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'You are gracious.'

'Jane.' She saw the hope leap into his eyes. It had been easier than she had thought.

They supped together. He talked soberly of the death of the King. 'A sad blow to us both, Jane,' he said. 'Nothing will ever be the same for either of us again. You miss him sorely do you not?'

'Most sorely,' she confirmed.

'He was a great man ... a great King. He possessed all the qualities of kingship. That he should go like that ... so suddenly. . . .'

'He lived too heartily,' said Jane. 'I often told him.'

'He could not help it. He was made like that. Do you know, Jane, I am twelve years older than he was. Think of it, I have had twelve more years of life.'

'My lord, I hope you have twelve more left to you.'

'Now that you are gracious to me, I could wish it,' he said.

That night she became his mistress.

It was easier than she had thought. He was kindly, tender and he loved her. That was obvious. He told her during that first night together how bitterly he had regretted that first approach. He had always felt that if he had tried to woo her as she deserved to be wooed, perhaps he might have been successful before Edward found her.

'I have a feeling, Jane, that you w^ould be faithful to the one you loved.'

'I always was to Edward.'

'I know it well. He knew it. He loved you for it and although he could not repay you in the same vein he often said what joy you had brought to his life. What of Dorset, Jane?'

She shivered. 'He is in hiding. I do not want to see him again.'

'Dorset is not a good man, Jane.'

'I know it well. I am glad to be free of him.

Hastings seemed well satisfied with that.

DEATH ON TOWER GREEN

So Jane Shore was now Hastings' mistress. It was a matter which was talked of throughout the town. Jane was popular with the citizens; so was Hastings.

Gloucester listened with distaste. He had always deplored Edward's way of life and had on more than one occasion told his brother that it was no way for a King to live. Edward had laughed at him, had called him a monk, and said he could not expect everyone to be like himself. Hastings had been such another; it was something Gloucester had always held against him. He had reason to be grateful to Hastings for he had kept him informed of what was happening in London and in fact had been the first to tell him of Edward's death. But now that Buckingham had joined him and had shown himself to be so single-mindedly his man he was moving away from Hastings.

His brother's chief advisers had been Lord Hastings; Thomas Rotherham, Archbishop of York and Lord Chancellor; John Morton, Bishop of Ely; and Lord Stanley. Rotherham had shown himself up as a weakling by handing the Great Seal back to Elizabeth when she was packing her treasures to go into Sanctuary. He was not the kind of man Gloucester wanted about him. Morton was a good man but he had been a staunch Lancastrian and had only become Edward's minister when it was certain that there was no hope of Henry's being restored to the throne. It was a matter of expediency and Gloucester did not like such men. Stanley had not a very good reputation for loyalty and had previously shown himself ready to jump whichever way was best for Stanley; there was one other reason why Gloucester would not trust him too far. He had recently married Margaret Beaufort, that very strong-minded woman, who was descended from John

of Gaunt and was also the mother of Henry Tudor. That upstart of very questionable parentage had of late begun to hint that he had a claim to the throne as grandson of Queen Katherine the widow of Henry the Fifth through a liaison—though the Tudors called it marriage—with Owen Tudor. Royalty on both sides, said Tudor, counting Katherine of France as his grandmother and John of Gaunt through his mother.

These had been Edward's men. It sometimes happened that when there was a change of rule there had to be a clean sweep. He wanted none of them—except perhaps Hastings. Buckingham was at his right hand. Buckingham was royal and the second peer in the land after himself. Then on a humbler scale there were Richard Ratcliffe, Francis Lovell, William Catesby . . . men who were his tried friends and had been over the years.

He was going to need staunch and trusted friends. The position was dangerous. If he were defeated by the Woodvilles they would have no compunction in destroying him. He was fighting not only for what he believed to be right but for his life.

It would be good to see Anne who was coming south for the coronation which was fixed for the twenty-fourth of June.

He met her on the outskirts of London and as soon as he saw her he was appalled by her frail looks. She always looked more delicate than ever after an absence. He had hoped that she would have their son with her although he had known that the little boy's health might have prevented his travelling.

Anne smiled as he took her hand; there was sadness in that smile for she noticed how he looked eagerly for their son and the disappointment on his face when he realized he was not with her.

'Welcome to London, my dear,' he said.

T could not bring Edward,' she told him. 'I dared not. His cough has worsened and I thought the journey would be too much for him.'

He nodded. 'He will grow out of the weakness,' he said with an attempt at assurance, but he added: 'Praise God.'

'Oh yes. He was better in the spring.' She smiled and tried to look excited but all she could really feel was exhaustion. Being with Richard lately had always been something of an ordeal because she must continually pretend that her health was improving—and as that was far from the case it was not easy.

As they rode side by side into the City, he told her that the King was in the Palace of the Tower and that the coronation would be

on the twenty-fourth of June. It was now the fifth so there was not much time.

There was a great deal to tell Anne but he did not want to overwhelm her with the detail of events nor did he wish to alarm her. He could see that she was uneasy when she heard that the Queen was in Sanctuary.

He took her to Crosby Place, his residence in London, and as soon as she arrived he insisted that she rest. He sat beside her bed and talked to her, explaining how the Woodvilles had tried to get control of the King, that their ambitions had to be curbed and it was for this reason that he had had to imprison Lord Rivers and Lord Richard Grey. The King was not very pleased about this.

'You see, Anne, they have brought him up to be a Woodville. My brother was too easy-going. He allowed the Queen to surround him with her relations. They have taught him that they are wonderful, wise and good.'

'Does it mean that he turns from you?'

Richard nodded ruefully. 'But I shall change that. He will learn in time.'

'I do wish there need not be this conflict,' said Anne, 'and I wish that you could come back to Middleham.'

'It will be some time before I do, I doubt not. My brother left this task to me and I must fulfil it.'

Then he talked of Middleham to soothe her and he asked about their son's progress with his lessons, for he was clever and his academic achievements made a happier subject than his health.

Anne slept at last and as Richard was leaving her chamber one of his attendants came to tell him that Robert Stillington, the Bishop of Bath and Wells was below and urgently seeking a word with him.

Richard immediately commanded that the Bishop be brought to him. He bade him be seated and to tell him the nature of this important news.

Stillington folded his hands and looked thoughtful. After arriving with a certain amount of urgency he seemed reluctant to explain the cause of his visit.

Richard knew that he was one of those ambitious men who sought advancement through the Church. There were plenty of them about. He had been a staunch Yorkist and in 1467 had become Lord Chancellor, an office of which he had been deprived on the restoration of the House of Lancaster; but it was given back