“Matt,” he greeted.
Matthew flipped open his visor, his blue eyes full of bewilderment. “What goes on here? What are you doing?”
Gaston was quite composed. “I am waiting for you.”
“So here I am. Why have you not joined Richard’s forces? The battle has begun.”
Gaston glanced back to the skirmish in the distance. “I can see that,” he said. “Oxford is leading the charge. Who is heading the front line of the opposition?”
Matthew did not quite catch the meaning of “opposition”. “Norfolk and myself. You should be there also.”
“And so I am not,” Gaston turned back to Matthew, an odd gleam to his eye. “Matthew, we have serious matters to discuss.”
“Now?” Matthew took another step, ending up very close to him. “I do not understand. What we have been anticipating for years is in front of our face. Why are you lingering here on the outskirts?”
“Because my fealty is no longer with Richard.”
It took Matthew several long, painful moments to process what his friend had said. Then, he could only manage one word. “What?”
Gaston remained collected, almost casual. He turned away from Matthew and began to pace, his massive boots leaving the wet grass smashed.
“Precisely that,” he replied. “My loyalty has turned. When Thomas and William Stanley move to support Tudor’s lines, I shall go with them.”
Matthew had no idea how to react. He shook his head as if he had not heard correctly. “If this is a joke, it is a very bad one. You must get mounted immediately and come with me.”
“Matt,” Gaston said his name as a hiss, as if to get his attention. “It is not a joke. And I have very valid reasons for this. I would hope, as my friend, that you would hear them.”
Matthew just stared at him. “If this is not a joke, then I cannot believe my ears. This is insane.”
“Will you hear me?”
“Hear what?” Matthew threw out his arms beseechingly. “What is to hear? That you have betrayed your king on the cusp of battle?” When Gaston averted his gaze, looking at the ground like a stung child, Matthew could feel all of the blood rushing to his head.This cannot be,he thought. “What, in God’s name, could you possibly tell me?”
Gaston cocked his head, a sidelong glance to Matthew. “I do not have to review my record for service to Richard,” he said quietly. “It is impeccable. I was there at the death of King Edward, the father. I was there when the young princes were murdered. It was I, in fact, who carried the Duke of Gloucester’s body to his final resting place, murmuring prayers in the boy’s ear that he would forgive his uncle and forgive me. Do you not recall that?”
Gaston’s manner had gone from calm to passionate in a matter of seconds. Though they had never discussed the incident of the young princes, Edward and Richard, Matthew knew how Gaston had felt about it. It had been the ultimate act of loyalty to Richard and Matthew knew that Gaston had always hated the king for it. Murdering the father for his throne was one thing. Murdering helpless boys was quite another.
“I recall,” Matthew responded steadily.
“You were not there.”
“I was at Wellesbourne at the time, else I would have been just as guilty as you.”
Gaston nodded his head as if convinced. “With all of Richard’s petty squabbles and paranoid commands, I was there to carry them out. Never did I question, never did I refuse. I convinced myself that I was serving the last of the Plantagenet line, just as you were. We were both convinced that we were preserving a royal legacy. But I have recently been the recipient of a raw and devastating revelation, something so catastrophic that it would cause me to question my entire existence.” He moved closer to Matthew now, his dark face intense. “The murder of a king could not convince me. The murder of the sons could not convince me. But something else has.”
“What could that possibly be?”
Gaston met his gaze a moment longer before looking away. He turned back in the direction of the battle, now gaining in intensity. “Do you recollect that I mentioned my wife keeping a lover in London?”
Matthew’s mind was brittle; he had not the patience or energy to follow opposing trains of thought. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Do you recall?”
“I do.”
Gaston turned to him, then, his face a mask of barely contained emotion. “It was Richard.”
Matthew did not react at first. Then, his eyebrows lifted as if to stretch out his entire face. “The king?”
