By Loyalty Bound: The Story of the Mistress of King Richard III (10 page)

“And what are your thoughts?” ventured Robert.

“To marry for wealth rather than love,” he replied, and having set his cup down he said that he was tired and would go to his bedchamber. When Robert rose to accompany him the duke told him to remain, that he had no need of his services that night. And as Robert watched him walk away he thought that he had touched a raw wound and wondered just what feelings the Duke of Gloucester had for his niece.

For Anne, each day seemed interminable in its tedium and she could not recall the last time she had been free from the prying eyes of one servant or another.

Now that the worst of the winter was over she was at least allowed to take some exercise in the garden with some of the other women and although the spring weather remained cold, and often snowy, the lengthening of the days had provoked the birds into prospecting for nest sites. Watching them in the treetops and listening to the cawing of the rooks, Anne reflected that almost a full year had passed since she had spent those days with Richard at Hornby Castle. For both of them so much had changed.

Hearing the sound of hooves in the distance, she hurried up the slight incline towards the house to see if it was a messenger approaching. Was there news from Hornby, she wondered. Lord Stanley was there, still trying to wrest it from her uncle, though the last she had heard was that Uncle James was still resolutely clinging to the castle despite the Stanley assault.

The messenger must have ridden hard from the north, she thought, as she watched him leap from his lathered horse and, after flinging the reins at a boy, run to beg admission to the house. Anne hurried after him and found Lady Stanley peering at a letter.

“This is bad news,” she said as Anne came in, breathless.

“Bad news?”

“My husband writes to me of trouble,” said Lady Stanley, her mouth forming a thin line as she looked up and met Anne’s eyes.

“Hornby?” asked Anne.

“No, not Hornby. The Yorkists have landed in Yorkshire. Edward Plantagenet has ridden into York and laid claim to his rights as the duke.” She shook her head. “This could be dangerous,” she said.

Was Richard with him, wondered Anne. Was he back in England? Could she sense his presence and feel him coming nearer to her with every passing moment? A shaft of sunlight broke through the heavy cloud and pierced the glass of the window.

The next evening Lord Stanley arrived with a small party of men. The gathering gloom was reflected in his dismal face as he stood to warm his hands before the fire, still dressed in his mud spattered boots and coat.

“This is not good,” he muttered to his wife. “It is not good at all. They are raising support across the country and men are gathering again under Edward’s banner.”

“But people know that Henry is their rightful king,” said Lady Stanley, handing wine and refreshments to her husband.

“The people have seen and heard nothing of Henry,” said Lord Stanley.

“Many have already realised that your brother is the real ruler. And I have heard rumours that there are plenty who would like to see Edward restored to the throne. Even my own brother has ridden to support him.”

“Surely not?” exclaimed Lady Stanley and Anne glanced up from the bench beneath the window where she was sitting with her needlework. She wondered how much Sir William’s betrayal of the Lancastrian cause was to do with his simmering anger at his brother over her marriage, and how much to do with his judgement of who would eventually prevail.

“I sent spies to York to discover what is happening. Edward is moving south. He has raised support at Wakefield and now marches towards Nottingham where Harrington has pledged to meet him with six hundred men. I need to gather an army.”

“Then there will be more fighting?”

“Almost without a doubt, my lady, almost without a doubt.” He turned from the fire, his cheeks pinkened from the blaze. “Be thankful your husband is too young to fight,” he said to Anne. “I would not like to see you widowed before you have provided him with a son.”

The next day he was gone again, leaving an air of disquiet lingering around the house. Even Lady Stanley could not sit still, but watched constantly for messengers. Anne waited too. The days grew longer and warmer as Lent passed with its frugal, meatless meals and incessant prayers in the priory church. Lady Stanley, she knew, prayed for victory for her brother, Warwick, and the Lancastrians. But Anne’s prayers were for the Yorkist army.

“God keep him safe,” said Lady Stanley as she made the sign of the cross.

“Amen,” replied Anne, thinking of Richard.

