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.

Set down your honorable load, men, if there is ever any honor in being dead. I want to mourn the cruel death of this good man. Look at the noble king’s poor cold body—the measly remains of the Lancaster family.

His royal blood has drained right out of him. I hope I can talk to your ghost, Henry, without breaking church laws. I want you to hear my sorrow. My husband was murdered by the same man who stabbed you. My tears now fall into the holes where your life leaked out. I curse the man who made these holes. I curse the man’s heart who had the heart to stab you. And I curse the man’s blood who shed your blood. I want the man who made me suffer by killing you to face a more terrible end than I could wish on spiders, toads, and all the poisonous, venomous things things alive. If he ever has a child, let it be born prematurely, and let it look like a monster—so ugly and unnatural that the sight of it frightens its own mother. And if he ever has a wife, let her be more miserable when he dies than I am now. Guards, let’s continue on to Chertsey monastery, carrying this holy burden you picked up at St. Paul’s monastery.

When it gets too heavy, rest, and I’ll lament over King Henry’s corpse some more.

Halt, corpse bearers, and put down your load.

What wicked magician has conjured up this devil to interrupt this sacred burial rite?

Villains, set down the corpse, or I’ll make a corpse of you.

My lord, stand back and let the coffin pass.

Rude dog! Stop when I command you to! And put up your weapon so it’s not pointing at my chest, or I’ll strike you to the ground and trample on you, you beggar, for being so bold.

(to the gentlemen and guards) What, are you trembling? You’re all afraid of him? Well, I can’t blame you. You’re only human, after all, and mortals can’t stand to look at the devil. (to RICHARD) Begone, you dreadful servant of hell. You only had power over my father-in-law’s body; you can’t have his soul. So get out.

Sweet saint, for goodness’ sake, don’t be so angry.

Ugly devil, for God’s sake, get out of here and leave us alone. You have made the happy world into your hell, filling it with cursing cries and lamentations. If you enjoy looking at your awful deeds, take a look at this noteworthy example of your butcheries.

Oh, gentlemen, look, look! Dead Henry’s wounds have opened up and are bleeding again! —Shame on you, you deformed lump. It’s your presence that draws out this blood from his empty veins. Your inhuman and unnatural actions have provoked this unnatural flood of blood. Oh God, who made this blood, revenge his death! Oh earth, which soaks up this blood, revenge his death! Either let heaven send lightning to strike the murderer dead or let the earth open wide and devour him, as it does this good king’s blood.

Dear woman, you don’t know the rules of charity. When faced with bad, you’re supposed to turn it into good, and when subject to curses, you’re supposed to convert them into blessings.

Villain, you don’t know the laws of God or of man. Even the fiercest wild animal has some touch of pity.

If I know nothing about pity, that must mean I’m not an animal.

It’s amazing to hear a devil speak the truth!

It’s even stranger when an angel is so angry. Divine, perfect woman, give me a chance to prove in detail that I’m innocent of the evils you accuse me of.

Contagious infection of humanity, give me a chance to condemn you for the evils I know you’ve committed.

You who are beautiful beyond words, calm down and let me explain myself.

You who are wicked beyond belief, the only “explanation” I’ll accept from you is for you to hang yourself.

Such an expression of despair would only prove that I was guilty.

Maybe, but if you killed yourself, it would also show that you felt some guilt for killing others.

Let’s say I didn’t kill them.

Then you might as well say they’re not dead. But they are dead, and you killed them, you slave of the devil.

I did not kill your husband.

Well, then he must be alive.

No, he is dead. Edward killed him.

You’re lying. Queen Margaret saw your sword steaming with his blood. It was the same sword you almost killed her with—and you would have killed her if my brothers hadn’t fought you off.

She provoked me with her lying mouth, accusing me of crimes I didn’t commit.

No, what provoked you was your own bloody mind, which never thinks about anything but butchering. You killed this king, didn’t you?

Yes, I’ll grant you that.

You’ll grant me, you hedgehog? Then let God grant me that you’ll be damned for that wicked deed. Oh, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.

That will please God, who has him now.

He is in heaven, where you will never go.

Let him thank me, who helped him get there. He’s better suited to be there than here.

And you’re not suited for any place except hell.

Yes, and one other place, if you’ll only let me name it.

Some dungeon.

Your bedroom.

There is no rest to be had in any bedroom where you are!

Exactly, madam, until I sleep with you.

I hope you’re right.

I know I am. But, gentle Lady Anne, let’s stop this rapid-fire argument and move more slowly. Isn’t the person who caused the untimely deaths of these two Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, as much to blame as the person who actually executed the murders?

You’re both those people—responsible for both cause and effect.

Your beauty caused what I did. It haunted me in my sleep. I would have killed the whole world just to be able spend one hour next to you.

If I believed you, murderer, I would take my nails and scratch that beauty right off my cheeks.

I couldn’t stand to see you destroy your beauty; you won’t touch it as long as I’m standing next to you. Just as everyone becomes cheerful from the sun, I’m cheered up by your looks. They are my daylight, my life.

Then I hope night shadows your day, and death takes your life!

Don’t damn yourself. You, fair lady, are both my day and my life.

I wish I were, so I could deprive you of both day and life.

It’s strange that you want to take revenge on the person who loves you.

It’s just and reasonable that I want to take revenge on the person who killed my husband.

The man who killed your husband, dear lady, only did it to help you get a better husband.

There is no better one on earth.

Wrong. There is a man who loves you better than your husband could.

Name him.

Plantagenet.

Yes, that’s my husband’s name.

Someone else has the same name, but he’s a better man.

Where is this man?

Here.

Why do you spit at me?

If only I could spit poison.

Poison never came from such a sweet place.

Poison never landed on such an ugly toad. Get out of my sight! You’re poisoning my eyes.

Your beautiful eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine with love.

I wish my eyes were basilisks, so they could strike you dead!

I wish they were, so that I could die right now, because, at this point, I live a living death. Your eyes have made me cry, shamefully, like a child. I never cried before this. I didn’t cry when my father, York, and my brother Edward both wept at the death of my brother Rutland, whom Clifford slaughtered. And when your warrior-father recounted the sad story of my father’s death, pausing to sob twenty times in the course of the story so that all the bystanders ended up dripping tears like trees in a rainstorm—even then, I refused to cry. But your beauty has made me cry until I couldn’t see. I never tried to win over a friend or enemy with sweet words. I’m too proud for that. But if your beauty is the reward for sweet talk, I’ll talk.

Don’t curl your lips in scorn. They were made for kissing, not for contempt. If your vengeful heart can’t forgive me, here—take my sword and bury it in my heart so that my soul, which adores you, can be free. I open myself to being stabbed. In fact, I beg for death on my knees.

No, don’t pause, because I did kill King Henry, though it was your beauty that made me do it. Go ahead. And it was me who stabbed young Edward, though it was your heavenly face that set me to work.

Take up the sword again, or take me up.

Get up, liar. Though I wish you were dead, I’m not going to be the one to kill you.

(rising) Then tell me to kill myself, and I will.

I have already.

You said it when you were furious. Say it again—just one word, and my hand, which killed your lover out of love, will kill your far truer lover. You will be an accessory to both crimes.

I wish I knew what was in your heart.

I’ve told you.

I fear that your words and your heart are both false.

Then no man has ever been honest.

Well, then, put your sword away.

Tell me that you’ll accept my love.

You’ll know about that later.

But can I have some hope?

I’d like to think all men have some hope.

Please wear this ring.

I’ll take the ring, but don’t assume I’m giving you anything in return.

See how my ring encircles your finger? That’s how your heart embraces my poor heart. Wear both the ring and my heart, because both are yours. And if I, your poor devoted servant, may ask you for one small favor, you will guarantee my happiness forever.

What’s that?

Please leave it to me to take care of the burial, as I have more reason to mourn than you do. Meanwhile go to my estate at Crosby Place. After I have performed the solemn burial rites for this noble king at Chertsey monastery and cried with regret at his grave, I’ll hurry to meet you. For various reasons that must remain secret, please do this for me.

I’ll do it with all my heart. I’m happy to see you’ve come to repent for what you’ve done. Tressel and Berkeley, come with me.

Say goodbye to me.

It’s more than you deserve. But since you’re already teaching me how to flatter you, pretend I’ve said goodbye already.

Sirs, take up the corpse.

Toward Chertsey, noble lord?

No, to the Whitefriars monastery. Wait for me there.

Has anyone ever courted a woman in this state of mind? And has anyone ever won her, as I’ve done? I’ll get her, but I won’t keep her long. What! I, who killed her husband and his father, managed to win her over when her hatred for me was strongest, while she’s swearing her head off, sobbing her eyes out, and the bloody corpse, proof of why she should hate me, right in front of her? She has God, her conscience, and my own acts against me, and I have nothing on my side but the ugly devil and my false looks. And yet, against all odds, I win her over! Ha! Has she already forgotten her brave husband, Prince Edward, whom I stabbed on the battlefield three months ago in my anger? The world will never again produce such a sweet, lovely gentleman. He was graced with lots of natural gifts, he was young, valiant, wise, and no doubt meant to be king. And yet she cheapens herself by turning her gaze on me, who cut her sweet prince’s life short and made her a widow? On me, though I am barely half the man that Edward was? On me, though I am limping and deformed? I bet I’ve been wrong about myself all this time. Even though I don’t see it, this lady thinks I’m a marvelously good-looking man. Time to buy myself a mirror and employ a few dozen tailors to dress me up in the current fashions. Since I’m suddenly all the rage, it will be worth the cost. But first, I’ll dump this fellow in his grave, then return to my love weeping with grief. Come out, beautiful sun—until I’ve bought a mirror to admire my reflection in, I’ll watch my shadow as I stroll along.

Be patient, madam. I’m sure his majesty will recover his health soon.

You’ll only make him worse with all your worry. For God’s sake, let people comfort you. Then you’ll be able to cheer him up.

If he were dead, what would happen to me?

Nothing more than that you’d lose your husband.

Losing this husband will cause me all sorts of harm.

You have been blessed with an excellent son, who will comfort you when the king is dead.

But he’s young, and as long as he’s too young to become king, Richard, the duke of Gloucester, has power over him. Richard loves neither me nor any of you.

Has it been decided that Richard will be Protector?

It’s been decided, though not yet officially announced. But that’s what will happen if the king dies.

Here come Lord Buckingham and Lord Derby.

(to QUEEN ELIZABETH) Good afternoon, your royal Highness!

I hope God makes you happy again, like you once were.

My good Lord Derby, the countess Richmond would hardly say “amen” to your kind words. But don’t worry. I don’t hold it against you, even though she’s your wife, that she’s so unfriendly and arrogant.

