Richard III

Now all of my family’s troubles have come to a glorious end, thanks to my brother, King Edward IV. All the clouds that threatened the York family have vanished and turned to sunshine. Now we wear the wreaths of victory on our heads. We’ve taken off our armor and weapons and hung them up as decorations. Instead of hearing trumpets call us to battle, we dance at parties. We get to wear easy smiles on our faces rather than the grim expressions of war. Instead of charging toward our enemies on armored horses, we dance for our ladies in their chambers, accompanied by sexy songs on the lute. But I’m not made to be a seducer, or to make faces at myself in the mirror. I was badly made and don’t have the looks to strut my stuff in front of pretty sluts. I’ve been cheated of a nice body and face, or even normal proportions. I am deformed, spit out from my mother’s womb prematurely and so badly formed that dogs bark at me as I limp by them. I’m left with nothing to do in this weak, idle peacetime, unless I want to look at my lumpy shadow in the sun and sing about that. Since I can’t amuse myself by being a lover, I’ve decided to become a villain. I’ve set dangerous plans in motion, using lies, drunken prophecies, and stories about dreams to set my brother Clarence and the king against each other. If King Edward is as honest and fair-minded as I am deceitful and cruel, then Clarence is going to be locked away in prison today because of a prophecy that “G” will murder Edward’s children. Oh, time to hide what I’m thinking—here comes Clarence.

Good afternoon, brother. Why are you surrounded by these armed guards?

His majesty is so concerned about my personal safety that he has ordered them to conduct me to the Tower.

You’re being arrested? Why?

Because my name is George.

That’s not your fault! He should imprison the person who named you, instead. Maybe the king is sending you to the Tower to have you renamed. But, really, what’s going on, Clarence? Can you tell me?

I’ll tell you as soon as I know, Richard, because at this point I have no idea. All I’ve been able to find out is that our brother the king has been listening to prophecies and dreams. He picked out the letter “G” from the alphabet and said a wizard told him that “G” will take the throne away from his children. He thinks “G” is me. I’ve learned that this, along with other frivolous reasons like it, is what prompted the king to send me to prison.

Well, this is what happens when men let themselves be ruled by women. The king isn’t the one sending you to the Tower, Clarence. It’s his wife, Lady Grey, who got him to do this. Remember how she and her brother, Anthony Woodeville, made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower? Hastings was just released. We’re not safe, Clarence, we’re not safe.

By God, I think the only people who are safe are the queen’s own relatives and the late-night messengers the king uses to fetch his mistress, Mistress Shore. Did you hear how Lord Hastings had to beg the queen to be freed?

Hastings got his freedom by bowing down to that goddess. And I’ll tell you what. If we want to stay in the king’s good graces, we’re going have to act like the mistress’ servants, too. Ever since our brother made them gentlewomen, Mistress Shore and the queen have become mighty busybodies in our kingdom.

I beg your pardon, my lords, but the king gave me orders that no one, however high in rank, should speak privately to Clarence.

All right. If you like, Brakenbury, you can listen to anything we say. We’re not saying anything treasonous, man. We say the king is wise and good, and his noble queen is getting old, pretty, and not jealous. And that Mr. Shore’s wife has nice feet, cherry lips, pretty eyes, and a very pleasant way of expressing herself. And, finally, that the queen’s relatives have all been elevated in rank. What do you think? Is there anything inaccurate in that?

I have nothing to do with what you’re talking about, my lord.

“Nothing to do” with Mrs. Shore! I tell you, mister, there’s only one man who gets to do “nothing,” with her and not be punished for it. Everyone else had better keep their “nothings” to themselves.

Who is that, my lord?

Her husband, you rascal. Are you going to get me in trouble?

I beg your Grace to pardon me, and now please stop talking to Clarence.

We know you have a job to do, Brakenbury, and we’ll do what you say.

We are required to serve the queen, and we must obey her. Farewell, brother. I will go to the king and do whatever you want me to, even if it’s to call my brother’s wife “sister,” in order to set you free. But just so you know, I am very angry about how our own brother has treated you, angrier than you can imagine.

It doesn’t make either of us happy, I know.

Well, your imprisonment won’t last long. I will either get you out, lying if I have to, or stay in prison in your place. In the meantime, be patient.

I have no choice. Goodbye.

Go walk the path that you will never return from. Dumb, honest Clarence. I love you so much that I’ll send your soul to heaven very soon—if heaven will accept anything from me, that is. But who’s coming? The newly released Hastings?

Good afternoon, my dear lord!

The same to you, my lord! Welcome to the open air again. How did you tolerate prison?

With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must. But I will live to thank those who sent me there.

No doubt, no doubt. And so will Clarence, for your enemies are his enemies, and they have gotten the upper hand of him as well as of you.

It’s a shame that we eagles are caged up while the vultures are free to do whatever they please.

What’s the news abroad?

No news as bad as the news at home: The king is sickly, weak, and depressed, and his doctors are very afraid he’s going to die

Now, by George, that really is terrible news. Oh, the king has abused his body with bad habits for a long time, and it’s finally taking its toll on him. Very sad. Where is he, in his bed?

He is.

You go ahead, and I will follow you.

The king won’t live, I hope. But he’d better not die till Clarence is sent packing to heaven. I’ll go see the king and, with carefully argued lies, get him to hate Clarence even more than he already does. If my plan succeeds, Clarence doesn’t have another day to live. Then God’s free to send King Edward to heaven, too, and leave me the world to run around in! I’ll marry the earl of Warwick’s youngest daughter, Lady Anne. So what if I killed her husband and her father? The best way to make up for the girl’s losses is to become what she’s lost: a husband and a father. So that’s what I’ll do, not because I love her but because I’ll get something out of it. But I’m running ahead of myself. Clarence is still alive; Edward is not only alive, he’s king. Only when they’re dead can I start to count my gains.