A Dangerous Inheritance

Later, More says, the number of the Princes’ attendants was increased to four; one was Miles Forrest, ‘a fellow fleshed in murder’, which sounds chillingly ominous, and as I read on, my flesh crawls even more. Immediately after learning about the conspiracies to free the Princes, More says, King Richard devised to fulfil the thing he had long intended. For he believed that, his nephews living, men would not allow him the right to the realm. He decided therefore to be rid of them without delay.

I read how he summoned a man he trusted named John Green, and sent him to Robert Brackenbury, the Constable of the Tower, with a letter commanding Brackenbury to put the Princes to death. But Brackenbury refused to commit such a dreadful deed, even though he should die for refusing.

The King, thinking his command was being carried out, now revealed to Buckingham that he had ordered the killing of the Princes; and it was this that caused Buckingham to desert Richard. Buckingham then went home to Brecon and considered how best to remove this u

More’s account is compulsive reading, and I ca

With Tyrell, More continues, rode a strong knave called John Dighton. When they got to the Tower, Tyrell, in the King’s name, commanded Brackenbury to give up the keys for one night, the night he had appointed for the murder. I shiver again, for the scene of that dreadful deed is only yards away from this very room. I have no difficulty now in believing that those voices I have heard in the night are the shades of the Princes, crying out to be rescued.

I can hardly bear to read on, but I must. Near to weeping, I learn that Tyrell removed Slaughter and the other attendants, then ordered Dighton and Forrest to kill the Princes. At midnight, he positioned himself outside the door to the chamber where those poor boys lay sleeping, and waited there while his henchmen entered the room by stealth and pressed the feather pillows hard over the faces of the two i

Instinctively, I lean over and look upon my son sleeping peacefully in his cradle, and marvel that anyone could be so cruel to a defenceless child. I ca

My eyes swim over the part where Tyrell makes the murderers bury the bodies in secret. It is very late when I lay down the book, long past midnight, and I feel wrung out, but slumber eludes me. I ca

But was it the truth? If More knew all this, how come others did not? I try to convince myself that he had it all wrong, or was writing purely to illustrate a moral lesson, but the compelling detail in his account – and the man’s patent integrity – argues otherwise.

I am willing myself to sleep when something comes to me. Tyrell … I knew I had seen that name somewhere. And Brackenbury too, in the same place. I have it now. It must be more than coincidence.

Kate

November 1485. Westminster Palace.

Kate did not know how long she sat on her bed, dreading the confrontation that must take place when William returned from hunting. She was almost too frightened to move, but stayed there hunched over, her heart pounding, her head swimming and her skin clammy and cold. Sick and faint, she could do no more than wring her hands and weep.

After a while she began to feel cramping pains in her stomach. Soon they were like dagger thrusts, and she was hugging herself and gasping with pain. Little Gwenllian was beside herself, knowing she must run for help, yet not daring to leave her mistress alone in such a state.

Then Kate felt a flood of warmth, and saw, to her horror, that bright red blood was seeping through her skirts onto the counterpane.

‘My babe!’ she cried, keening as the cramps grew fiercer. ‘Oh help me, I think I am losing my baby!’

‘What should I do?’ begged Gwenllian, wide-eyed with helplessness.

‘Fetch a guard, anyone! Please! Help me!’

The maid knocked timidly on the door. It opened, but to her dismay she found two halberdiers standing outside.

‘Council’s orders,’ said one, seeing her face. ‘What’s all the fuss about?’

‘My mistress’s child is coming too early,’ Gwenllian squealed. ‘We need help.’

The man scratched his chin. ‘Best go find a physician,’ he said to his companion.

The other man looked doubtful. ‘We were told to stay at our post,’ he protested.

‘But my lady is ill and in pain – she’s bleeding!’ Gwenllian wailed, as Kate began screaming behind her.

‘Thank goodness I am here then,’ said a mellow voice, and Gwenllian exhaled with huge relief to see the welcome figure of Kat Haute – and burst into tears.

‘I am come to see your mistress, as I promised,’ Kat said. ‘May I enter? What is going on?’

‘Who are you?’ the first guard asked.

‘Her mother,’ Kat said firmly.

‘Very well, go in. But she is not allowed to leave her room.’

‘As if she could!’ Gwenllian wept. ‘She is losing her baby!’

Kat looked appalled. ‘What has she done to merit being shut up?’ she asked.

‘I’m not allowed to say, mistress.’

‘Very well.’ Her face was tense. ‘There are more urgent considerations right now. Please let me pass.’

‘Shouldn’t one of us go in with her?’ the second guard wondered.

‘No, this is women’s business!’ Kat said firmly. ‘It would not be seemly.’

‘All right, mistress,’ the first guard agreed. ‘But mind – no seditious talk.’

‘I have no idea what you mean,’ she said haughtily, masking her dismay. She wondered anxiously if the authorities had learned of the enquiries Kate had been making about the Princes. The girl had said she thought someone had been stalking her. Please God, let them not find out about her own meeting with Queen Elizabeth and Lord Dorset this morning! That had turned up some very interesting information, which she had come to impart to her daughter. But for now, of course, it would be better to say nothing.

With these thoughts whirling through her head, she hurried into the room. And there she saw Kate, writhing on her bed in a great pool of blood, and knew for a tragic certainty that this grandchild of Richard’s, her lost lover, would never draw breath.

Later, when William returned, his face set grimly, it was all over and Kate lay sleeping, white and drained. Kat was sitting by the bed, watching over her.