Please don’t believe the false rumors you’ve heard about her feelings toward you, or if they’re true, then forgive her, since she’s only acting that way because she’s sick, not because she hates you.

Did you see the king today, Lord Derby?

Yes, the duke of Buckingham and I have just returned from visiting him.

What are the chances of his getting better, lords?

Madam, keep up hope. He seems cheerful.

God give him health. Did you talk with him?

Yes, madam. He wants to patch things up between Richard and your brothers, and between your brothers and Hastings. He has summoned them all.

I wish I could believe you that all was well! But I’m worried that things can only go downhill from here.

They’re out to get me, and I won’t stand for it! Which of you has been complaining to the king that I don’t like them? By God, whoever is worrying the king with these lies doesn’t love him very much. Just because I don’t know how to flatter and act nice, to smile in men’s faces and, as soon as their backs are turned, spread rumors about them, to bow and scrape like a nobleman trained in the French court, people have to think I’m their enemy. Can’t a plain man live and do no harm to anyone without being taken advantage of by a bunch of slick, sneaky lowlifes?

Which of us are you referring to?

You, who are neither honest nor good. When did I ever do you any harm? Or you? Or you? Or any of you? Damn you all! The king—whom I hope God will protect better than you would like—can’t get a minute’s rest without you bothering him with your outrageous complaints.

Brother, you’ve made a mistake. The king himself noticed your hatred toward my children, my brothers, and myself. No one had to point it out to him—it’s obvious. He asked people to visit him. He wanted to find out the reason for your ill will, so he could do something about it.

I can’t tell what’s going on. The world has become so bad that now little wrens have settled where eagles used to roost. Since every peasant has been made into a nobleman, many noblemen have been dragged down to the level of peasants.

Come, come, I know what you’re referring to, Richard. You resent my friends’ rise in society, and my own. Let’s hope we never need your help for anything.

Meanwhile, we’re the ones who need you. My brother is imprisoned because of you, I am disgraced, and the nobility are held in contempt while those who two days ago weren’t worth a dime have suddenly been promoted.

By the Lord who raised me to this weighty post from the happy and carefree life I used to enjoy, I promise you I never did anything to get the king to turn against the duke of Clarence. In fact, I’ve always been on his side and have pleaded for him. My lord, you’re doing me a huge injustice to suggest otherwise.

Oh, and I’ll bet you’ll also deny you were responsible for Lord Hastings’ recent stay in prison.

She may deny that, my lord, because—

She may, Lord Rivers? Everybody knows she may. She may do a lot more than that, sir. She may help you to get many nice promotions, and then deny she helped you, claiming you won them on your own merits. What can’t she do? She could even—

She could even what?

She could even what? She could marry a king, a bachelor, a handsome young lad. Certainly, your grandmother had a worse match.

My lord of Gloucester, I have suffered your blunt upbraidings and your bitterness toward me for too long. By God, I will tell the king about these taunts. I would rather be a country serving maid than a great queen if it meant I could escape your scorn and constant harassment.

I’ve had very little joy as England’s queen.

(speaking so no one else can hear) God, give her even less joy, I beg you! Elizabeth, your honor, your high rank, and your position as queen are all owed to me.

(to QUEEN ELIZABETH) What! You’re threatening to tell the king? Go ahead, and don’t spare a single detail. Look, what I have said to you I will repeat in the presence of the king. If it means I’ll be sent to the Tower, so be it. It’s time for me to speak the truth. All the pains I took on King Edward’s behalf have been forgotten.

(speaking so no one else can hear) You devil! I remember these pains all too well. You killed my husband, Henry, in the Tower and my poor son, Edward, at Tewksbury.

(to QUEEN ELIZABETH) Before you were queen—in fact, before your husband was king—I was a packhorse for his great affairs, a weeder-out of his proud enemies, a generous rewarder of his friends. In order to make his blood royal, I spent my own blood.

(speaking so no one else can hear) Yes, and you spent better blood than his or your own.

(to QUEEN ELIZABETH) In all that time, you and your first husband, Sir John Grey, were fighting for the Lancasters.—And so were you, Rivers.—Elizabeth, wasn’t your first husband killed while fighting in Queen Margaret’s army at Saint Alban’s? In case you’ve forgotten, I want to remind you where you come from and what side you were on before you arrived here. And I want you to remember whom I fought for, who I have been, and who I am.

(speaking so no one else can hear) You were a murderous villain, and you still are.

(to ELIZABETH) Poor Clarence abandoned his father-in-law, a Lancaster, and broke his own oath—may Jesus forgive him!—

(speaking so no one else can hear) May God take revenge on him!

(to QUEEN ELIZABETH) —in order to fight on Edward’s side to help him win the crown. And now he is rewarded by being thrown in prison! I wish to God my heart were made of stone, like Edward’s is. Or I wish Edward’s were soft and full of feeling, as mine is, so that he would let Clarence go. I am too childish, too innocent, for this world.

(speaking so no one else can hear) Hurry to hell, then, and leave the world alone, you demon! Hell is where your kingdom is.

My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days, which you’re bringing up now to prove we’re your enemies, we followed the lawful king. If you were king, we would do the same.

If I were king? I’d rather be a peddler. The thought of being king doesn’t appeal to me in the least.

You’re right to imagine that being this country’s leader brings no pleasure. As queen, I have felt none.

(speaking so no one else can hear) No pleasure for the queen, indeed: I am the real queen, and the experience is completely joyless. I can no longer hold my tongue.

Hear me, you wrangling pirates. You’re quarreling over what doesn’t even belong to you—you stole it from me! Which of you does not tremble when you see me? If you aren’t trembling because you know I am queen and you are my subjects, then you’re shaking because you threw me from the throne! (to RICHARD) Oh highborn villain, do not turn away!

Ugly, wrinkled witch, what are you doing here?

Only describing what you have ruined. Or at least that’s what I plan to do before I let you go.

Weren’t you banished on pain of death?

I was. But I felt more pain from exile than I would have from being dead here at home. You, Richard, owe me a husband and a son. The rest of you owe me a kingdom. And all of you owe me allegiance. The sorrow that I feel actually belongs to you, and the high life you enjoy actually belongs to me. You stole it from me.

The curse my noble warrior-father laid on you when you set a paper crown on his head just before slaying him has finally borne fruit. Your scorn for him was so shocking that he cried rivers. To stop up his tears, you handed him a rag soaked with the blood of his own child. God, not us, is responsible for punishing you for your bloody deed.

God is just. He rewards the innocent.

Oh, killing that child was the dirtiest, most merciless deed there ever was!

Tyrants themselves wept when they heard about it.

Everyone understood there would be a heavy payback.

Even Northumberland wept to see it.

What, were you all snarling before I arrived, ready to catch each other by the throat like dogs, but now that I’m here, you turn your hatred toward me? Did the duke of York’s terrible curse have so much weight with God that God repaid him not only with Henry’s death and my lovely Edward’s death but with the loss of their kingdom and with my banishment, too? All because of what happened to that brat Rutland? If curses can pierce the clouds and enter heaven that easily, then open up, thick clouds, and listen to my curses!

(to QUEEN ELIZABETH) Though your king did not die in battle, let him die from overindulging his appetites, as my husband was murdered to make your husband king. May your son Edward, who is currently the prince of Wales, die young and violently, as payback for the death of my son Edward, the former prince of Wales. And may you outlive your glory just as miserably as I have, to make up for taking my position as queen. May you live long enough to mourn your children’s deaths and watch another woman enjoy the throne, as I now watch you. Let your happy days die long before you do. After many extended hours of grief, may you die neither a mother, a wife, nor England’s queen. Rivers, Dorset, and Lord Hastings, you all stood by as my son was stabbed. For his sake, I pray to God that none of you die a natural death but have your lives cut short by some unforeseen accident.

Enough of your magic spells, you hateful, withered hag.

And leave you out? Don’t move, dog. It’s your turn now. If heaven has any plagues beyond what I can drum up, let it wait until your sins are piled high and then hurl them down on you, you destroyer of a whole world of peace! May conscience eat away at your soul constantly. May you suspect your true friends of being traitors and take the worst traitors as your closest friends. May you never sleep a wink except to dream of a hell full of ugly devils.

You deformed, prematurely born, rooting hog, you evil birth defect, you insult to your mother’s womb, you hated disgrace to your father’s sperm, you disgusting—

Margaret.

Richard.

Yes?

I didn’t call you.

I beg your pardon—I thought it was me whom you were calling all those terrible names.

Yes, I was, but I don’t want an answer from you. Let me finish my curse.

I’ve finished it for you, and it ends in “Margaret.”

He’s turned your curse against you, Margaret.

Poor imitation queen, why do you align yourself with this humpbacked spider when he’s got you trapped in his deadly web? Fool! You’re sharpening a knife to cut yourself. The day will come when you’ll wish I could help you cast spells against this poisonous, hunchbacked toad.

Woman, stop your frantic curses and false prophesies before we run out of patience and do something bad to you.

Shame on you; I’ve already run out of patience with you all.

If you got what you deserved, you would learn some respect.

What I deserve is that you treat me like a queen, and what you deserve is to act like my subjects. Give me what I deserve, and do your duty!

(to RIVERS) Don’t argue with her. She’s crazy.

Enough from you, mister, you’re being impertinent. Unlike those born into nobility, your claim to royalty is so recent that you hardly even know what it means to lose it. People in high positions are shaken by many blasts of wind, and when they fall, they shatter into pieces.

Good advice, indeed. Take it to heart, Dorset.

It applies to you as much as to me, my lord.

Yes, and much more so. But I was born that high. Like an eagle, which builds its nest at the top of a high tree, I play in the wind and am not afraid to look at the sun.

But you turn that sun into a shadow. Take my son, for example. He is dead now. You put out his bright life forever. You are building your nest in our nest. Oh God who’s watching, don’t let him get away with this! He won his position violently. Let him lose it that way, too.

Stop—if you can’t be kind, at least have some shame.

How dare you talk about kindness or shame. (to the others) You have only been unkind to me, and you have shamefully butchered my hopes. My kindness to you is to be outraged at what has happened, and my sad, sad shame is in what you have done to my life.

Enough, enough.

Oh noble Buckingham, I’ll kiss your hand to show my friendship and support for you. I wish only good things upon you and your noble family! Your clothes aren’t spattered with my family’s blood, and you aren’t affected by my curse.

No one here is affected by your curse, because curses are just words with no power.

