Pressing his thin lips together, he said nothing, only bowed his head. Not wishing to ride with him, I cantered forward to be with Lincoln.
As we entered the village, people came to greet us. Though they were low, poor folk, Lincoln had me go to meet them, a herald going first, calling, “Here is Edward! The Earl of Warwick. Your true king!”
When people acknowledged me, I was generous in my greetings. My attention, however, was all for those ships. How were they made? How did they move? Not wanting to show my ignorance, I didn’t ask.
Some of the soldiers who came with us were billeted in town houses, but most were placed in small tents set up on the common. I, along with Lincoln and Lovell—and their close servants—were put into rooms in the village inn.
My room was a tiny garret space with a low, slanted ceiling. There was a narrow feather bed, and one small window at the gable end. Once led there, I was told to remain until called.
With nothing better to do, I thought to look out the window, which was plugged by a piece of wood with a grip. Grasping it with two hands, I pulled it free and leaned out, hoping to look at the sea, and the ships. The window, however, faced the other way. All I could see were the bluffs and the road, which our company had just traveled.
As I peered out, I saw a solitary horseman moving slowly along that road, going away from the village. Astride his horse, he was stooped as if burdened. It took a few moments for me to realize it was Brother Simonds.
He was leaving! I immediately felt a deep and painful stab of regret, realizing it was probably I who had brought about his going when I told Lincoln he had ill-treated me. As I watched him move over the highlands and disappear, I wanted to shout out that I had only been teasing. That he should come back. That I had not meant it truly. And with those thoughts I grasped to what a degree he was my most important friend, my teacher, the one upon whom I most depended upon for advice. What would I do without him?
I thought of appealing to Lincoln, only to understand that if I did, it would make me appear weak. Better to act as if the friar’s banishment was my doing, my power.
Indeed, the friar’s words once again came into my head: If you act like a king, you will be king.
That was when I realized that if I were to achieve this fully, I must put the Earl of Lincoln in his place.
I sat quietly, thinking out what I must say and do.
TWENTY-SEVEN
EVENING. IN THE dining area, a fire was burning in the hearth. Smoke leaked into the room, which made the air close. Lovell and Lincoln were seated at the inn’s warped table, upon which food was heaped: roasted birds on their trenchers and bread, along with cheese, chunks of turnip, and jugs of drink. Small, half-withered apples lay about.
The two lords were stuffing their mouths, grease dribbling down their chins and beards. Listening to their boisterous talk and the way they slurred their words told me they had already drunk too much.
When I sat down, nothing was said to me.
I remained there, staring at the hearth and its fluttering flames, trying to find my resolve, knowing I had to put Lincoln in his place—beneath me. Now and again a spark sprang from the fire, landed on the brick floor, and faded.
Do not fade, I told myself.
“My lords,” I began, drawing myself up, “I’m glad you paid heed to me and sent Brother Simonds away. You should know that, as your king, I will not let anyone treat me poorly.”
Lovell barely paused in his eating. Lincoln, with indifference, said, “You were right. We’ve no more use for him.”
“Besides, the friar wasn’t cheap,” added Lovell.
“But I assure you, my lord,” Lincoln said to me, “we amply rewarded him.” The way he said “my lord” was soaked with scorn.
“And did you not get a fair return?” I said.
Lovell and Lincoln exchanged a look. Then Lincoln took a deep drink, cleared his throat, turned to me, and said, “Surely you know I paid the friar to choose a boy who looked right and then teach him to become the Earl of Warwick. And”—he flapped a slack hand toward me—“he did.”
It took a moment for me to fully understand his words. They filled me with anger.
“The friar didn’t choose me,” I returned hotly. “He knew me at King Richard’s court. When I escaped from Henry’s Tower prison, he searched me out. Found me. I am Edward!” I shouted.
No one spoke. The only noise was the crackling of wood in the fire. As if snickering. After a moment, Lincoln shoved food into his mouth and belched. It was Lovell who, after swallowing more ale, reached out to pat my hand with his greasy fingers. “Excellent. It’s always better when the story-teller believes his tale.”
