The Last Plantagenet: A Story Connected with the Princes in the Tower

By Toni Richards

REGICIDE! - The Ultimate TREASON! CIVIL WAR! - the most vicious of conflicts. Matthew, an innocent, young scribe and general helper at the Priory of St John, on the outskirts of York, is taken to a tavern to act as recorder for a dying old man, incarcerated in the top room for more than twenty five years. He is also required to be a nurse and servant for this old man. In return, he is told a story, relating to the life of the last Plantagenet king, Richard the Third, in which those events occurred, including one of the greatest mysteries of that age. The true fate of THE PRINCES IN THE TOWER!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AUK Authors
• Release date: Jul 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781783338504

Book preview

1988.

Prologue

The storm that had been threatening, and had had turned day into night, struck just after midnight; its full force by one.

Lightning flashed, showing the rain pouring down, as if someone in the sky above was emptying a bucket. Within minutes, the streets of London were awash. Any person, unfortunate to be out in that weather, would be completely soaked in seconds.

Such was the situation on the river. A boat, with five men on board, was moving rapidly downstream. There was little work needed by the four oarsmen, for the tide was ebbing, water from the rain adding to the speed of the flow. The man at the tiller sat immobile, his right hand gripping the handle tightly, as if his life depended on it.

This was not the case. His life, and the life of the others on board, depended on his ability to see where he was headed. A lifetime on the river had given him the knowledge of every landmark, but he needed light to spot those landmarks. He was aware that one of the many bridges across the Thames was ahead. A misjudgement could have the boat striking one of the supporting piers.

He was fortunate. Lightning flashed again, showing that the boat was heading to the side of a pier, but only a few yards ahead. With a shout to the oarsmen to pull the oars into the boat, he swung the tiller and prayed that the boat would miss the pier and pass under the arch. His luck almost held out. The boat scraped along the rough stonework. He had no means of knowing whether the boat had sprung a leak.

Another lightning flash. The boat was now downstream of the bridge, still moving at a rate faster than he would have wanted. Straight ahead, he saw the familiar silhouette of the Tower of London. He swung the tiller again to head towards the centre of the river. The darkness, after the lightning, was more intense than ever. He could not see the oarsmen, although they were only a few feet in front of him, but he was no longer concerned.

The worst part of the journey was over. He now had to ease the boat over towards the other bank, where they would be out of the main surge of the outgoing tide and they could land safely by their home wharf.

He started to relax, easing his stiff muscles, and almost forgetting that, in spite of all the wet weather gear he was wearing, he was soaked to the skin. And cold. He assumed that each of his companions were in a similar condition.

His thoughts turned to the large leather bag at his feet, containing ten pounds worth of silver coins. No payment in gold for this night's work. A simple task of collecting four passengers on the way upstream, with the tide flowing in to help ease the work of rowing. Take them to a small wharf, where they disembarked. He and the other men were allowed ashore, where they were given cold meat and ale, leftovers from an evening meal, while the money had been counted. His only concern would be the sharing out of the amount.

He had been approached two days earlier to find a crew to embark on this venture. An initial deposit of two pounds had been given him to help with the hiring. Ten shillings had been enough to find his crew, settle them in one of the more disreputable inns near the river and allow them to spend that money on women and drink, promising them a payment of one pound each for the night's work. That amount was more than any of them would earn in a month. He had not expected that they would see the amount of the total payment. As it was being counted he had heard one of the men suggesting to the other three that it should be shared equally.

He did not know, either at that time, or as he was sat at the tiller, that the division of the money would be immaterial. Another lightning flash showed a large boat bearing down on his boat. He had no time to take evasive action. It struck his boat close to the rear oarsman, killing him instantly, before continuing through, depositing him, and the other oarsmen, in the river. He had no time to consider their plight. Weighed down by his clothing, he had difficulty in keeping his head above water.

Ten minutes later, the remains of the shattered boat, plus five corpses could be seen floating down the river.