I think they rise up to heaven and arouse God from his gentle sleep. (so that only BUCKINGHAM hears) Oh Buckingham, watch out for that dog, Richard! When he seems to be fawning on you, he’s actually about to bite. And his poisonous bite kills. Have nothing to do with him. Beware of him. All the powers of sin, death, and hell are doing his bidding.

What is she saying, my lord?

Nothing that interests me, my good lord.

What, you ignore my kind advice and try to please the devil I’m warning you about? Oh, just remember this another day, when he splits your heart in two with sorrow. Then you’ll say poor Margaret was a prophet. Richard will come to hate everyone here, as you will come to hate him—and as God will come to hate you all.

Her curses have made my hair stand on end.

Mine, too. I don’t understand why she’s not locked up.

I can’t blame her. She has been wronged too often. I regret what I have done to hurt her.

I never caused her any harm, as far as I know.

But you have all the advantages from the harm done. For my part, I was too eager to do King Edward good. He doesn’t even seem to notice now. And look how he’s repaid poor Clarence for his loyalty—penned him up like a pig being fattened for slaughter. God pardon those who are responsible for Clarence’s troubles.

That’s very virtuous and Christian of you, Richard, to pray for those who have done us harm.

I always pray for them (to himself) because “they” are none other than myself. If I cursed Clarence’s wrongdoers, I’d be cursing myself.

Madam, his majesty asks for you, and for you, Duke of Gloucester, and for you, my noble lords.

Catesby, we’ll be there soon.—Lords, will you come with me?

We will wait on you, your majesty.

Incredible. I do the wrong and am the first to start quarrels. What I did in secret I blame on others. I cry about Clarence, whom I had imprisoned, in front of these simple fools—namely, Hastings, Derby and Buckingham—and tell them that the queen and her allies roused the king against my brother Clarence. They believe me and urge me to take revenge on Rivers, Vaughan, and Grey. But then I sigh and quote a chunk of the Bible—how God says do good in return for evil. Ha! Dressing my out-and-out wickedness in scraps of Scripture, I look like a saint exactly when I’m most like the devil.

But quiet. Here come the murderers I’ve hired. How’s it going, hardy, reliable friends! Are you going to take care of this thing now?

We are, my lord. We’ve come to get the warrant so we can be let into his cell.

Good thinking. I have it on me here. (he hands over the warrant) When you’re done, go to Crosby Place. But, sirs, do the job fast. And stick to your mission. Don’t let him plead for his life, because Clarence is a good talker and may make you pity him if you let him get started.

Tut, tut, my lord, we’re not going to stand around chit-chatting. Talkers aren’t good doers. Rest assured that we’re going there to use our hands, not our tongues.

When fools cry, you remain stony. I like you guys. Go straight to work. Hurry now, get the job done.

We will, my noble lord.

Why do you look so depressed today, your Grace?

Oh, I had a miserable night. I had such dark and terrifying dreams that I swear I wouldn’t spend another night like that if it guaranteed me a whole lifetime of happy days.

What was your dream? Tell me.

I thought I had escaped from the Tower and was on a ship to France with my brother Richard, who persuaded me to leave my cabin and walk on deck with him. Looking toward England, we reminisced about the countless frightening experiences we’d had in the wars between the Yorks and the Lancasters. As we were pacing the deck, which was tipping heavily, Richard seemed to stumble, and as I tried to grab hold of him and keep him from falling, he knocked me overboard into the crashing waves. Lord, how painful it was to drown. The sound of the rushing water was terrible, and so were the sights. I saw a thousand shipwrecks, a thousand men whom fish had gnawed to the bone, huge anchors, chunks of gold, heaps of pearls, and precious jewels—all scattered on the bottom of the sea.

Some of the gems had wedged themselves like imitation eyes into the dead men’s skulls. The fake eyes gazed dully at the bones scattered around.

So you had time as you were dying to look around?

I thought I did, and I often tried to die. But the terrible water always held me back. It wouldn’t let my soul find its way to air but smothered it inside my gasping body. My body wanted so badly to vomit up my spirit that it almost burst.

And didn’t you wake up during this terrible agony?

Oh, no, my dream went on even after I died. In fact, the real nightmare had only just begun. With the help of the grim ferryman that poets like to write about, my soul crossed the river into the kingdom of endless night. The first to greet me there was my great father-in-law, the famous earl of Warwick. He cried aloud, “What terrible punishment can this dark realm devise for the oath-breaker Clarence?” And he vanished. Then a ghost like an angel with its hair spattered in blood wandered by, and shieked,

“Clarence has arrived—lying, cowardly Clarence, who stabbed me at Tewksbury. Grab him, avenging spirits, and torment him.” With that, a legion of ugly demons surrounded me and howled so loudly in my ears that I woke up trembling and for a long time thought I was still in hell.

I’m not surprised it scared you, my lord. It scares me just to hear you talk about it.

Oh, keeper, keeper, the bad things I’ve done are finally taking their toll. I did them for Edward’s sake—and look how he rewards me.—Oh God, if my prayers don’t satisfy you, and you have to avenge the wrongs I’ve done, at least punish me alone! Please spare my innocent wife and children!—Kind warden, please stay with me for a while. I’m feeling very low, and I need to sleep.

I’ll stay, my lord. May God bring you sleep!

Sorrow interrupts all hours and seasons. It turns everything around—the night into morning and noon into night. The only glory princes have are their titles. Instead of the pleasures we think they’re enjoying, they experience a whole world of worries. It turns out the only difference between them and peasants is their fame.

Ho! Who’s there?

What do you want, fellow? And how did you get in here?

I want to speak with Clarence, and I came here on my legs.

That’s it? Nothing to add?

Well, sir, it’s better to say little than to be tedious. (to SECOND MURDERER) Show him our orders and keep your mouth shut.

It orders me to hand the noble duke of Clarence over to you. I won’t ask why because I’d rather not know than feel guilty if you’re doing something you shouldn’t be. Here are the keys, and there is the duke, sleeping. (he hands them the keys) I’ll go to the king to let him know I’ve handed my prisoner over to you.

You may, sir. That’s a wise idea. Goodbye.

What, should I stab him while he sleeps?

No. When he wakes up, he’ll say we killed him like cowards.

When he wakes up! Why, he won’t wake up till Judgment Day.

Okay, so that’s when he’ll say we stabbed him in his sleep.

That word “judgment” makes me feel a bit guilty.

What, are you afraid?

Not of killing him, because I have a warrant for it, but of being damned for killing him, which no warrant can protect me from.

I thought you were resolved to do this.

I am resolved—to let him live.

I’ll go back to the duke of Gloucester and tell him so.

Please, just wait a minute. I’m hoping my holy mood will pass. It usually only lasts about twenty seconds.

How are you feeling now?

Actually, I’m still feeling some pangs of conscience.

Remember the reward we’re getting when the deed’s done.

Jesus, let’s kill him! I forgot about the reward.

Where’s your conscience now?

Oh, in the duke of Gloucester’s wallet.

When he opens his wallet to give us our pay, your conscience will fly out?

It won’t matter. Let it fly out. No one will listen to it.

And what will you do if it returns to you?

I won’t bother with it. Conscience makes a man a coward. If he steals, it accuses him. If he wants to swear, it restrains him. If he sleeps with his neighbor’s wife, it exposes him. It blushes, is easily embarrassed, and stages regular uprisings in a man’s heart. It’s just too much trouble. It once made me return a purse full of money that I found—it turns anyone who treats it decently into a beggar. It has been thrown out of all sorts of towns and cities it visits, and anyone who wants to live well should learn to trust only himself and live without it.

My God, now the thing is at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke.

Stop your conscience and don’t listen to him. He wants to take over your thoughts and make you sad.

I’m strong-willed. He won’t get the better of me.

Spoken like a brave man who respects his reputation. Shall we get to work?

We’ll hit him on the head with the handles of our swords, then throw him in the wine barrel in the next room.

What an excellent idea—he’ll soak up the wine!

Wait a moment. He’s waking up.

Strike!

No, first let’s talk to him.

Where are you, keeper? Give me a cup of wine.

You’ll have wine enough, my lord, soon.

In God’s name, who are you?

A man, like you.

But not a member of the royal family, like me.

And you’re not loyal, like us.

Your voice is loud and commanding, but you look like a working man.

I’m speaking for the king, but I look like myself.

The things you say scare me! Your eyes look threatening. And why are you so pale? Who sent you here? Why are you here?

To, to, to—

To murder me?

Yes.

You barely have the heart to tell me, so you can’t possibly have the nerve to do it. Besides, how have I offended you, my friends?

You didn’t offend us, you offended the king.

He and I will make up.

Never, my lord. So prepare to die.

It’s your job in life to kill the innocent? What did I do wrong? Where’s the evidence against me? Where’s the jury, the judge, the lawful proceedings, the verdict? Who pronounced this death sentence before a court of law could even convict me? For you to threaten to kill me is most unlawful. If you hope to have your sins forgiven by Christ’s dear blood, which He shed for our terrible sins, you must leave and keep your hands off me. You’ll go to Hell for the deed you’re planning to do.

What we do we have been commanded to do.

And the one who commands us is our king.

Wrong-headed slaves, the King of kings says in his Ten Commandments, “Thou shalt not murder.” Will you defy God and obey a man? Be careful. God takes revenge on those who break His laws.

He does, and now he’s taking revenge on you—for breaking promises and for murder, too. You took a holy oath to fight for King Henry VI.

And like a traitor to God, you broke that oath and savagely murdered King Henry’s young son.

Whom you swore you would protect and defend.

How dare you tell us about God’s laws when you have broken them so savagely yourself?

But for whose sake did I do that sick deed? For my brother Edward’s sake. He couldn’t be sending you to murder me for that sin, because he’s the one who asked me to commit it. He is as guilty as I am. If God will be revenged for this deed, he will do it publicly. God doesn’t need to use indirect or illegal means to kill those who have offended him.

Then who were you working for when you killed brave, young Prince Edward?

My brother’s love, the devil, and my own anger made me do it.

Well, your brother’s love, our duty, and your own crimes make us kill you.

If you love my brother, don’t hate me. I am his brother, and I love him very much. If you’re doing this for pay, go to my brother Richard. He will pay you more for saving my life than Edward will for killing me.

You’re mistaken. Richard, the duke of Gloucester, hates you.

No, he loves and cherishes me. Go to him from me.

We will.

Tell him that when our noble father, the duke of York, gave his three sons his blessing, he never imagined that our friendship would come to this. Remind Richard of this, and he will weep.

Yes, he’ll weep stones, as he taught us to do.

Don’t lie about my brother. He is kind.

Yes, as kind as snow to a harvest. Come on, you’re fooling yourself. It’s Richard who sent us here to slaughter you.