I stood up. “But, my lords, it’s a tale that you, too, must believe.”
Lincoln and Lovell exchanged glances. I was sure I had made them uneasy.
Lincoln looked up at me. “Lambert Simnel. Isn’t that what you told me your name was? So I would think, boy, you might be happy enough to have people treat you as if you were the Earl of Warwick. Enjoy it while you may and know it serves us well. I suggest you sit down and eat. It won’t be there forever.” He went back to his food.
I remained standing and cried, “I am Edward. And I shall be king.”
“You certainly look and act like Edward,” said Lincoln, trying to make a jest of my words.
“My lords, I challenge you: Do you have a better choice than me?”
That stung them into silence. Lincoln tapped the table with one agitated hand.
“My lords,” I said, “let it be understood. I am the rightful king.”
Lincoln glanced at Lovell and then said, “Once Henry Tudor is defeated and killed, the Earl of Warwick is the next in line.”
“That’s me!” I cried, then sat back in my chair, gripped the arms, and glowered at them.
A flush of anger filled Lincoln’s face. He turned to me: “Be advised, boy, what can be found, can be lost.”
I could have no doubt: He was threatening me. It set my whole body to trembling. I flung myself forward and said, “My lords, you should know that after I’m crowned king, I intend to pick the people I want to have near me.”
No one spoke until Lovell said, “We sincerely hope you choose us.”
“Because,” said Lincoln, “you don’t want to become a traitor to yourself. Do you know, boy, what happens to traitors?”
“Brother Simonds,” I said, “taught me that as king, I will decide who the traitors are.”
They stared at me, alarm filling their faces. I felt as if I had won.
When they made no reply, I stepped from the table and went to my room. Once there I sat alone, much pleased with myself. I was sure I had overawed them.
If you act like a king, I reminded myself, you will be king.
Perhaps it was then that I realized it would not be enough that I chase Henry Tudor away. I must arrest Lincoln, and have him beheaded.
TWENTY-EIGHT
IMPATIENT TO BE in Ireland and crowned, I fretted about the friar, worried about Lincoln, and paced about my small room a great deal. I was told we had to wait for the right wind to take us across the sea. Every moment we didn’t sail weighed upon me like a sack of stones. I kept to my room, preferring to be alone. Now and again, I was called below to meet people. Lincoln, with a false display of deference, would announce, “Here is your king, Edward the Sixth.”
Citizens, often of high quality, but many low, would bow down before me, kneel, and say things like, “Long life, my king.” Or, “God give you much grace, my lord.” Or even, “You are my true king.” They gazed upon me with respect. Some kissed my hand.
I replied with a kingly display of smiles and aloofness as befit my station. After giving thanks for their love, I returned to my room, where I endlessly contemplated how I might strike at Lincoln.
At table, though I sat with Lovell and Lincoln, I barely listened to their talk. With no appetite, I leaned back in my chair, arms folded over my chest, eyes half clo
sed. I loathed them.
They pretended to have no interest in me. But I could see—to my pleasure—that while they had made me apprehensive, they too were uneasy. I kept wishing the friar would come back, but I knew that would not happen.
Indeed, something else happened.
It was our third day at Minehead, and we were at table when a messenger galloped in, bringing a dispatch for Lincoln. He read it, passed it to Lovell, and then turned to me. “News about you has reached London.”
I looked up. “What news?”
“You are worrying King Henry. He fears you.”
“I’m glad,” I said, with a surge of hope. “Has he fled?”
Lincoln gestured to the message in Lovell’s hands. “He has found a boy who looks like you: a fair-headed, blue-eyed boy, much your age and height. Calls him Edward. He’s parading that boy, proclaiming to the world that that boy is the true Earl of Warwick.
“In other words,” Lincoln went on, “Henry is saying that you, my lord, are an impostor.” As he spoke, the earl kept his eyes on me. His face was all a question, as if wondering what would be my response.