Chapter One

The room was twice as long as it was wide; the northern and southern sides the longest. The northern wall had windows high up; either side of a wide fireplace. The hearth, on which a small fire was burning, was larger than the chimney opening but, to avoid smoke invading the room, a canopy, comprising overlaid, battered breastplates, had been constructed. Heat from the fire was transmitted to the breastplates, while the smoke was channelled up the chimney. The heat of the breastplates enhanced the heat transmitted to the room by the fire. Only the extreme corners on the southern side failed to receive the full benefit of this heat. Provided that the fire was maintained at a large temperature.

The southern wall was almost completely covered by shelves, the eastern end having a door (being the only means of entry to the room), and the western end having a raised platform, which extended about six feet along the western wall. A palliasse and bedding was laid out on this platform.

The shorter walls were similar; each having a large window which, if kept clean, which they were not, would let in enough light to allow any person to work there.

The ceiling was low and supported by beams at regular intervals. Any person above average height would have to stoop to make his, or her, way across the floor.

There was little furniture. A large table under each of the end windows and four chairs, one of them with arms and a solid base extending from the seat to the floor. Two small chests of drawers, which also acted as tables, were on either side of the fireplace. Between one of these and the fireplace was a large box containing firewood.

Two people occupied the room. Both were wearing hooded garments. One was hunched down in the armchair, in front of the fire, while the other was sat on a chair by the table at the western end of the room. The sound of the point of a quill pen scratching over rough parchment indicated that he was writing. Apart from an occasional grunt from the figure in the armchair, or an occasional sigh from the figure at the window, there was no other sound in the room.

Brother Luke, was said by the person in the armchair, after a few minutes. The words were not spoken clearly and there was no response. The name was repeated again, but louder. The quill scratching stopped and the person addressed placed it carefully on the table, with the point, still covered in ink, over the edge of the table.

Slowly, he turned on his seat, so that he was looking over his right shoulder at the figure in the armchair.

Are you referring to me, sir? he asked. The voice startled the man in the armchair.

I was, but you are not Brother Luke, are you? was the reply. Who are you? And where is Brother Luke?

My name is Matthew, but I am known as Matt. Brother Luke had an accident yesterday and is unable to write. He brought me here to take his place. You were asleep. He told me what had to be done and I have followed his instructions since then.

Well, Brother Matt... .

I am not a brother, sir, I am just plain Matt.

In that case, plain Matt, how are you progressing.

I have just to add the details of the final scroll of the section that I have been working on, then replace the scrolls where they belong. I have to admit that I am having some difficulty writing at the moment as my hands are beginning to feel the cold. I have had to stop a few times to try and get enough warmth into them to continue working.

Time I took pity on you. Come over by the fire and get your hands properly warm.

That is kind of you, sir. I would have done that earlier, but Brother Luke said I needed your permission to warm myself at your fire. While he was saying that, he had risen and moved to the fire, holding his hands towards the small flames.

You do not need my permission. You will notice that, while I have been sleeping, and you have been obeying unnecessary orders, the fire is almost out. Put some more wood on the fire and tell me how you come to be here. I cannot see you very well but, by the sound of your voice, you are young. How old are you?

I do not know, sir. As he made this answer he took two pieces of wood from the box and placed them, carefully, on the fire.

I can't believe that. For the first twenty years of my life I knew my age. You sound much younger than that. Also, you would have had some recognition of the anniversary of your birth.

That has never happened.

That is sad. One way is to count the summers. You can count, can't you?

Yes, sir. Before I came to the priory I was taught my letters and numbers. Also, I could read a little. Since then, I have added writing to my skills and assist Brother Luke with some of the manuscripts he has to copy. That is why I am here in his place, due to his accident.

Let us see if we can calculate your age. How old were you when you came to the priory?

I think I was six.

How do you arrive at that information?

I heard two of the people responsible for looking after us talking about me. It appeared that the person who provided money to keep me there could not afford to keep paying. I was to be transferred to another place. One asked if I was too young. The other said it would not be a problem and added that I was six years old.

Let us accept that. How many summers have you been at the priory?

I don't know.

You would recall the way the seasons change.

Certainly, although it often seemed that all four seasons occurred in one month.