It cannot be. When I left him, he hugged me in his arms and swore between sobs that he would work to set me free.

Well, that’s what he’s doing—making you free to enjoy heaven.

Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord.

You have enough holy feeling to advise me to “make peace with God,” but you’re willing to go to war with God by murdering me? Oh sirs, consider this: those who sent you to do this deed will hate you for doing it.

(to FIRST MURDERER) What should we do?

Relent, and save your souls. If either of you were a prince’s son, and you were imprisoned as I am now, and two murderers like yourselves came to you—wouldn’t you beg for your life? Yes, you would beg, if you were in my position.

Relent? No. That’s cowardly and womanish.

No, sticking to your plan is beastly, savage, devilish. (to SECOND MURDERER) My friend, I detect some pity in your eyes. Please, please take my side and argue for my life. What beggar wouldn’t have sympathy for a prince reduced to begging?

Look behind you, my lord.

Take that, and that. (he stabs CLARENCE) If this won’t do the job, I’ll drown you in the wine barrel in the next room.

A bloody deed, and desperately executed. I wish I could wash my hands of this terrible murder, like Pilate.

What’s going on? What did you mean by not helping me? By God, I’m going to tell the duke how slack you’ve been.

I wish you could tell him I saved his brother. Take the money yourself and tell him what I said. I’m sorry this duke was killed.

I’m not. Go, coward that you are. Well, I’ll go hide the body in some hole until the duke gives orders for his burial. And when I get my reward, I’ll get out of here. The truth about this will come out, and I can’t stick around then.

Well. Now I’ve done a good day’s work. You must all keep up this united front. Every day I expect a message from God to bring me away from here. Now my soul can depart for heaven peacefully, since my friends have made peace here on earth. Rivers and Hastings, take each other’s hand. Don’t simply hide your hatred. Swear your love for each other.

(taking HASTINGS’ hand) I swear I have cleansed my heart of all hate. With this handshake, I guarantee my love.

On my honor, I feel the same.

Make sure you mean what you say. Otherwise God, the ultimate King, will uncover your lies and cause you to be the death of each other.

On my honor, I swear I love Rivers with all my heart.

And I love Hastings with all my heart.

(to QUEEN ELIZABETH) Madam, you’re not exempt from this—nor are you, Dorset— nor you, Buckingham. You have had too many separate factions among you. My dear wife, let Lord Hastings kiss your hand. And don’t do it merely for appearance’s sake.

Take my hand, Hastings. From now on, I’ll forget the hatred I used to feel for you.

Dorset, embrace Hastings.—Hastings, express your affection for the marquess of Dorset.

I swear I will never break this promise of love.

And so do I, my lord.

Now, noble Buckingham, seal this alliance by embracing my wife’s friends, and make me happy in your unity.

(to QUEEN ELIZABETH) If I ever turn my hatred toward your majesty, and do not love and cherish you and yours, may God punish me. May I find hatred where I most expect love. When I most need a friend, and when I’m sure I have one, make him treacherous and deceitful to me. I beg God to do all this whenever I fail to show love to you or yours.

Noble Buckingham, your promise is like medicine to my ailing heart. All we need to put the final touches on this future peace is for Richard to appear.

And just in time, here he comes with Sir Richard Ratcliffe.

Good morning to my sovereign king and queen. Noble peers, how nice to see you.

Happy indeed, the way we have spent the day. Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity, turning enmity into peace and hate into love among these mistakenly angry nobles.

What blessed work, my king. If there’s anyone among this princely group who mistakes me for an enemy—if by accident or in anger I have done anything to offend you—I want to join with you in peaceful friendship. It kills me to be enemies with you. I hate it and want all good men’s love. (to QUEEN ELIZABETH) First, madam, I want there to be peace between you and me, which I will buy with my obedient service to you. And peace with you, my noble cousin Buckingham, if you ever felt any grudge against me; and with you, Lord Rivers, and, Lord Grey, with you. In fact, I want to get along with everyone who has frowned on me without good cause—dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen, everyone. There is not an Englishman alive with whom I’m at odds, anymore than a newborn baby would be. I thank God for my humbleness.

Today shall always be remembered as a holy day. If only all struggles ended this well. One more thing, my dear majesty. Please pardon our brother Clarence.

Why, madam, have I offered you my love only to be flouted in front of the king? Who doesn’t know that the good duke is dead?

You do him wrong to laugh at his corpse.

Who doesn’t know he’s dead? Who says he is?

Oh my God, what a terrible world this is!

Do I look as pale as everyone else does, Lord Dorset?

You do, my good lord. Everyone here has turned white.

Is Clarence dead? But I reversed the death sentence.

Well, the poor man died by your first order, which was carried by a winged messenger. Some tardy cripple must have taken the counter-order, who came after Clarence was already buried. It’s clear that someone less noble, less loyal, more bloody-minded than Clarence but not a blood relation, deserves as bad an end as my brother, but he goes free.

(kneeling) I ask a favor of you in return for the service I’ve done, my king.

Please be quiet. My soul is full of sorrow.

I will not rise until your Highness hears me.

Then hurry up and tell me what you want.

That you lift the death sentence on my servant, who killed a rowdy and belligerent former servant of the duke of Norfolk.

I was willing to condemn my brother to death, but you want me to pardon a peasant? My brother didn’t kill anyone. He was only to blame for some thoughts he had. But his punishment was bitter death. Who pleaded with me to pardon his life? Who, when I was in a rage, kneeled at my feet and told me to reconsider? Who talked about brotherhood? Who talked about love? Who told me how the poor man abandoned the mighty earl of Warwick to fight for me? Who told me how he rescued me in the field at Tewksbury, when Oxford had me down, saying, “Dear brother, live and be a king”? Who told me how, when we both lay in the field freezing to death, he wrapped me in his own clothes and spent a numbingly cold night naked? I forgot all of this in my brutish anger, and not one of you had the grace to remind me. But when your servants get drunk and kill someone, you go right down on your knees for “pardon, pardon.” And, though he doesn’t deserve it, I have to grant your request. But not one of you would speak up for my brother. And I didn’t speak to myself on his behalf, either. The best of you owed something to him in his lifetime, but none of you would plead for his life. Oh God, I fear your justice will destroy me and all of these men, and their families and mine, because of this! Come, Hastings, help me to my room. Oh, poor Clarence.

This is what happens when you act rashly. Did you notice how the queen’s guilty relatives turned pale when they heard about Clarence’s death? Oh, they continually urged the king to do it. God will revenge it. But come, lords, will you come with me to Edward’s room to comfort him?

We’ll come with you, your Grace.

Tell me, good grandmother, is our father dead?

No, boy.

Then why do you weep so often, and beat your breast, and cry, “Oh Clarence, my unlucky son”?

Why do you look at us and shake your head, and call us orphans, wretches, castaways, if our noble father is still alive?

My pretty children, both of you misunderstand me. I’m lamenting the sickness of the king, because I’d hate to lose him—I’m not mourning your father’s death. What would be the point of crying over someone who was already dead?

So you’re admitting Clarence, my father, is dead. My uncle the king is to blame for this. God will take revenge. I will pray every day that he does.

And so will I.

Quiet, children, quiet. The king loves you very much. Innocent sweethearts, you have no idea who’s responsible for your father’s death.

Yes we do, grandmother, because my good uncle Richard told me. He said the king was forced by the queen to make up charges against my father that would send him to prison. When my uncle explained this to me, he wept and hugged and kissed me. He told me I could rely on him as if he were my father, and he said he would love me as if I were his child.

Ah, it’s a shame that a liar can seem so nice, hiding his wicked intentions under a mask of goodness. He is my son, yes, and I’m ashamed of him. But he didn’t get his deceitfulness from my breast.

You think my uncle was lying, grandmother?

Yes, boy.

I can’t believe that. Wait! What’s that noise?

No one can stop me now from wailing and weeping about my terrible luck. I don’t care if it kills me. I plan to fall into the blackest despair.

Why are you making such a scene?

I’m simply performing the violent tragedy that is my life: Edward—my husband, your son, our king—is dead. Why should we live now that our leader is dead? Why are the branches still living when the root is gone? Why aren’t the leaves withering now that the sap is all dried up? If you do intend to live, then mourn. If you’re going to die, be quick about it so you can catch the king’s departing soul or follow him, like obedient subjects, to his new kingdom of endless night.

As the king’s mother, I have a large share in your grief. I have wept at my own good husband’s death and only kept myself alive by looking at his sons, the mirror images of him. But now these two mirrors of their princely father have cracked to pieces: my sons are dead. And my only comfort is Richard, who is nothing like his father and only causes me shame. You may be a widow, but you’re also a mother. You have your children as comfort. But death has snatched my husband from my arms and plucked my two crutches, Edward and Clarence, from my feeble hands. Since your woes are only a portion of mine, I have every reason to surpass your lamentations and drown out your cries with my own.

(to QUEEN ELIZABETH) Ah, Aunt, you didn’t weep at our father’s death. How can we help you by crying for your sorrow?

You didn’t sympathize with us when we became orphans; we won’t cry for you!

I don’t need your help in grieving. I have my own sources of misery. In fact, all the world’s springs and oceans flow from my weeping eyes. I could drown the world. My poor husband, my dear Edward!

Our poor father, Clarence!

My sons Edward and Clarence!

What support did I have other than Edward? And now he’s gone.

What support did we have besides our father? And now he’s gone.

What support did I have besides my two sons? And now they’re both gone.

There has never been a widow who suffered such loss as me.

There have never been orphans who’ve suffered what we have.

There was never a mother who suffered so much loss. Alas, I am the mother of all these others’ griefs. Each of them has a single loss, while I share them all. She weeps for Edward and so do I, while she does not weep for Clarence, though I do. These young children cry for Clarence and so do I, though they don’t cry for Edward, as I do. Alas, all of you can turn to me with your sorrow, because I feel all of it. I will comfort you by adding my own grief to your sorrow.

(to QUEEN ELIZABETH) Calm down, dear mother. God is unhappy that you’ve responded so unthankfully to his doings. In everyday life, when a person is unwilling to pay back a loan that was generously offered, he’s considered ungrateful. How much worse it is when Heaven is the lender, as in your case?

Be a careful mother, madam, and think about your son, the young prince. Send for him right away and have him crowned. Your peace of mind depends on him. Bury your sorrows in dead Edward’s grave and plant your hopes in Prince Edward’s rise to the throne.

Sister, calm down. All of us have reason to mourn the dimming of our shining star the king. But no good comes from all this wailing. Oh, mother, forgive me. I didn’t see you there. On my knee, I humbly ask your blessing.