“But . . . that’s a lie,” I said. “I’m the Earl of Warwick.”
Lincoln laughed. “Good! I’m glad you know it.”
To which Lovell added, “But you are certainly upsetting Henry.”
“But who . . . who is that boy?” I demanded, taken aback by the notion of another Edward.
“That London boy?” said Lincoln airily. “Some”—he smiled—“scullion, perhaps.”
Much stunned by such a notion, I tried to react steadily, only to stammer, “But . . . but to say that you are someone other than you truly are is . . . is sinful.”
“It’s only what we would expect from such a liar as Henry Tudor,” said Lincoln.
Lovell leaned toward me. “Therefore, my lord,” he said, “we are pleased that you show yourself for what you are, the true heir to the throne. The true Earl of Warwick. The world must see you bold and strong.” His words were soaked in sarcasm.
“I am Warwick,” I said with as much force as I could muster.
“Of course,” said Lincoln, his voice full of mockery.
I sat there, desperately trying to make sense of this London Edward.
The two of them, Lovell and Lincoln, held still, smiling and gazing at me, as if expecting me to say more.
Under their mocking eyes, the best I could think to say was, “I promise you, my lords, I shall be all that I truly am.”
“Excellent!” cried the earl. “Do so and you will serve England—and yourself—best.”
I wanted to leave the table, but did not wish to show them how upset I was.
Lincoln picked up the message and appeared to reread it. At length he folded it, then tossed it on the table.
To Lovell he said, “What do you make of it all?” He spoke as if I were not there.
“I assume the message is true,” said Lovell. “We’ve made Henry anxious enough so that he has taken Edward from the Tower and is parading him about. Does that concern you?”
“Not a bit,” said Lincoln. “I know Edward well. He may be the real prince, but he’s a brittle boy. I assure you”—he gestured toward me—“we have a far better Edward here.”
The words pierced me.
Lincoln made a mock bow in my direction. “Brother Simonds chose well: You really do look like a prince. And thanks to him, you act like one. People will much prefer to believe in you. That Edward—he may be the prince, but he plays the part so badly.” He leaned toward me as if revealing a secret. “The truth is, he’s simpleminded.”
I jumped up and shouted, “I am the real Edward!”
“Well played!” cried Lovell. He clapped his hands.
“I am!”
Lincoln said, “It’s as you said: We have no choice.”
They laughed.
I tore back to my room. Once there I sat dazed and horrified. In London. Another Edward.
I tried convincing myself that the London boy was not the real Edward, but merely someone Henry had made. Or that the message that came to Lincoln was a fraud, meant to confuse me and throw me from my rightful place. Was that what Lincoln meant when he had said, What can be found, can be lost?
Increasingly panicky, I considered running off. Then Lincoln would have no Warwick. He’d regret then how he treated me. Meanwhile, I’d make my way back to Oxford. But . . . it was miles away and I had no idea how to get there. Besides, what would I do if I reached Oxford? I didn’t want a life at Tackley’s. I wanted to be what I’d become: Edward, the Earl of Warwick.
I wanted to be king.
/p>Brother Simonds and Lincoln had gathered me up and worked me so as to turn me into Edward. The friar had betrayed me, used me, so he might gain a position at court. Lincoln was doing the same for his own reasons, reasons I still didn’t know.
Never mind. There was only one thing I could do. I told Lincoln he had no choice. I realized then that I had no choice either. I had to make the lie come true. It did not matter who I was. To save myself, I must become the king of England.
TWENTY-NINE
THE NEXT DAY I was informed the weather had much improved. We had the winds to cross the Irish Sea.
All was astir. First, Lincoln’s and Lovell’s belongings were taken into small boats and brought to the ships. Horses were carried out and hoisted aboard with slings. Our soldiers were marched down and rowed out.