That is the nature of Yorkshire weather, but there is one certain way to tell. The trees. Light green in spring. Darker green in summer; some with fruit. Brown, red or yellow in autumn; the fruit ripened. No leaves in winter.

I never saw those. All the trees I saw were always green.

You must have seen other trees? I know the priory has fruit trees.

No. All my work was indoors.

What work?

As I mentioned before, I helped Brother Luke. That was in the scriptorium. I helped Brother James in the kitchen; and Brother Bartholomew in the infirmary. I worked alone cleaning out the earth closets. After a short pause, he added, nobody helped me with that work. I had little time to rest and have not had any idea of the passage of the seasons.

Can you remember anything special about the year you were moved to the priory?

No, sir.

You tell me you can read and write, yet you seem to know so little.

I am not a real member of the priory. I do not take instructions, except for those that are necessary to assist other members of the order. As I said earlier, I can read, write and count. There has never been any need to do more.

They both sat in silence, leaning towards the fire to absorb the heat into their bodies. Matt broke the silence.

Do you want me to continue with my work? I notice that the sky beyond the other window is darkening. Soon it could be too dark to work by the light from my window.

How are your hands? Have they warmed up?

Yes, sir.

Good. Put one more log on the fire, then complete your present work. When you have put the manuscripts back on the shelves, you can return to the fire and tell me about the first six years of your life. Or as much as you can remember.

The youth, reluctantly, rose, picked up another log, placed it on the fire, and returned to his seat by the table.

Chapter Two

As Matt was placing the last scroll in its slot on the shelf, he heard a noise that made his skin crawl and his blood run cold. He knew the sound as that of an old man in pain and, usually, close to death. He recalled the words of Brother Luke.

The work is being done for an old man. He is near death but, according to his doctor, he still has more than a week to live. You have worked in our infirmary and will be familiar with many ailments of the old and infirm. And the noises they make. Do not be alarmed if this happens.

Words of comfort, he thought, but these sounds are new to me.

He made certain the scroll was safely in place before slowly turning to look at the old man. He was sitting upright, the hood dropped off his head, showing wispy strands of hair seeming to cling, desperately, to his scalp. His forearms were stretched along the arms of his chair. The noises continued. It appeared to the youth that the old man was trying to raise himself from the chair, with little success. The noises, he realised, were due to the stress the old man was putting on his body.

As he moved to the front of the old man he noticed the palms of his hands were pressing the end of the arms of the chair. The fingers were like claws, stiff with age and some sort of disease of the bones. The old man was unable to grip the end of the arms. He made a harsh cry, followed by a huge sigh of relief. Whatever had been ailing him had ceased, for a semblance of a smile appeared on his face.

Matt started to smile at the pleasure appearing on the old man's face, but was cleared as his nose caught the first trace of a nauseous odour, that increased in power within seconds.Realisation dawned.

Ugh! Have you broken wind? he exclaimed.

More solid than that, was the reply, followed by a laugh. Then a coughing fit.

Shit! Matt shouted.

Correct, replied the old man, laughing again. His mouth was open and Matt looked at gums without teeth. He looked closer at the old man's face, which, although covered by hair along the jaw, was wrinkled and ravaged by time. A death's mask, for there was little flesh between skin and bones. The thin, aquiline nose seperated eyes that were sunk deep in their sockets. At this moment they were closed but, when the old man opened them, Matt saw that they were cloudy, obliterating the original colour of the iris.

You are very perceptive, the old man added. Now you will have to work. Your time in the infirmary may be of assistance. Apart from the work on the manuscripts, did Brother Luke tell you the other duties you may have to perform?

No, sir.

"Then I will have to explain. Simply put, I need to be cleaned. You have to bring the two small chests of drawers and place them at either side of my chair. In the top drawer of one are the cleaning materials. Remove them and put them on top of that chest. On the other chest you will place some of the bedding.

Then you will have to lift me out of this chair, turn me round and let me lean on the bedding. Raise my clothing to expose the area to be cleaned. I will give you further instructions once I am ready to be cleaned.

