The Murders of Richard III - Elizabeth Peters [4]
“He did not!” Thomas shouted.
Heads turned. A waiter dropped a fork.
Thomas subsided, flushing.
“Damn it, Jacqueline, that is the most fascinating, frustrating unsolved murder in history. There is no evidence. Do you know that? Absolutely no proof whatsoever that Richard had those kids killed. Only rumor and slander on one side—”
“And on the other?”
“Richard’s character. The otherwise inexplicable behavior of other people who were involved. Simple common sense.”
“I wouldn’t say his character was exactly—”
“I mean his real character, not the one the Tudor historians invented. Everything that is known about Richard’s actions supports the picture of a man of rare integrity, kindness, and courage. At the age of eighteen he commanded armies, and led them well. He administered the northern provinces for his brother the king, and won lasting loyalty for the house of York by his scrupulous fairness and concern for the rights of the ordinary citizen against rapacious nobles. He supported the arts. He was deeply religious. As for his personal life—oh, he sired a few bastards, everybody did in those days, but after he was married, to a girl he had known since they were children together, he remained faithful to her while she lived and mourned her sincerely when she died. The death of his little son threw him into a frenzy of grief. In a time of turn-coating and treachery, he never once failed in his loyalty to his brother, Edward the Fourth. There was a third brother, the Duke of Clarence, who tried to push his own claim to the throne and even took up arms against Edward. Richard persuaded Clarence to come back into the fold, and when Edward finally got exasperated with Clarence’s plotting and ordered his execution, Richard was the only one who spoke up for Clarence.”
“That ain’t the way I heard it,” said Jacqueline, eating the last sandwich.
“No, you heard the Tudor legend—the myth of the monster. By the time Sir Thomas More wrote his biography of Richard, in the reign of Henry the Eighth, Richard was being accused of everything but barratry and arson. According to More, Richard murdered Henry the Sixth and Henry’s son; his own wife; and his brother, the Duke of Clarence. He had his nephews smothered, usurped the throne, and decapitated a group of noblemen who objected to his activities.
“Modern historians admit that Richard was innocent of most of these charges. He did execute a few nobles, including some of the queen’s Woodville relatives. He said they had plotted against his life, and there is no reason to doubt that they had. When Richard killed people he did it in broad daylight, with plenty of witnesses, and made no bones about it. But the little princes just…disappeared.”
“Very interesting. But what does all this have to do with the mysterious house party? You’ve been very cryptic about it, and I don’t see—”
“I’ll get to that. Stop looking wistfully at the waiter; I’m not going to order any more food, you’ve had enough for two people already. Pay attention. I’m not just trying to improve your knowledge of English history; all this has bearing on a very contemporary problem.
“We return, then, to the time right after Edward the Fourth died. Richard was in the north when it happened, at his favorite castle of Middleham. The new young king had his own household in Wales. At the news of his father’s death he started for London, with his Woodville uncles—the queen had made sure her brothers had control of the heir to the throne—and an escort of two thousand men. Richard, on his way south for the funeral, had only six hundred. He obviously didn’t anticipate trouble.
“But somewhere along the way, he got word that the Woodvilles were planning to seize power and cut him out of the job of Protector. They may have planned to kill him. They virtually had to; he had the popular support and the legal rights they lacked, and he was not the sort of man to turn