A Dangerous Inheritance

She spent long hours on her knees in the chapel, praying to a God who seemed cruel and vengeful rather than kind and loving. One day, she knelt sobbing for an hour and more. Suddenly, there was someone there beside her. A hand came to rest on her heaving shoulder. It was John.

‘I am so very sorry,’ he said quietly. It was more than a conventional expression of grief, she knew. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘Oh John,’ she wept, and fell into his ready arms. He held her while the torrent of weeping passed. ‘I have cried so much these past weeks that it is a wonder I have any tears left to flow. He was their only child.’ And you are my only love, and I have lost you too.

‘He was your father’s heir too, the assurance of his dynasty. And your stepmother is not a strong woman. Maybe she will bear another child, with God’s grace, yet I fear she may not.’

‘She loved Edward so much,’ Kate wept. John was still holding her, as tightly as if he could never let her go. Sad as she was, she was savouring this moment of closeness, knowing that it might have to last her for a long time.

‘When are you to be married?’ he asked, his voice hoarse.

‘By Michaelmas. The date has not been set yet. I hope it never will be!’

‘Would to God you could escape it,’ he breathed, crushing her to him. ‘But there is small hope of that. With the contract signed, and Huntingdon fattened with lands and offices, with more to come, I hear, the King will not renege on his word.’

‘I ca

‘If it is in my power, I will do it, you may be assured of that, my love.’ He looked at her uncertainly. ‘What is it?’

‘My heart, soon I must go to my marriage bed. I dread the thought. But I could bear it if I went to it knowing what true love really is.’ A faint blush tinged her pale cheeks. She knew she was taking a perilous risk that might rebound on her in various ways; and she feared that John might think her wanton. But that hardly mattered now.

‘You are asking me to take your maidenhead? To steal it from your husband?’ John’s face was a battlefield of warring emotions.

‘Yes. At least we would have that, a memory we could treasure all our lives.’

‘And if you should be with child as a result?’

‘In law, it would be my husband’s, if we lie together at the right time. He would never know. We are cousins, so any likeness could be explained.’

The aristocratic dynast in John was plainly at loggerheads with the lover. ‘But sweetheart, much as I want you, a man should be able to count on his heir as his own, not a cuckoo in the nest.’

‘Do you think I care about that? Huntingdon means nothing to me! And what better heir than the offspring of royal blood, yours and mine? He will never know, John. But if you have such qualms, then I am sorry I asked.’

He hesitated. For a moment she thought he would weigh the dangers more heavily than the joys, as he had before. Then his arms tightened around her again. ‘How could I refuse you?’ he whispered, and sought her lips.

Emerging from the seclusion of their mourning, the King and Queen were tragic spectres of their former selves. Richard’s face was hard-set and careworn, A

‘Now we have fully seen how vain are the thoughts of a man who desires to establish his interests without the aid of God,’ the Bishop was saying, his voice low but loud enough to carry. ‘Some are saying this is a judgement on him – an eye for an eye, so to speak.’ His words made Kate’s blood turn to ice.

‘Without an heir, his position is even less secure,’ Stanley muttered. ‘I’ll wager this will drive many into the arms of my stepson.’

She could not bear to hear more. It was cruel, vile, that this tragedy of the Prince’s death should be interpreted this way – and it was disloyal. What hope was there for her father when even his Chancellor was faithless?

Calumny was not confined to the court. As Kate and Mattie wandered through the market in Nottingham one morning, they heard people openly giving their opinion that, in taking to Himself the usurper’s son, God had heeded the cries of the anguished Queen Elizabeth; others were shamelessly asserting that the Princes had been rid out of this world, and a particularly vociferous few brazenly claimed that it was the King who had had those i

‘Murdered between two feather beds!’ said a stout stallholder, shaking his head sagely. ‘And it was Sir James Tyrell that was sent to do it!’

That was news to Kate. She vaguely knew Sir James Tyrell; he had been in her father’s service for some years, and she had seen him about the court occasionally. Why people should think he had murdered the Princes was a mystery to her, and sounded far-fetched. What pressed on her more heavily was a growing awareness that the King had lost the hearts of his subjects – if he had ever won them in the first place. She was even conscious of a growing hostility towards him at court, where some had reacted with only muted sympathy to the loss of his heir.

‘I’d rather have the French to rule us than be under that hog’s subjection!’ a butcher in a filthy apron opined. The crowd laughed.

‘Forget the white boar – it should be the bloody boar!’ someone cackled.

‘Richard won’t last long,’ a merchant in a furred gown declared. ‘From what I hear, he can only keep people loyal by intimidation or bribing them with gifts.’ Kate winced at that.

‘He must know that people murmur and grudge against him,’ said an i

‘He has the remedy in his own hands,’ the merchant declared. ‘All he has to do is produce the Princes alive. That would still the rumours and confound his enemies.’

‘But can he do that?’ the stallholder asked. ‘I don’t think so!’ Heads began shaking, and there were boos and catcalls of derision. Kate tried to shut her ears.

At last Mattie came back with her purchases.

‘We must go,’ Kate muttered, and steered her away.

‘John, what do you know of Sir James Tyrell?’ she asked suddenly, late that night in the chapel. It was past midnight and most souls were abed. She had made her way by stealth through the silent castle and flung herself into John’s embrace as soon as the chapel door was closed behind her. Now they were sitting in the choir stalls.

‘He’s one of your father’s retainers, from the north,’ John replied, stroking her hair. ‘He serves now as a Knight of the Body, guarding the King at night, and performs many labours for him. Why do you ask?’

Kate told him what people had been saying in Nottingham. He frowned.

‘They are ignorant fools and know nothing.’

‘But why should they mention Tyrell?’

‘I have no idea. Those peasants will seize on any gossip and make much of it. I’ll wager Sir James would be mortified if he knew. Just forget it, my love. We have better things to do than discuss Tyrell.’ He nuzzled her ear and drew her to him. ‘When will you be mine? I am aching for you.’

‘When I am to be married. It is the only safe time, if I am not to risk the shame of having a high belly before the wedding. Dear heart, I long for it, even though I dread what must follow.’

Lying in bed later that night, hugging to herself fond thoughts of her stolen hour with Lincoln, Kate recalled what he had said about Tyrell, and wondered if Mattie knew of the man. She was a veritable fount of knowledge concerning what went on in the court.

‘Mattie, are you asleep?’ she whispered loudly.

‘Nay,’ came back a cheerful voice from the pallet bed on the floor. ‘I can’t stop thinking about Guy.’ Guy Freeman was one of the grooms, a big, easy-going, handsome lad, and he was always flirting with Mattie.