God bless you and make you obedient, loving, and kind.

(he stands) Amen. (to himself) And make me die a good old man! That should be the point of a mother’s blessing. I’m surprised my mother forgot to make it.

You mournful princes and grieving gentlemen who have been sharing this burden of grief, now it’s time to cheer each other up with love. Though we have lost a generous king, we are about to enjoy the benefits of a new king. We must preserve our goodwill toward each other and not break into factions again. I think a few members of the court should fetch the young prince from Wales and bring him to London to be crowned our king.

Why only a few courtiers, my lord of Buckingham?

Because if many of us go there, the hostility between us may break out again, which would be very dangerous with the young prince so newly crowned. When you have a situation where everyone seems free to take off on his or her own, it’s important that the heads of state keep a low profile. We wouldn’t want the prince or his new authority to be undermined by squabbling factions.

The king made peace among all of us. I, at least, intend to stick to our agreement to get along.

And so do I. I think we all do. But, since our agreement is a recent development, it shouldn’t be put to the test, which could happen if the coronation turned into a huge ceremony. So, I agree with noble Buckingham—only a few should go to meet the prince.

I think so too.

Then we’re agreed. Now we need to figure out which of us will go to meet him. Madam and mother, will you go to offer your support to this weighty business?

For God’s sake, my lord, let’s be sure to be part of the group that meets the prince. Along the way, I’ll find an opportunity to separate him from the queen’s proud relatives, as step one in the plan we’ve discussed.

You are my other self, my oracle, my prophet, my dear brother! I plan to act like a child and do exactly what you say. To Wales then, for we will not be left out.

Good morrow, neighbor, whither away so fast?

I’m telling you, I hardly know myself. Did you hear the news that’s going around?

Yes, that the king is dead.

Bad news, by God. The news is always bad. But this news is bound to make the world go mad.

Neighbors, hello.

Good day to you, sir.

Is it true that good King Edward has died?

Yes, sir, it’s all too true, God help us.

Then, gentlemen, we can count on trouble.

No, no, with God’s help, his son will be king.

It’s bad news when a country is ruled by a child.

His counselors will govern as long as he’s a minor, and then he’ll take over. It shouldn’t go so badly.

That’s how it was with Henry the Sixth, who was crowned in Paris when he was only nine months old.

Really? But at that point, the king had the benefit of excellent counselors. His uncles were good men and protected him.

Well, this king has uncles too, on both his father and mother’s side.

It would be better if they were all on his father’s side, or that there were none at all on his father’s side. As it is, the rivalry between his father’s and mother’s relatives over who will be closest to the king is likely to endanger everyone, if we’re not lucky.As it stands, there’s a struggle between the two sides for the prince’s attention. Richard, the duke of Gloucester, is very dangerous, and the queen’s sons and brothers are haughty and proud—it would be better for this ailing country if they were subjects, not rulers.

Come, come, we’re worrying about the worst-case scenario. I’m sure everything will be fine.

When the day turns cloudy, wise men put on their coats. When leaves fall from the trees, it means winter has arrived. When the sun sets, who’s too stupid to recognize it’s night? When storms arrive early, you can expect the harvest will be damaged. So, if all turns out fine, as you say, it’s more than we deserve or I expect.

It’s true, people are really worried. It’s hard to find a person who isn’t.

It’s always like this in times of change. By some sort of deep instinct, we always know when danger is approaching, just as we know that a storm is coming when the sea swells. But leave it all to God. Where are you all off to?

The court has sent for us.

For me, too. I’ll go with you.

Last night, I hear, they stayed in Stony Stratford. Tonight they will rest in Northhampton. They’ll be here tomorrow or the next day.

I’m dying to see the prince. I hope he’s grown a lot since I last saw him.

But I hear he hasn’t. They say my son York has almost passed him in height.

Yes, mother, but I wish I hadn’t.

Why, dear child? It’s good to grow.

Grandmother, one night when we were eating dinner, my uncle Rivers mentioned that I had grown more than my brother. “Yes,” said my uncle Gloucester, “Small plants are graceful, while ugly weeds grow fast.” And since then, I’ve wished I wouldn’t grow so fast, because sweet flowers are slow while the weeds grow in a hurry.

Well, it certainly wasn’t true for Richard! As a child, he took such a long time to grow up that, according to his rule, he should have grown up into a gracious adult.

And no doubt he is, gracious madam.

I hope he is, but mothers get to have their doubts.

Hey, if I’d remembered something about him, I could have had a good comeback for my uncle, touching on his growth worse than he touched on mine.

What would you have said, my young York? Do tell.

Indeed, they say my uncle grew so fast that he could gnaw on a crust of bread when he was two hours old. It took me two years before I had a single tooth. Grandmother, this would have been a biting joke.

Pretty York, who told you about his teeth?

His nurse, grandmother.

His nurse? Why, she was dead before you were even born.

Well, if it wasn’t her, I don’t know.

A mischievous child. Come, come, you are too clever for your own good.

Good lady, don’t be angry with the child.

Little pitchers have big ears.

Here comes a messenger. What’s the news?

My lord, it’s news I wish I didn’t have to report.

How’s the prince?

He’s fine and healthy, madam.

What is your news?

Lord Rivers and Lord Grey have been imprisoned in Pomfret. So has Sir Thomas Vaughan.

Who sent them there?

The powerful dukes Gloucester and Buckingham.

What did they do wrong?

I’ve told you everything I know. Why the nobles were imprisoned, and on what charges, I don’t know, my gracious lord.

Oh no! I see the downfall of my family. The tiger has seized the gentle deer: a tyrant has begun to attack the weak, innocent king. Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre! I can see how all this will end as clearly as if I was looking at a map.

How many times have I had to live through cursed times of violent struggle? My husband lost his life to get the crown, and my sons’ fortunes have been tossed up and down, leaving me to rejoice over their victories and weep over their losses. And once one of them achieved the throne and had taken care of domestic quarrels, they made war among themselves. It’s a preposterous outrage. Let it end, or let me die so I won’t have to watch any more of it.

(to YORK) Come, my boy, let’s go to sanctuary. Madam, farewell.

Wait, I’ll go with you.

You have no reason to.

(to QUEEN ELIZABETH) My gracious lady, go, and take your money and belongings with you. For my part, I’ll reassign the Great Seal of England to you and will take it upon myself to protect you. Come, I’ll conduct you to the sanctuary.

Welcome, sweet prince, to London, the capital of the king.

Welcome, dear nephew, king of all my thoughts. The tiring journey seems to have made you gloomy.

It wasn’t the journey itself, uncle, but the troubles we encountered that made it wearisome and dull. I want more uncles here to welcome me.

Sweet prince, you’re just an innocent child. You don’t really understand how capable people are of trickery. All you know is what a man shows you, which has little to do with what he’s really thinking. Those uncles that you wish were here were dangerous. Your Grace heard their saccharine words, but didn’t take note of their poisonous intentions. God protect you from them and from other false friends!

God should keep me from false friends, but they weren’t false.

My lord, the mayor of London is here to greet you.

God bless your Grace with health and happy days.

Thank you, my good lord, thank you all. I thought my mother and my brother, York, would have met us on our way here long before now. And what a slug Hastings is that he hasn’t even arrived to tell us whether they’re coming!

And, just in time, here comes the sweaty lord.

Welcome, my lord. What, isn’t my mother coming?

God knows why, but your mother and your brother have taken sanctuary in Westminster Abbey. Your sweet brother wanted to come meet you, but his mother wouldn’t let him.

Damn, what a sneaky and spiteful course your mother is taking!—Lord Cardinal, will you please persuade the queen to hurry and send the duke of York here?—Go with him, Lord Hastings, and if she refuses, take the boy from her by force.

My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak skills of persuasion convince his mother to part with the duke of York, you can expect him here shortly. But if she resists my mild pleas, let God in heaven forbid us from disobeying the holy laws of the sanctuary and taking the child from her. I wouldn’t commit so serious a crime for anything.

You are too inexplicably stubborn, my lord, too stuck on ceremony. In these less dainty times, you’re not breaking the laws of sanctuary to seize him. It’s only a sanctuary for those who really need protection or those who are smart enough to claim they do. The prince has done neither; therefore, in my opinion, he isn’t really protected by sanctuary. You’re not breaking any holy laws to take him away. Often I have heard of “sanctuary men,” but until now I’ve never heard of “sanctuary children.”

My lord, you’ve won me over this time. Lord Hastings, will you go with me?

I’m coming, my lord.

Go as fast as you can.

Say, uncle Richard, if my brother comes, where will I stay till my coronation?

Whatever seems best to you. If I can give you some advice, if I were you, I would stay in the Tower for a day or two. Then you can stay wherever best suits your health and entertainment needs.

Of all places, I don’t like the Tower. Didn’t Julius Caesar build it, my lord?

He started it, my noble lord, and succeeding generations rebuilt it.

Is it on record that he built it, or is it just word of mouth?

On record, my gracious lord.

Well, I think that even if it weren’t on record, the truth would be remembered from one generation to the next—all the way to Doomsday.

(to himself) As the saying goes, “Those that are this wise when they’re this young won’t live long.”

What did you say, uncle?

I said, “When there are no written records, a person’s fame lasts for a long time.” (to himself) Like Injustice, I get two meanings out of one word.

That Julius Caesar was a famous man. His courage helped his cleverness, and his cleverness made sure that his reputation for being courageous outlived him. Death didn’t conquer this conqueror, for he lives on in his fame, even though he’s dead. I’ll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham—

What, my dear lord?

If I live to be a man, I’ll win France again or die a soldier, as honorably as I lived as a king.

(to himself) As the saying goes, “Short summers often have an early spring.” This smarty-pants won’t live long.

Making good time, here’s the duke of York.

Richard of York, how are you doing, my loving brother?

Very well, my supreme lord—that’s what I have to call you now.

Yes, brother, I feel bad about that, too. The man who might have kept that title died too soon, and now it isn’t worth nearly as much.

How’s my nephew doing, noble lord of York?

Thank you for asking, uncle. Oh, my lord, you once said that lazy weeds grow fast. The prince has far outgrown me.

He has, my lord.

Does that mean he’s lazy?

Oh, my handsome nephew, I must not say that.

In that case, he’s more obliged to you than I am.

He may command me as my king, but you still have power over me as a relative.

Uncle, please give me your dagger.

My dagger, little nephew? With all my heart.

Are you begging, brother?

From my kind uncle, who I know will give it to me, especially as it’s not worth much.

I’ll give you a greater gift than that, nephew.

A greater gift? That must mean a sword.

