapon drawn, lunged forward, threatening John. ‘Yon lady is under suspicion of treason,’ he growled, ‘and if you attempt to obstruct us in our duty, you too will be placed under arrest.’

‘Don’t talk nonsense!’ John spat. ‘She came here for a lovers’ tryst.’

‘One suspected traitor meeting another, more like!’

‘No!’ Kate howled, indignation and despair overwhelming her. She saw that people had come ru

John’s eyes blazed with fury. ‘Ignorant knave! Do you know who I am? I have the King’s favour. Do you think I am such a fool as to plot against him?’ he roared.