When all was ready, Lincoln, Lovell, and I boarded a small boat. As we pushed away, some of the Minehead people—including a priest—stood and blessed us as we went off. “Long live the Earl of Warwick,” they cried. “God save King Edward the Sixth!”
I lifted my cap and called out, “God give you grace!”
“Brother Simonds taught you well,” murmured Lincoln into my ear.
I did not look at him.
Once on board, a man whom I was told was the ship’s captain did us reverence, to me in particular. Then I stood upon the high, rear part of the ship and watched as sailors sprang around the masts like imps. Brown sails were loosed, hoisted, and filled with wind, as if quickening with life. Within moments, the ships heaved about, gently rose and fell, rocked from side to side, and began to move out upon the open waters of the sea.
I looked back. It seemed as if England were sliding away, growing smaller until it became no more than a dusky strip on the lowering eastern sky. I recalled what Brother Simonds told me: that when I returned to England, I would be leading an army. I tried to imagine how grand it would be, me upon a fine horse, in bright armor, sword in hand, leading my soldiers toward a fast-retreating Henry.
I could not help wondering where the friar was. When I was king, would he come to my court? Never mind how he treated me. I’d give him a high position.
When I faced the other direction, the Irish Sea opened without boundaries. Though the wind was cold and full of salt spray, I spent most of the day staring at the ocean, trying to imagine the moment I’d be crowned.
Before the day was done, I saw a band of green land. “Ireland,” I was told.
Our ships sailed into a wide area, land on both sides. Before us was the entry to a wide river. Since it was growing dark, our sails were furled, anchors dropped. Lovell was taken by a small boat to the city. With Lincoln beside me, I stood by the ship’s rail, and as night thickened I looked upon Dublin city and its scattered lights.
“The lights,” I said, “remind me of a smoldering fire.”
“Do they?”
“Waiting for a blow of breath to spring into a blaze.”
“As you shall set all England on fire,” said the earl.
I didn’t tell him I was thinking of Tackley’s, of my life turning mutton over the fire. If Master Tackley could see me now, what would he think?
Having become suspicious of everything, I asked, “Where has Lovell gone?”
“To arrange your welcome, my lord. Tomorrow will be an important day. You must show yoursel
f with full majesty, so you’ll be accepted and treated with dignity. It needs to be done well. You should know there are still some people here who will require convincing.”
“Convincing of what?”
He smiled. “That you are Edward. Act with grandeur and you’ll be crowned.”
“I am Edward,” I assured him, and meant it—but not for him. For myself.
That night I slept in a tiny room somewhere within the ship. Outside my door, Lincoln had placed a soldier—there, I suppose, to keep me. It said something of Lincoln’s worries that he felt the need to hold me caged.
Did Lincoln hate me as much I hated him? Then again, he and I knew who I truly was. We were joined by what we could not speak. Our lie made a bitter bond.
THIRTY
NEXT MORNING OUR ships came back to life as we sailed up the river so I could view Dublin for the first time. Never before had I seen so large a city. It was set upon a hill, sloping down to the wide river. At the hill’s summit, like a crown, stood a great church. The city proper was walled round with dark gray stone. Within the walls were many thatched-roof houses crowded together. More houses were outside. Along the river’s edge, just beyond the city’s wall, was a wooden quay, where ships tied up to unload.
At the northeast corner of the city wall, overlooking the river, was a round tower, no doubt to keep watch. Three huge monastery buildings were pointed out to me, and a vast castle loomed. I was told it was the largest in Ireland.
“That’s your castle, my lord,” said Lincoln. Then he pointed to the great church on the summit. “And that’s Christ Church Cathedral, where you’ll be crowned.”
All I could think was, Almost king.
Our horses were unloaded first. Our soldiers went next, after which they mounted and formed a double line. Finally, Lincoln and I disembarked, me in my finest clothing.
Lovell was waiting for us.
On shore, we got on our horses, had Lincoln’s standard hoisted, and made a stately progress between the soldiers, entering Dublin by way of a great stone gate.