Yes, gentle cousin, if it were light enough for you.

Oh, I see, you will only part with lightweight presents. For more important things, you’ll say no.

A sword’s too heavy for you to wear.

I wouldn’t think much of it even if it were heavier.

What, do you want to wear my weapon, little lord?

I do, so I can thank you for what you called me.

What’s that?

“Little.”

The lord of York is always a bit perverse in his chatter. But, uncle, you know how to bear with him.

You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me. Uncle, my brother makes fun of both of us. Because I’m little, like an ape, he thinks you should bear me on your shoulders, like a fool.

(to himself) What a sharp mind this boy has! To make up for his scorn toward his uncle, he makes fun of himself as well. It’s amazing that he’s so cunning at his age.

(to PRINCE) My lord, will you please continue on your way to the Tower? My good cousin Buckingham and I will go to your mother and ask her to meet you there.

(to PRINCE) What, you’re going to the Tower, my lord?

My protector, Richard, insists on it.

I can’t sleep quietly in the Tower.

Why, what are you afraid of?

My uncle Clarence’s angry ghost. My grandmother told me he was murdered there.

I’m not afraid of dead uncles.

Nor living ones, I hope.

Well, I hope not. (to YORK) But come, my lord. With a heavy heart, thinking about my dead uncles, I will go to the Tower.

Richard, don’t you think this chattering little York was encouraged to taunt you by his sneaky mother in that outrageous way?

No doubt, no doubt. Oh, he’s a dangerously clever boy—bold, quick-witted, capable. He’s his mother’s child from head to toe.

Well, enough about them.—Come here, Catesby. You’ve sworn to participate in our plot and to keep it a secret. What do you think: wouldn’t it be easy to convince Lord Hastings to join us in installing Richard as king of England?

Hastings loved the prince’s father so much that we won’t be able to persuade him to do anything against the prince.

What about Stanley? Won’t he join us?

He’ll do whatever Hastings does.

Okay, just do this, noble Catesby: sound out Lord Hastings, but make it seem as if you’re just mulling over the idea, that it hasn’t been firmed up yet. Invite him to come to the Tower tomorrow for the coronation ceremony. If he seems game to our plan, encourage him to join us and explain all our reasons. But if he’s resistant and chilly, then be like that too and break off the conversation. Let us know how he responds. Tomorrow we’re going to hold two separate meetings, one for those who are with us and one for those who aren’t. You’ll have a lot to do in these meetings.

Give my regards to Hastings, Catesby. Tell him the nest of dangerous enemies that plagued him for years will die tomorrow at Pomfret. And tell him to give Mistress Shore one extra kiss to celebrate this good news.

Good Catesby, do your work well.

My good lords, I plan to.

Will we hear from you before bedtime, Catesby?

You will, my lord.

You’ll find us both at Crosby Place.

Now, my lord, what are we going to do if we find that Lord Hastings won’t go along with our plans?

Chop off his head. Whatever we decide to do. And when I’m king, remember to ask me for the earldom of Hereford and all the possessions that go with it, which my brother the king used to own.

I look forward to that present.

You’ll find I’ll give it to you very willingly. Come, let’s have an early dinner so that we have time to work out our plans.

(knocking) My lord, my lord.

(offstage) Who’s knocking?

A messenger from Lord Stanley.

(offstage) What time is it?

Four o’clock in the morning.

Can’t Lord Stanley sleep?

I guess not—for good reason, as you’ll soon hear. First, he sends his regards.

And then?

And then he said to tell you that tonight he dreamed the duke of Gloucester cut off his helmet—that is, his head. Besides that, he says that two meetings are going to be held tomorrow, and something may be decided at one of them that may make you and him, who are at the other, sorry. He wants to know if instead of going to the meeting, you’ll get on your horse and ride north with him to get out of harm’s way.

Go, man, return to your lord and tell him not to worry about the separate meetings. While he and I are at one, my loyal servant Catesby will be at the other, so nothing will happen that we won’t find out about. Tell your master there is no sound basis for his worries. And as for his dreams, I’m surprised he’s so foolish as to trust the fantasies of a restless night. If we flee from the boar before the boar even pursues us, we’ll only make the boar angry and suspicious, causing him to chase us when he never intended to. Tell your master to get up and come here, and we’ll go together to the Tower to meet the boar, who will treat us well, as he’ll see.

I’ll go, my lord, and tell him what you say.

Good morning, my noble lord.

Good day, Catesby. You’re up early. What news can you tell me in this fast-moving, unsteady state of ours?

Our world sure is spinning fast, my lord. I believe it won’t stop moving and stand upright till Richard wears the wreath of the realm.

What do you mean, “wears the wreath”? Are you talking about the crown?

Yes, my good lord.

I’ll have my head cut from my shoulders before I’ll see the crown so misplaced. But do you think that’s what he’s aiming for?

Yes, I swear, and he hopes you’ll join his party to help. For that reason he sends you this good news—that this very day your enemies, the queen’s relatives, will die at Pomfret.

Well, I’m not sorry to hear that, because they have always been my enemies. But the idea that I’d give my support to Richard and keep my master King Edward IV’s true heirs from the crown—never. God knows I’d die before I’d do that.

Well, let’s hope you stay in that noble frame of mind.

In a year, when things have calmed down, I’ll laugh about how those who got King Edward IV to hate me are now brought low. But as for now—before two weeks have gone by, I’m going to send some people packing. They have no idea what’s coming.

It’s a horrible thing to die when you’re not prepared for it, my gracious lord.

Yes, monstrous, monstrous! That’s how it will be for Rivers, Vaughan, and Grey. That’s how it will be for some other men, too, who think they’re as safe as you and I, who are well-loved by noble Richard and Buckingham.

Richard and Buckingham have a high opinion of you. (to himself) So high they’ll stick your head on the Bridge.

I know they do, and I certainly deserve it.

Come on, come on, where is your spear for the boar, man? You’re afraid of the boar but you go around without your spear?

My lord, good morning. Good morning, Catesby. Go ahead and laugh at me, but by Jesus, I don’t like these separate meetings—I really don’t.

My lord, my life is as important to me as yours is to you, and it was never as precious to me as it is now. Do you think I would be feeling as triumphant as I am if I didn’t know that our situation was secure?

When the lords who are imprisoned at Pomfret left London, they also were in a good mood and supposed their situation was secure. And they also had no reason to worry. But you see how soon the day got cloudy for them. Richard’s sudden, hateful attack on them makes me worry. I hope to God I’m proven wrong! Well, should we head to the Tower? The day is well on its way.

Come on, let’s get going. You know what, my lord? Those men you just mentioned will be beheaded today.

They deserved to keep their heads more than some people who have managed to keep their positions. But come, my lord, let’s go.

Go on ahead. I’ll talk with this good man.

What’s up, man? How’s it going?

Better, since your lordship was nice enough to ask.

I tell you, man, it’s better for me, too, than the last time we met here. Then I was on my way to the Tower, where I was going to be locked up thanks to the false charges of the queen’s allies. But now, I tell you—keep it to yourself, though—those enemies of mine are being put to death today, and I’m better than I’ve ever been.

Well, let’s hope your good fortune continues!

Thanks a lot, mister. Here, drink to me.

God be good to you!

A nice coincidence, my lord. I’m glad to see you.

I thank you, Sir John, with all my heart. I am indebted to you for your last sermon. By next week, I’ll be able to pay you.

I’ll come to you, your Lordship.

What, talking with a priest, Hastings? Your friends at Pomfret, they’re the ones who need a priest. You, on the other hand, don’t have any confessions you have to make.

When I ran into this holy man, those men you mentioned did come to mind, in fact. Are you headed to the Tower?

I am, my lord. But I won’t be there for long. I’ll be off before you are.

Yes, probably, because I’m staying for lunch.

(to himself) And for dinner, too, though you don’t know it. (to HASTINGS) Come, are you going?

I’ll follow you, my lord.

Sir Richard Ratcliffe, let me tell you this. Today you will witness a person die for truth, duty, and loyality.

(to RATCLIFFE) God protect the prince from all of you. You’re a group of damned bloodsuckers!

(to RATCLIFFE) You’ll live to regret this.

Hurry up. Your lives are over.

Oh, Pomfret, Pomfret! Oh, you bloody prison, fatal and threatening to noble lords! Within these guilty walls, Richard II was hacked to death. And now, to add more blood to its name, we’re losing our innocent lives here.

Now Margaret’s curse has fallen on our heads, for standing by and doing nothing when Richard stabbed her son.

She cursed Richard then. She cursed Buckingham then. She cursed Hastings then. Oh God, remember to hear her prayer for them, just as for us! But don’t kill my sister and her royal sons, be satisfied, dear God, with our blood, which is being spilled unjustly, as you know.

Hurry up. The hour of death is approaching.

Come, Grey. Come, Vaughan. Let’s embrace (They embrace) and say goodbye until we meet again in heaven.

Now, noble lords, the reason we’re meeting is to determine the day the prince will be crowned. In God’s name, speak. When should the royal day be?

Is everything ready for that event?

It is. All we have to do is name the day.

Tomorrow’s a good day.

Who knows what the Lord Protector thinks? Who’s closest to him?

You, I think, would best know what he’s thinking.

We know each other’s faces, but as for our thoughts, he doesn’t know any more about my thinking than I do about yours or his—or you do about mine. Lord Hastings, you and he are close.

Thank you. I know he holds me dear, but I haven’t asked him about the coronation, and he hasn’t told me. But you, my noble lords, may name a time, and I’ll second it on the duke’s behalf, which I don’t think he’ll mind.

Right on cue, here’s the duke himself.

My noble lords and relatives, good morning. I slept in. But I hope I didn’t delay any important decisions.

If you hadn’t shown up on cue, my lord, Lord Hastings was going to take your part—I mean, he was going to speak for you—in the crowning of the king.

No one may be bolder than my Lord Hastings. He knows me well and loves me well.—Ely, when I was last at your palace, I saw some great strawberries in your garden. I beg you, send someone to bring some of them.

Yes, my lord. With pleasure.

Buckingham, I need to have a word with you. (drawing him aside) Catesby has sounded Hastings out and found the prickly gentleman so opposed to our plan that he actually said he would die before he’d agree to have his “master’s son,” as he put it so devotedly, lose the crown.

Move to the other room, my lord. I’ll come soon.

We have not yet set the coronation day. Tomorrow, in my opinion, is too soon. I myself am not as well-equipped as I would be if the day were put off a bit.

Where is my lord, the duke of Gloucester? I have sent for the strawberries.