As he had been instructed, Matt attended to the tables, then turned his attention to moving the old man. Although the old man's body felt as though it was nothing but skin and bone, Matt had difficulty in moving him in the manner he had described. Part of the problem was his nervousness as he avoided hurting the old man, considering that he might break some bones.

Once he had the old man in the required position, he looked at the armchair, from which arose the stench of the old man's recent activity. The seat was covered in wool, except for the centre, which was a circular hole.

It's a privy! he exclaimed. Why do you sit on a privy?

Because it is the only way I can relieve myself without making a mess on the floor. On my own, it takes me half an hour to get from my chair to the door. Now. Stop gawping and attend to my needs. You will see that the cleaning materials comprise a cloth and a stick with a sponge attached. Matt picked up the stick and, holding it up, looked upon it in wonder.

I have never seen anything like this. What is its purpose?

"Its purpose is to remove any remnants of shit from my arse. It was an important part of a Roman soldier's kit. Kept him clean; very necessary when he was marching. When the Romans left this country, so did the sponge sticks. God knows what the later invaders used. Their hands, probably.

You had better get to work. I don't want to stay like this all day. Put the stick down very carefully. Don't want it damaged. Or dirty. You will find a container of water near the fire. The water will be warm now and you will dip the sponge in it and then use it to wipe my arse. Gently. It will be better if you bring the container closer. You can lift it by the handle but first... He was unable to add 'you need to wrap the cloth round it'. Matt grasped the handle, raised the pan, realised the handle was too hot for him to hold and, having raised it to chest height, let go. The water from the container covered him from chest to the hem of his robe.

He uttered a few blasphemous words, before crying, what am I going to do?

Put your hand in that pail of water near you. It will take away the worst effects of your accident. Then take your robe off and spread it on top of the breastplates. That will dry it in an hour or two.

But I am wearing very little else.

Just put another couple of logs on the fire. That will help keep you warm. Then, for pity's sake, get me clean.

Matt was now naked, except for one garment, made from old cloth, which stretched from his waist to mid calf, tied, at the waist, with a strip of cloth. The logs were starting to burn and the area close to the fire kept him warm. The old man told him to raise his garment over his back, exposing his buttocks. Matt stared.

That looks terrible. He made a closer examination. I have seen a couple of monks with the same problem while working for Brother Bartholomew. He calls them hem rods. How long have you had these?

Two days. They started hurting yesterday. The girl who had to clean me didn't know what to do. I suppose she did her best. Hurt like hell.

Brother Bartholomew has a salve that would relieve your condition. I will bring some tomorrow. In the meantime I will clean you as best I can. I will try and be gentle.

He took hold of the stick, dipped the sponge into the pail of cold water, and held it close to the fire.

What are you doing? asked the old man.

Warming up the sponge. You don’t want me to use freezing water on your arse, do you? There was no reply. Carefully, Matt worked on the old man’s posterior. The old man did not make any complaint. At the conclusion, he placed the stick and cloth back on the chest. He stood behind the old man and took hold of his robe by each hip.

At that moment the door opened and a strong movement of cold air moved round the walls to strike them. Momentarily they were held in a frozen tableau, gazing at the door. A child entered, but spoke in a deep voice.

Sorry. Should I come back later? he said.

Whether you come in or go out is not relevant. Do one or the other, but CLOSE THE DOOR.

Chapter Three

His natural instinct was to go out and pull the door closed after him. The shouted order had taken him by surprise, so he pushed the door shut. He realised that he was on the wrong side of the door. He started to move along the wall with the shelves. He looked at the two figures near the fire. They were still in the same positions when he arrived but, as he moved along the shelves, he realised that his initial impression was wrong.

After a few paces, he noticed that the youth, standing behind the old man, was wearing an item of clothing that covered him from waist to mid calf. He heaved a huge sigh of relief.

I am sorry, sire, he said, but I thought, when I entered, I was watching an activity that would get you burnt at the stake. The boy appeared to be naked and your robe was up on your back.

Apart from your naturally disgusting mind, how often do I have to tell you people not to call me sire?

Kate calls you sire.

