The Murders of Richard III - Elizabeth Peters [21]
Thomas was sulking, although he would not have chosen that word. Rohan and Kent, the most aggressive males in the group, had grabbed the chairs next to Jacqueline. Weldon had disposed of the two older women with the skill a hunted man develops. Mrs. Ponsonby-Jones sat triumphantly at the foot of the table as hostess, but Lady Isobel had won the seat at her host’s right. Thomas was stuck between Mrs. Ponsonby-Jones and Liz, and was getting no attention from either. Liz was preempted by Frank, on her other side, and Mrs. Ponsonby-Jones was preoccupied with her son. Percy was directly across from Thomas, and the latter watched Percy eat with fascinated disgust. Eat was hardly the word—the wretched boy swallowed food like a python, and his besotted mother kept urging him to eat more. Thomas averted his eyes and let fragments of conversation drift through his ears into his brain. The discussion, as might have been expected, was predominantly Ricardian.
“…Richard blamed the Woodvilles for Clarence’s death. They had a pressing motive for wanting him out of the way if, as seems probable, he knew about the precontract.”
“…try to eat another teeny bit of beef, darling. Agrowing boy must keep up his strength.”
“…wore German armor. It was the best available.”
“…might have won if Northumberland had not remained aloof from the battle. Richard ought to have known he was treacherous…”
“Why? He had loaded the rascal with favors.”
The rector’s voice rose over those of the other speakers. He and the American visitor were refighting the Battle of Bosworth, and Thomas smiled to himself as he saw others turn toward the debaters. He was reminded of Southern friends talking about a more recent war. “If Stonewall Jackson hadn’t been killed…If England had come in on our side…” The lost causes, the romantic failures…the flight to Varennes, the Forty-Five. Bonnie Dundee and the Lost Dauphin. “If only…” Futile speculations, impractical and thoroughly irresistible.
The American answered.
“Richard’s popularity in the North threatened Northumberland’s position in that region. If Henry Tudor won, Northumberland could expect to be supreme—”
“He didn’t have to risk supporting the wrong side,” Kent interrupted. “All he had to do was sit tight and refuse to move. Shrewd—very shrewd.”
“Despicable, you mean,” squeaked Lady Isobel.
“Ah, the gentle illogic of women,” Kent said, with a vicious smile. “I regret Richard’s betrayal as much as you, dear lady, but I must admit he did not act with his usual good sense. If he had anticipated the treachery of the Stanleys—”
A chorus of voices drowned him out.
“Yes, the Stanleys were the decisive factor.”
“…incredibly naive of Richard. Stanley was the husband of Henry Tudor’s mother.”
“What do you mean, naive? Richard had Stanley’s own son as hostage…”
“Stanley knew Richard wouldn’t kill the boy. He was too damned soft-headed.”
“Too sensitive and kind! No, poor dear Richard’s greatest error was in attacking Henry Tudor personally. He ought to have remained safely in the rear!”
“Balderdash. That was a brilliant move, and it came damned close to winning the day. Richard was a bonny fighter and Henry was a coward. Five more minutes and Richard would have smashed the rascal’s skull—”
“Five minutes? Two minutes! Richard struck down the biggest brutes in Henry’s bodyguard….”
Thomas was shaken by a vertiginous shock of confusion. Had it happened five hundred years ago, or only yesterday? Turning, he met the eyes of the girl beside him and saw his own incredulity mirrored in her face.
“We’re all mad,” she muttered.
“It’s a harmless madness,” Thomas answered slowly. “And you at least seem impervious….”
Liz shook her head. Her fine brown hair shifted silkily.
“I’m as bad as they are. ‘King Richard, alone, was killed fighting manfully in the thickest press of his enemies….’ It was his enemies who said that about him; even though they hated him and