Richard is looking cheerful today. You always know he’s got some plan that pleases him when he says good morning with such gusto. I don’t think there’s a man under the sun who’s worse at hiding his love or hate than Richard. You know his feelings immediately just by looking at his face.

And what feelings did you see in his face today?

That he’s not angry with anyone here. If he were, he would have shown it.

I pray to God he isn’t.

Tell me, all of you, what punishment does a person deserve who conspires to kill me with witchcraft and who has already plagued my body with black magic?

Because I love your Grace, I say that whoever the offenders are deserve to die.

Then see the evidence of their evil with your own eyes. (he shows his arm) Look how I’ve been bewitched! See how my arm has become like a withered tree-branch? This is the work of Edward’s wife, that monstrous witch, who is in league with that tramp Shore. They have used witchcraft to harm me.

If they have done this thing, my noble lord—

If? You lover of that damned whore, you’re talking to me of “ifs”? You’re a traitor.—Off with his head. By Saint Paul, I swear I won’t eat lunch until I see him beheaded. Lovell and Ratcliffe, make sure it gets done. The rest of you who love me, come with me.

I pity England, but not myself. I was too foolish. I might have prevented this. Stanley dreamed the boar beheaded him, and I laughed and refused to flee with him. Three times today my horse stumbled and started when he looked in the direction of the Tower, as if he hated to carry me to this slaughterhouse. Oh, now I really need that priest who spoke to me today!

And I regret having bragged to the messenger about how my enemies were being butchered at Pomfret while I, as I said, was in good standing with Richard. Oh Margaret, Margaret, your heavy curse has now landed on poor Hastings’ miserable head!

Hurry up—the duke wants to eat his dinner. Make your confession short. He’s eager to see your head.

We spend more time seeking out the fleeting glories of this temporary world than looking to the permanent grace of God! Anyone who builds his hopes on air lives like a drunken sailor hanging on a mast, ready with every dizzy nod of his head to tumble to the bottom of the sea. The things we worry about, like good looks and possessions, aren’t lasting, and they don’t matter.

Come, come, hurry up. It’s pointless to talk now.

Oh bloody Richard! Miserable England, I foresee for you the most frightening time you have ever experienced.—Come, lead me to the block. Bring him my head. Those who smile at it will soon be dead themselves.

Tell me, cousin, I need to know if you can shake like you’ve got a fever, turn pale all of a sudden, and stop speaking in the middle of a word—as if you were driven crazy with fear.

Oh please, I can imitate the best tragic actor around. I can speak and then look all around, and tremble, and start at a mere piece of straw as if I were paranoid. Frightening looks are also at my service, as are fake smiles. Anytime I need them, they’re waiting to do my bidding. But has Catesby gone?

He has. But here he is, back with the mayor.

Lord Mayor—

Watch out for the drawbridge over there!

Listen! A drum!

Catesby, look over the top of these walls to see if anyone’s there.

Lord Mayor, the reason we have sent—

Look behind you! Defend yourself! There are enemies here.

God defend and guard us innocents against them!

Stay calm. They’re friends—Ratcliffe and Lovell.

Here’s the head of that notorious traitor, the dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.

I loved this man so much it makes me weep. I took him to be the plainest, most harmless Christian on earth. He was the book in which I recorded all of my most secret thoughts. He was so slick in covering over his plans that if it hadn’t been for his love affair with Shore’s wife, I would never have suspected him.

Well, well, he was the most covert traitor who ever lived. Would you believe, if we hadn’t caught him, this subtle traitor would have murdered the Lord of Gloucester and me in the council room today?

He would have?

What, do you think we’re Turks or savages, instead of Christians? You think we would have disobeyed the law and proceeded to kill this villain if England’s peace and our own lives hadn’t been at stake?

I hope nothing else like this ever happens to you! This man deserved his death. And you, my good lords, were right to warn other traitors from trying the same.

I didn’t expect any better from him once he got involved with Mistress Shore. But we had decided that he shouldn’t die until you were able to come witness his execution. (Which was prevented by the haste of our friends, Lovell and Ratcliffe here, who went against what we intended somewhat in their hurry to protect us). If you could have heard the traitor speak for himself and confess the exact way he planned to murder us, you could have told the citizens what terrible intentions he had, though now they’re likely to misconstrue what we did and wail over his death.

But, my good lord, the words of you and Lord Buckingham are as trustworthy to me as if I had seen and heard him speak myself. And do not doubt, you honest, noble princes, that I’ll let our citizens know how fairly you proceeded in this case.

That is exactly why we wanted you here, your lordship—to avoid the public carping and complaints.

But since you’ve come too late to see the execution as we intended, at least let people know what you hear we intended. And so, good Lord Mayor, we bid you goodbye.

Follow him, Buckingham. He’s traveling at a gallop to the London meeting hall. There, as soon as you have a chance, drop the hint that Edward’s children are bastards. Tell the citizens how Edward put to death a citizen just because the citizen said he was going to make his own son “heir to the crown”—when all the citizen meant was that he owned a tavern called “the Crown” and was going to leave it to his son. And then point out what a lech Edward was and what a bestial appetite he had for women, which touched even the citizens’ own servants, daughters, and wives. There was no limit to what his lustful eye and savage heart would prey on. And, if you need to, approach the subject of me: tell them that when my mother became pregnant with the insatiable Edward, my noble father was fighting in France. With a little calculating, it’s obvious that Edward is not in fact my father’s child—not a surprising revelation if you consider how my father the noble duke looked nothing like this man. But only hint at this vaguely, because, as you know, my mother’s still alive.

Don’t worry, my lord, I’ll be as eloquent as if the golden crown I’m pleading for were for myself. Goodbye, my lord.

If things go well, bring the crowd to Baynard’s Castle, where I’ll be surrounded by priests and learned bishops.

I’m off. Around three or four o’clock, look for news from the meeting hall.

Lovell, go as fast as you can to Doctor Shaw. (to RATCLIFFE) Go to Friar Penker. Both of you, tell these men to meet me in less than an hour at Baynard’s Castle.

Now I’ll go inside and write out a secret order to keep Clarence’s brats out of sight and to forbid anyone whatsoever from seeing King Edward’s sons.

Here’s the indictment of the good Lord Hastings, which has been written out in a clear hand, like any legal document, so it can be read aloud in public outside St. Paul’s Cathedral. And look how well this sequence of events holds together: after Catesby brought the indictment to me last night, I spent eleven hours copying it. The original took just as long to write out. So that’s twenty-two hours. And yet five hours ago, Lord Hastings was alive, untouched, free, at liberty. What a backward world we live in! Why, who’s so stupid that he can’t see through this fraud? But who’s so blind to the consequences of speaking out that he’ll admit what he knows? The world is a bad place, where you can’t speak what you know.

So what did the citizens say?

It’s incredible—they didn’t say a word.

Did you mention that Edward’s children are bastards?

I did. I talked about how he was engaged to Lady Lucy, and how he was engaged to Lady Bona through the help of the earl of Warwick. I spoke of the unquenchable greediness of Edward’s desires and the way he forced himself on the wives of Londoners. I mentioned the way he punished people harshly for minor offenses. I said he was not the son of the noble duke of York, because your father was in France when he was conceived, which explains why he doesn’t have anything in common with his father. And then I suggested that you were the spitting image of your father, both in the way you look and in the nobleness of your character. I went into all your victories in Scotland, your skill as a warrior, your wisdom in peacetime, your generosity, your goodness, and your exceptional modesty. Indeed, I left nothing out. And when my oration came to a close, I asked those who loved their country to cry, “God save Richard, England’s royal king!”

And did they?

No, God help me, they didn’t say a word. Like silent statues or stones that breathed, they just gazed at each other and turned as pale as the dead. When I saw this, I scolded them and asked the mayor what this stubborn silence meant. He said that the people weren’t used to being spoken to except by the Recorder. So I urged the Recorder to repeat my tale—you know, “The duke of Buckingham said this, Buckingham meant that,” but nothing on his own authority. When he was done, a few followers of my own at the far end of the hall hurled their caps in the air. Some ten voices cried, “God save King Richard!” I jumped on this slender opportunity and said, “Thank you, noble citizens and friends. This widespread applause and enthusiastic shouts make clear you stand behind Richard.” And then I broke off and quickly came away.

What blocks of wood! They wouldn’t say anything? Aren’t the mayor and his fellow citizens coming?

The mayor is here at hand. Pretend you’re afraid, my lord, and don’t speak until you’re pleaded with. And make sure to carry a prayer book in your hand and to stand between two priests, okay? Then I’ll have the grounds to build a holy sermon about why you should be king. But don’t be easily won over. Act like a virgin, always answering “No,” but taking it in the end.

I’m going now. If you’re as good at pleading to them as I am at saying no to you, this will definitely come to a happy end.

Hurry, go up to the roof. The Lord Mayor is knocking.

Welcome, my lord. I’m twiddling my thumbs waiting for the duke to show up. I don’t think he wants to be disturbed.

Here comes his servant. Now, Catesby, what does your lord say to my request?

My lord, he asks that you please visit him tomorrow or the next day. He’s inside in prayer, with two reverend fathers. He doesn’t want to be disturbed in his holy work by any worldly requests.

Return to the gracious duke, good Catesby. Tell him that the mayor, some citizens, and I have come to confer with his grace in matters of great importance concerning the general good.

I’ll tell him right away, my lord.

Ah, my lord, this prince is nothing like Edward! He is not lolling in bed but on his knees in prayer. He’s not enjoying himself with a couple of prostitutes but studying with two learned priests. He’s not sleeping to fatten up his lazy body, but praying, to nourish his attentive soul. England would be lucky to have this virtuous prince as king. But I’m afraid we’ll never get him to agree to be king.

But God forbid he says no to us!

I’m afraid he will. Here comes Catesby again.

What’s up, Catesby, what does your master say?

My lord, he wonders why you have assembled such troops of citizens to speak with him, since he had no idea they were coming. My lord, he’s afraid you mean him harm.

I’m sorry my noble brother is suspicious of me. By God, I’m here because I love him. Return and tell him so.

When devoutly religious men are praying, it’s hard to draw them out of it, because they get lost in the wonder of their contemplation.

See how he stands between two clergymen!

Two props of virtue for a Christian prince, to prevent him from ever becoming vain. And, see, he has a prayer book in each hand, the signs of a holy man. Most gracious prince of the famous house of Plantagenet, pardon us for interrupting your righteous, Christian prayer. Please listen favorably to our request.

My lord, you don’t need to apologize. I beg you to pardon me. I’ve been so intent on serving God that I’ve kept my friends waiting. In any case, what would you like?

Only what, I hope, will please God above and all good men on this island, which currently has no king.