No she doesn't. She calls me grandsire, referring to me as if I am her grandfather. From her, it is a term of respect and endearment.

Sorry for my mistake, sy..er, he replied, moving to stand by the two of them. Matt could now see that it was not a child, but an older person of small stature. He completed the task of pulling the robe to cover the old man's naked lower body. A task he had started, but been interrupted when the new person had entered.

Don't just stand there. Give Matt some assistance to put me back in my chair. You can guide my hips. Matt in front of me. Holding me under the armpits. No need to adjust my clothing. Make sure my bare arse is firmly on the opening. Towards the back. Two of the girls had to deal with me. They got me half way on. Guess which part of me was not hanging down into the opening.

This is easy, thought Matt, I could have used this help when I lifted him off the seat. Less than a minute was needed to get the old man seated as comfortably as was possible.

Leave me to get on with the next part. They moved away from him. Matt towards the fire. He checked his habit; found it was still damp. He stirred the fire, managing a small flame, moved to the woodbox, took out two more logs and placed them on the fire. He moved back to join the small man.

What's happening now? the man asked.

I think we have to wait for him to complete emptying himself.

I thought he had done that?

It's a problem to do with his age. At the priory there are a couple of old monks who have the same sort of problem. As they empty their bowels, they close off the outlet from their bladder. It takes some time for it to reopen. Sometimes it is a very slow process.

As if to confirm that last statement, the old man gave a contented sigh, there was a sound like running water, which stopped abruptly. The old man uttered a profane curse. There was a look of pain on his face.

Now, what? said the small man.

Temporary loss of flow. The bladder is trying to push all the piss out of him. A temporary blockage has occurred. It is painful for him. Eventually, the pressure will win, Matt explained. I hope, he added. He watched, helpless, as the old man's agony increased.

If it doesn't?

I don't know. I have never seen it fail. He continued to watch, with ever greater worry showing on his face. The tension was beginning to be unbearable. The old man was holding his breath, as if willing the extra air in his body to give assistance to his predicament. With alarming suddenness, he expelled the air from his mouth, sat back in his seat, breathed in normally and let out a huge sigh of relief. Matt had not been aware that he had been holding his breath, and added his sigh of relief to that of the old man.

Thank goodness for that. It may be a few minutes before he finishes, but I am confident the worst is over.

That is worth knowing. How long have you been looking after Dick?

Who?

Dick. Dick Paget. The old man in that chair, the small man said, slowly.

Is that his name? I was not told it. I only came here for the first time this morning.

Then how do you know so much about his problem?

I am from the Priory of St John. I have assisted in the infirmary there, but I only know the problem. I do not know how to cure it, Matt replied. After a short pause, he added, if you know the old man's name, you must have met him before.

That is correct. I first met him over thirty years ago, when I was a youth. That was in London. In those days I saw him a few times, but since he moved to York I have visited him on very few occasions. My occupation keeps me mainly in the south. Occasionally, I have to travel to other countries.

Before Matt could ask any further questions, the old man interrupted.

I have finished. You can complete your cleaning job by emptying the chamber pot that is under my seat.

How do I get it? And where do I take it?

Didn't Brother Luke explain all your duties?

No. He said I had to continue with the register and put the documents back on the shelves in a proper sequence. He did tell me there were other duties, but you would tell me what they were. Certainly, I was not told about any latrine duties. The old man laughed.

Would you have refused to come here if you had known?

Not would not. Could not. I would have been punished severely. When I was taken to the priory, I was told that I must obey every order. Without question. I understood that my soul would be in danger if I disobeyed.

Your small companion might be able to help. The chamber pot is, as you should expect, below my seat. There is a door at the back which will allow you to retrieve it. You will not have to take it far. Throw the contents out of the eastern window. That is the one nearest the door. You should not have to be told, but you will need to open the windows first. Before you do that you will need to put some water, or other liquid, in it, swill it round so that all the contents are discharged. Do you understand? Matt nodded. The small man intervened.

You said 'other liquid'. I can help there. All that has been going on here has made me in need of a piss. I'll use the chamber pot, if you don't mind.

"If I have to stand up to allow you access,