James Harrington looked at the long line of men that stretched into the distance with warhorses, palfreys, baggage carts and pack animals. He had pledged six hundred men to the king and had not been disappointed by the response to his call. Every armed and able-bodied man from miles around had gathered under the Harrington knot. Stanley had withdrawn, taking his damnable cannon with him, and surely with the backing from Burgundy it would only be a matter of time before Edward was back in control of his country. And surely, this time, he would reward the Harrington’s loyalty by giving him the legal possession of Hornby Castle. He gave a smile of reassurance to Joan who was seated in a litter with the children and their nurse. This latest siege had been hard on her and, as she was terrified of being left alone again, she was to travel with them as far as his lands at Brierley, in Yorkshire, where she would at least be safe from the Stanleys. He knew that she still held herself responsible for the loss of his nieces, but once his initial anger had faded he had admitted that neither she nor his steward had been to blame. The fault had been that of his younger niece and his only regret was that he had not beaten her soundly on the first occasion she had been discovered outside the castle walls. His reluctance to do so as she had cried and begged his forgiveness had been their undoing.

Coming out from the Duke of Gloucester’s tent at their temporary camp near the town of Nottingham, Robert saw the black and white Harrington banner planted firmly in the ground in the midst of tents that had appeared like overnight mushrooms. He went across, slipping on the churned mud, to seek his brother. He was relieved that James and his men had arrived safely. During their own march down from York, Warwick’s brother Montagu and his army had watched them from a distance, though he had not offered any challenge when he saw their numbers.

When he saw him approaching James hurried to meet him, clasped his arm, and then hugged him in a brief and uncharacteristic show of affection.

“Hornby?” asked Robert.

“Still in our possession and God willing it will remain so,” James reassured him. “Although I cannot say the same for our nieces.” He gestured Robert to a folding stool by his campfire and told him what had happened.

“Lord Stanley may have turned his coat but Sir William has declared for the king,” Robert told his brother. “He was one of the first to join us with a force of men in Yorkshire.”

“Then it would not surprise me to see Lord Stanley change his loyalty yet again. He runs with both the hares and the hounds,” said James, contemptuously.

At Leicester Sir William Norris joined them with three thousand men raised from the estates of Lord Hastings. Then the king’s forces marched on Coventry and the Earl of Warwick swiftly retreated inside the city walls. Despite a challenge he refused to come out and fight and Edward impatiently ordered them to by-pass the city and ride on to Warwick where he proclaimed himself king.

It was there that a herald came, wearing familiar murrey and blue livery, but with a bull badge sewn onto his tunic.

“From our brother George, the Duke of Clarence,” said Richard as he watched the man being escorted towards him.

“My lord,” said the messenger, going down on one knee. “I bring greetings from your brother. He craves to be reconciled.”

Robert watched as Richard kept the man waiting for a reply, his face betraying no emotion. At last he gave a brief nod. “Take him to the king,” he said to Robert.

After hearing what the messenger had to say both Edward and Richard gave orders for their men to ride out in battle array. “If this is some trick of Warwick’s we will not be lured into his trap,” remarked the duke. “And if my brother Clarence has truly seen his error then let our overwhelming force be a reminder to him that he has made a goodly choice.”

They were about three miles beyond Warwick, heading towards Banbury, when an opposing army was sighted in the distance. Riding at the side of the Duke of Gloucester, Robert Harrington stood in his stirrups and watched. Clarence’s forces had also come prepared for battle and there was an unease filling the air like the heaviness that precedes a thunderstorm.

As they watched, a figure on a bay destrier accompanied by three other men on horseback broke from the ranks on the far side of the field and came forward. They reined in midway between the two forces and the king signalled to Richard to accompany him.

“Wait here,” said the duke to Robert as he gathered the reins and touched his spurs to his horse’s flanks. “But at the first sign of trouble come quickly.”

Robert nodded and watched as the two men rode forward to meet with their brother. The gathered army fell silent as if holding its collective breath. Robert could hear the voices carried on the breeze, but was unable to make out the words. His horse shifted beneath him, sensing his disquiet, and he reached forward to stroke its neck to calm both himself and the animal.