I suspect that I have committed some offence to the city and you have come to reprimand me for not knowing better.

You have, my lord. I hope you’ll make up for it!

Why else would I live in a Christian country, if I can’t ask forgiveness for my faults?

Then you should know that we take fault with your resigning the supreme seat, the majestic throne, the sceptered office, of your ancestors—the power and greatness that destiny and your noble birth have handed you—to the wrong person. You aren’t respecting the lineage of your royal family. You’re lost in sleepy thoughts, and we have come to wake you to our country’s needs. This noble island has been compromised. She is scarred by the infamous deeds of King Edward IV. Her royal stock has been corrupted and nearly lost. We want that royalty remembered again. We heartily beg you, in all your goodness, to take upon yourself the responsibility and rule of this land, not merely as a servant, substitute, or other lowly agent of the king, but as the king himself. It is your birthright to be king. It’s for this reason that we are here—the citizens of England and your devoted friends. We strongly urge you on.

I can’t tell which is the better course of action, to leave in silence or to scold you. If I don’t answer, perhaps you’ll think I’m accepting the heavy responsibility you foolishly want to impose on me. But if I do speak and refuse your request, then I’m guilty of reprimanding my friends, who have been faithful and loving toward me. So, I’ll speak to make clear I don’t want the crown but also that I am grateful to you. Here is my definitive answer: thank you for your love, but I’m going to have to turn down your weighty request because I don’t deserve to be king. First of all, even if all the obstacles were eliminated and my path led straight to the crown—if it were truly my birthright—I would rather hide from my greatness than hide inside the greatness of the position itself and be smothered by it. My spirit is poor, and I have so many terrible defects that as king I would be like a little boat tossed about on a mighty sea. So, thank God, there is no real need for me, as I wouldn’t be able to help you much. The royal tree has left us other fruit, which, with time, will do just fine on the throne and make us all happy as king, I’m sure. Someone other than I has the right and the good fortune to be made king. God forbid that I snatch the crown from him.

My lord, what you’ve said makes clear you have a conscience, but your objections are trivial, given the circumstances. You say that Prince Edward is your brother’s son. We agree, but not by your brother’s wife. King Edward was going to marry Lady Lucy—your mother can vouch for that—and then he was betrothed to Bona, the King of France’s sister-in-law. But both of these were put off by Elizabeth Grey, a careworn mother of many children who had once been a beauty but was now a stressed-out widow long past her prime. Nevertheless, under pretence of asking a favor of him, she attracted his lustful eye and seduced him so thoroughly that he completely debased himself, committing adultery with her. It resulted in this Edward, whom we’re polite enough to call “Prince.” Out of respect for the living, I’ll restrain myself from telling you everything. But, my good lord, if you don’t care about this country, at least use your own pure lineage to rescue us from the current corruption of the royal line.

Yes, my good lord, your citizens beg you.

Don’t refuse the love we offer you.

Oh, make them joyful! Grant their law-abiding request!

Alas, why would you heap all these responsibilities on me? I am unfit to rule and to be king. Please, don’t take it badly, but I cannot and will not give in to you.

Perhaps you refuse our request out of love for your brother’s son. You don’t want to depose the child. We know how tender your heart is and what gentle, kind, womanly feelings you have for your relatives, as well as for people from all walks of life. But listen, if you won’t become king, we’ll just get someone else, to the disgrace and ruin of your family. We will not have your brother’s son as king. On this note, we’re leaving. Come, citizens. Damn it, I’m not going to beg anymore!

Oh, please don’t swear, my lord of Buckingham.

Call them back, my lord, and accept their request. If you refuse it, the whole country will regret it.

Would you tie me to a whole world of worries? Well, call them back again. I am not made of stone; I am affected by all these kind pleas, though it goes against my conscience and my soul.

Buckingham, my brother, and you wise, serious men, since you intend to force me to take responsibility for these changing times, whether I want to or not, I’m going to have to be brave and endure the load. But if this imposition you’ve put on me happens to result in dark scandal or ugly reproach, the fact that you forced me to accept this should clear me from blame. God knows, and you may have noticed, I’m not to eager to take on this job.

God bless your Grace! We understand you’re just doing it for us, and we’ll be sure to say so.

If you say that, you’ll only be telling the truth.

Then I salute you with this royal title: long live Richard, England’s worthy king!

Amen.

Will you be crowned tomorrow?

Whenever you want, since you’re the one who wants it.

Tomorrow, then, we will wait on your Grace. Now we’ll take our leave—joyfully.

(to the bishops) Come, let us get back to praying.—Farewell, my cousin; farewell, noble friends.

Who’s this? My granddaughter, with her kind aunt, the duchess of Gloucester, leading her by the hand? Now, on my life, the young child must be headed to the Tower to greet the young princes, whom she adores. Daughter, how nice to see you.

Good afternoon!

The same to you, good sister. Where are you going?

Just to the Tower—I’m guessing, for the same reason you are: to salute the noble princes who are staying there.

Yes, kind sister. We can all go together.

And here comes the warden, just in time. Officer, please tell us, if you will, how are the prince and my little son, York?

They’re just fine, my dear madam. But I’m sorry—I’m not allowed to let you visit them. The king has strictly forbidden it.

The king? Who’s that?

I meant to say the Lord Protector.

The Lord keep him from the title of king! Richard has set boundaries between my love and theirs? I am their mother. Who’s going to keep me from them?

I am their father’s mother. I will see them.

I am their aunt, and I love them like a mother. So take me to see them. Officer, I’ll take the responsibility from you, and the blame too.

No, madam, no. I can’t do this. I am bound by oath, so please forgive me.

In just an hour from now, Duchess of York, I’ll be saluting you as the mother of two beautiful queens. (to ANNE) Come, madam, you must go straight to Westminster Abbey, where you will be crowned Richard’s queen.

Oh, cut my bodice-staps so that my pent-up heart can have some room to breathe, or I’ll faint from this deadly news!

Cruel, cruel news!

(to QUEEN ELIZABETH) Cheer up, mother. How are you feeling?

Oh, Dorset, don’t waste your time talking to me. Leave. Death and destruction are following at your heels. Your mother’s name has become a threat to her own children. If you want to outrun death, go cross the sea to France and stay with Richmond, out of the reach of hell. Go, get out of here, get out of this slaughterhouse. Otherwise you’ll just increase the number of the dead, and make me die the slave of Margaret’s curse, no longer a mother, a wife, or England’s queen.

Madam, your advice is wise and caring.—Dorset, take advantage of the time you have. I’ll write to my stepson Richmond on your behalf, so that he’ll meet you on the way. But don’t delay.

O, this evil wind that spreads nothing but misery. O, my cursed womb—it’s a deathbed, really, since Richard came out of it. It has hatched a cockatrice, whose gaze kills whatever it lands on.

(to ANNE) Come, madam, come. I was sent in a hurry.

I go unwillingly. I wish to God that the golden crown that I’ll have to wear were red-hot steel and burned me straight through to the brain! I wish I could be anointed queen with deadly venom, not oil, and that I would die before anyone even had a chance to say, “God save the Queen!”

Go, go, poor soul. I don’t envy your position. If you want to make me happy, don’t wish yourself harm.

No? Why? The man I’m married to now came to me when he’d barely washed the blood off his hands from killing my first husband, that angel, as well as my husband’s sainted father, whose corpse I was following to burial. I’m telling you, when I looked at Richard’s face, this is what I wished: “I want you to be cursed for making me a widow so young. And when you get married, let sorrow haunt your bed. And I hope your wife—if any woman is crazy enough to marry you—is more miserable about the fact that you’re alive as you have made me by killing my husband!” And then what? Before I even had time to repeat the curse, my woman’s heart was taken captive by his sweet, slick words. I became the victim of my own curse. Since I married him, I have not had one hour’s sleep in his bed. Every night I’m awakened by his terrified dreams. It doesn’t matter if I sleep, though. He hates me because of who my father is. He will, no doubt, get rid of me soon.

Poor dear, goodbye. I pity your situation.

No more than I do yours.

Goodbye. I know you’re unhappy with the glory of becoming queen.

(to ELIZABETH) And goodbye to you, the poor soul who has to leave that glory behind.

(to DORSET) Go to Richmond, and good luck. (to ANNE) You go to Richard. I hope good angels will protect you. (to QUEEN ELIZABETH) You take sanctuary in the Abbey and think good thoughts for us. I will go to my grave, where I can look forward to peace and rest. I have witnessed eighty-odd years of sorrow; for each hour of joy I’ve experienced, I’ve suffered a full week of misery.

Wait. Look back at the Tower with me. Please, you ancient building, take pity on those tender babes locked inside your walls by envious rivals! You are such a rough cradle for such little pretty ones. You are a rude, ragged nurse and an old, sullen playmate for such tender princes. Please treat my babies well. I know I must look foolish saying goodbye to a building, but I’m aching with sorrow.

Everyone stand aside.—Cousin Buckingham.

My gracious king.

Give me your hand.

Because of your advice and your help, I have a high position now. But will I wear these honors for only a day or will I enjoy them for a long time?

Let them last forever.

Oh Buckingham, now I’m going to test to see if you’re truly made of gold. Young Prince Edward is still alive—what do you think I’m going to say next?

Go on, my loving lord.

Why, Buckingham, I say I want to be king.

Why, you are king, your highness.

Ha! Am I king? I guess I am. But Edward is still alive.

True, noble prince.

Oh, how bitter it is that Edward—the real “true, noble prince”—should still be alive! Cousin, you didn’t used to be so thickheaded. Shall I put it plainly? I want the bastards dead. And I want it done right away. What do you say? Speak now and to the point.

Your Grace can do whatever he wants.

Tut, tut, you’ve become rather icy. Your friendliness toward me seems to be freezing over. Tell me, do I have your consent to kill them?

Give me a little breathing space, my lord, a little pause to think. I’ll let you know my answer shortly.

(so only the attendant nearest him can hear) The king is angry. See, he bites his lip.

(to himself) I only want to deal with stupid fools and careless boys. I have no use for people who look at me insightfully. Ambitious Buckingham grows much too circumspect. Boy!

My lord?

Do you know anyone who would kill someone for money?

My lord, I know one unhappy gentleman who has more pride than money. Money talks, and would very likely get him to do anything.

What’s his name?

His name is Tyrrel, my lord.

I know the man a bit. Go, bring him here, boy.

(to himself) The thoughtful, witty Buckingham will no longer be privy to my innermost thoughts. Has he held out for me for so long and without a moment’s doubt only to suddenly need some “breathing room”? Well, so be it.

Look who’s here! What’s the news with you?