The rebellion was a total failure, but not simply because of the rebels’ lack of organization. Richard had his support. At the first sign of trouble the Duke of Norfolk moved to defend London, and that done, destroyed the rebellion in the southeast. Humphrey Stafford of Grafton contained Buckingham by gaining control of all the bridges along the river Severn. As the long’s army moved southwest, the rebels lost heart. Buckingham, who himself had a tenuous claim on the throne through his ancestor, Edward III, was captured, brought to Richard in chains, judged guilty, and executed on November second, All Souls Day. The king’s army mopped up the last vestige of resistance and settled down for the winter.
The new year, however, brought disquieting news. While the men had fought each other upon the battlefields of England, Henry Tudor’s mother, Margaret Beaufort, who was now Lady Stanley, had been in negotiation with Elizabeth Woodville for the hand of her daughter, Elizabeth of York. On Christmas Day 1483, Henry Tudor, from his exile in Brittany, solemnly promised before God and man in the cathedral at Rennes to marry Elizabeth of York, thereby laying formal and unmistakable claim to England’s throne. It was a clever ploy, but at the time no one in either England or Europe took this betrothal seriously.
In the summer of 1484 the Breton government, for so long the Tudor refuge, agreed to allow extradition of Henry Tudor of England. Warned by his friends, Henry escaped into France, to be followed by his own adherents. He was warmly greeted by the French king, Charles VIII, who was unable to resist the opportunity to irritate France’s age-old enemy, England. For several months Tudor and his people followed the French court. Word came that little Prince Edward had died and that the queen would bear no other children.
There was further word. Richard had designated his nephew, John de la Pole, the Earl of Lincoln, his heir-presumptive. Queen Anne was ill. The dowager queen, Elizabeth Woodville, had supposedly made her peace with Richard. And the nastiest of all possible rumors—the king was casting incestuous eyes upon his niece, Elizabeth of York, intending to replace his old and fruitless queen with a young and fruitful one.
Richard was himself horrified by the rumor, particularly as he could not find its source. Neither could he quench it. Each time he believed the vile rumor had finally disappeared from whence it came, it would spring to life anew. It was frustrating and embarrassing to a king who was not only a strictly moral man, but a deeply religious one as well. Worse, it hurt the woman he so deeply loved and who could not seem to recover from her little son’s death. And it made impossible his future relationship with his nieces, which had always been a good one. But for now that seemed to be the worst of Richard’s troubles, and for a time, the threat of Henry Tudor banished, he attempted to rule his kingdom.
At Greyfaire it was the happiest summer of Arabella Grey’s young life, for she believed herself to be in love for the very first time. How could she have been so childishly blind, she asked herself over and over again, growing up with her wonderful parents and their deep love of each other as an example? But then how could she have really known what love was until she found it for herself? She sighed happily. Jasper wassovery handsome to the eye with his rich, wavy gold hair, and eyes that seemed to be the color of Spanish wine. When he looked at her with those marvelous eyes, the effect was just as intoxicating, she decided. He had good teeth too. Even and white, and his breath when he whispered to her was always sweet, always fresh.
She could not forget the queen’s warning that beauty to the eyes was not always true beauty, yet Jasper was charming and very witty. He told her his amusing tales of court life in the days of the late King Edward IV, and those tales were just a trifle bawdy, for King Edward was a naughty man, Jasper said, where the ladies were concerned; Arabella could not help but giggle at the humor Jasper imparted in his stories. Sometimes when Rowena was near enough to hear, she would scold him for telling her daughter these stories.
“She does not understand half of what you say, my lord,” Rowena would scold. “She is my innocent little country child.”
And Arabella would more often than not explode with anger at these maternal sallies, furious that her mother continued to treat her like the baby she no longer was. Lately she would remind Rowena that she was twelve and a half. That it was she, and not her mother, who was Greyfaire’s mistress. That in less than two years’ time she would be Sir Jasper’s wife, and hopefully, pray God, a mother herself soon after.
The day she had said that, her mother had gone white with her own distress, and Jasper had taken Arabella onto his lap, an arm about her slim waist. “Mignon,” he said softly, kissing her cheek lingeringly, “no one can long for that day more than I do,” and when she nestled her head against his shoulder, his other hand brushed with seeming carelessness across her young breasts, sending a shiver down her spine.
“My lord!”Rowena’s voice was tight.
“What is it, sweet Row?” His tones were dulcet.
“I do not think you should treat Arabella in that fashion,” she said.
Arabella slid her arms about Jasper Keane’s neck and, turning her head, stared boldly at her mother. “We are to be married soon,” she said coolly. “Is it not right that lovers court, Mama? Jasper is hardly a stranger to me, having been at Greyfaire this past year. Would you have me go to my marriage totally ignorant?”
“Arabella! You will not speak to me that way,” her mother cried.
“I think you are jealous of me, Mama,” the girl said heedlessly. “I think you are jealous that the king has given me such a fine man to be my husband. You are still young and pretty. Perhaps you should find yourself a new husband too.”
“Ohhhhh!” Rowena gasped with outrage.
“Ah,mignon,” Jasper Keane said quietly, “that is very wicked of you. I will not have you speaking to your mother like that.” He gently tipped her from his lap and turned her about so she faced him. “You are to go out of the keep and onto the hillside, Arabella. You will bring me back a fine switch of this thickness.” He held up a single finger.
“You would beat me?” Arabella’s young voice was filled with disillusionment.
“Until we are wed,mignon, your mother is your governor. Afterward I will assume that position,” Sir Jasper explained patiently. “If you are disobedient to your mother now, does it not follow that you will attempt that same disobedience with me?”
“I would never be disobedient to you, my lord,” Arabella whispered.
“Good,” he said with a broad smile. “Then you will seek the switch as I have ordered you,mignon, will you not?”
Her eyes filling with tears, Arabella nodded mutely, and curtsying to him, ran from the hall. Jasper Keane chuckled softly.
“Do not beat her, I beg you, my lord,” Rowena half moaned, kneeling before him and clutching his hand.
“I will not harm her, Row. Six strokes and that is all. I would just test her mettle. Now get up. You look positively tragic there at my feet.”
They sat in silence for some time, until at last Arabella returned carrying a stout hazel switch which, with downcast eyes, she brought over to him. He took it and waved it several times as if testing it, and then with a smile of satisfaction he said to her, “You will lay yourself across my lap, Arabella.”
She complied immediately, not even casting a look at Rowena, who sat weeping softly, wringing her hands, nor did she even wince when he lifted her skirts up and drew aside her undergarments so that her posteriors were bared to his gaze. She started slightly when she felt his hand smooth lingering over her skin, squeezing it slightly, and she distinctly heard a sound very much like a hum of approval. But before she might consider it, the first blow fell with a stinging pain and she shrieked, although she had not meant to and, helpless, tried to wiggle away from the hurt.
“That was one,” he said dispassionately. “There will be five more strokes,mignon, and then having kissed the rod, you will kneel to your mother and beg her pardon. Is that understood, Arabella?”
“Yes, my lord,” she said tightly, determined not to cry out again, if she died in the attempt. To her great satisfaction she did not, although she would have sworn the last two blows were the hardest of all, almost as if he were trying to make her scream. The last blow completed, Arabella squirmed off Sir Jasper’s lap to quickly kiss the outstretched hazel switch. Then turning, she knelt before her mother.
“I ask your pardon for my wayward tongue, madame,” she said coldly, and when Rowena murmured a loving reply, Arabella stood up, straightened her skirts and walked from the hall.