The Duke of Clarence dismounted and knelt before the king. The king also got down and raised up his brother and embraced him and kissed him. The Duke of Gloucester likewise greeted his brother, though Robert thought that his kiss was made with more reluctance.

Anne woke early on the morning of Easter Sunday and after dressing and making her own private prayers she walked with Lady Stanley to mass in the priory chapel. The mist played games through the trees, coming and going and making it difficult to see and Anne was surprised when the high stone walls of Burscough suddenly loomed in front of them.

As the priest recited the prayers Anne thought about Jesus being raised from the dead after his banishment into hell for three days. Was it a blasphemy, she wondered, to hope that Edward, the rightful king, would likewise be restored to his throne. She bowed her head and concentrated harder on her devotions, a little ashamed that her thoughts were not on the wonder of the everlasting God, but more fleshly concerns, as she came before the priest to receive the host.

As they walked back to Lathom House, hungry for a breakfast of fresh eggs and bread and butter, the sun began to burn off the mist from the lowland hollows. It warmed them as they made their way along the damp grassy path, holding up their skirts to prevent them becoming wet. And by nightfall Anne had discovered that the mist had favoured the Yorkists.

Standing in the hall, steaming and swathed in an aroma of sweating horse, the messenger from Lord Stanley described how Edward Plantagenet had met with the Earl of Warwick in battle at Barnet. The mist had been thick and some of Warwick’s men had mistaken the stars and streamers of the Earl of Oxford’s banners for the suns of the king’s livery and had fought against their own side. When he saw that they would be defeated Warwick’s brother Montagu had switched allegiance and, seeing that he could not prevail, the Earl of Warwick had fled into nearby woods. One of Edward’s men had seen him and a force had been dispatched to pursue and kill him.

Lady Stanley wept for her dead brother and bade Anne accompany her to the priory to light candles for his soul. In the church Anne gave thanks to God that it was her own prayers that had been heard. Richard was safe. It had been a good Easter Day. The sun of York had risen again.

“Do not be too sure of this Yorkist victory!” spat Lady Stanley at Anne, through her tears. “I cannot believe that those who are my own cousins have murdered my brother! There will be retribution!”

Anne expected Lord Stanley to come home, to admit his defeat and to keep from the sight of the king. She thought that he would give up his futile attempts to take Hornby Castle and one night she dreamed that Richard rode to Lathom House on his grey stallion to rescue her. But the weeks passed and the spring blossom frothed onto the branches of the apple trees in the orchard and still no one came. There were just rumours and mutterings that Anne heard in snatches through open doors and windows as she wandered about the house, restless and lonely. Lady Stanley had withdrawn into herself since the death of her brother. She seemed unsure and afraid of what would happen to her now. Even the news, which had been sent secretly, that a force led by Margaret of Anjou had arrived in Weymouth and, joined by those Lancastrians who had escaped at Barnet, was marching towards Wales to gather the support of Jasper Tudor, was not enough to dry her constant tears.

From Lord Stanley there was no word until the first week in May when a messenger came with news of another battle at Tewkesbury, where King Edward had finally cornered and defeated the remaining Lancastrians.

“We are summoned to London,” Lady Stanley told Anne, tearfully. “Though I dread what is to become of us. King Henry is dead and so is the Prince of Wales and I fear for my husband,” she said.

Yet the news broke into Anne’s world like sudden sunshine after a fierce storm. Not even the thought of the debilitating travel sickness or the strange beds and the greasy food at inns along the way could spoil her eagerness to arrive back in the crowded, noisy, smelly city.

At last they drew into the courtyard of the Stanley’s town house and Anne got down with relief, taking deep breaths of air – although she barely noticed how foul it was as she caught sight of her sister waiting to greet her.

“Izzie! I did not know you would be here!” she cried as she hugged her and kissed both her cheeks.

“I have been here more than three days waiting for you. We thought you would surely catch us up along the road, but you have travelled so slowly.”