The Kings and I
© Kathy H D Kingsbury, September 12, 2021
More paranormal adventures with Richard III, this time including a visit from
Henry Tudor and Elizabeth of York. A sequel to A "Spirited" Interview.
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It had been quite a while since I had a real vacation. My interview with Richard III was a big success, getting our little magazine more notice than we knew what to do with. New subscriptions were skyrocketing with a large influx of readers drawn to the story of the last Plantagenet king. To show his appreciation, the boss gave me two weeks paid vacation. And to think my article was originally intended to be nothing more than a filler piece!
I already knew where I was going – Yorkshire and Middleham Castle. I'd had no further contact with the late king but figured it wouldn't hurt to scope out the place for whenever we did get the second interview scheduled. Besides, I could always chalk up any extra cost to research expenses.
So I made my reservations, booked my flight, and packed my bags. Yorkshire, here I come!
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Middleham Castle, once the seat of power of the great Neville family and later Richard when he was Duke of Gloucester and his brother's Lord of the North, was in ruins, much of the damage a result of the English Civil War. What remained, however, was still impressive with its great Norman tower dominating the landscape. I parked my rental car and made my way to the little cabin that was a combination ticket booth and gift shop. Once inside, I was too busy looking around, trying to decide which books I wanted to buy, to pay much attention to the man collecting the money.
"That'll be £6.90, or if you'd like to make a small donation, £7.90."
I dug into my wallet and handed him a £10 note. "Keep the change."
"That's very generous of you, Ms. Kingsbury."
I looked up and nearly fainted. There he was, Richard Plantagenet looking very modern in t-shirt and jeans. His hair was still long, but it was neatly tied back in a ponytail. He also looked much more substantial than the last time I saw him.
"When you told me you lived here, I didn't think you meant that you worked here, too."
"It's volunteer work. After your interview, I realized that I was missing out on so much. I mean, what's the purpose in staying here on earth if I'm not going to get out and enjoy it. Besides, there's nothing like slipping into my kingly raiment now and then, and making brief appearances for the paying public."
"You're telling me you like to do a little haunting on the side?"
"Not really haunting, more like giving the tourists their money's worth." He called over to one of the other workers. "Hey, Joe, can you take over for me? A friend from the States has just dropped in and I'd like to give her the deluxe personal tour."
Joe, an older man with a friendly face, made his way to the ticket counter. "Sure, no problem, Dick. Enjoy yourselves."
"He doesn't know, does he?" I whispered.
"No. I'm just Richard Broom around here."
We left the cabin and entered the courtyard, wandering the grounds while we talked.
"You look so...solid," I said. "Not like some ethereal being at all. Have you been bulking up? Taking steroids?"
Richard chuckled. I guess the idea of a spirit lifting weights or taking performance enhancing substances does have its humorous aspect. "It took me a while to learn how to do it, but I've found that if I concentrate hard enough, I'm able to take on an almost fully corporeal appearance that can last for several hours. A lot of spirits don't care to do so as they find it tiring, but I find it helps me interact with the living."
"It looks good on you," I said, admiring the view.
"And now it's my turn. Why didn't you let me know you were coming?"
"Well, for one thing, I had no idea how to reach you. All I got from you the last time was that you lived at Middleham Castle. What was I supposed to do, send a snail mail addressed to The Ghost of King Richard III c/o Middleham Castle? As for email?" I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know if you even have access to a computer, much less if you're able to use one. Anyway, this isn't work. I'm on vacation."
Richard smiled. "More of your Ricardian research?"
"Maybe," I drawled.
"Before we go any further, I have one more question."
"What is this? My turn to be interviewed?"
"Just one more. Your full name. When we first met, you introduced yourself as H D Kingsbury. What do the initials H D stand for?"
"They stand for How Delightful." I smiled and batted my eyelashes. Oh my goodness, here I was at a ruined castle, flirting with a ghost! But hey, can't I have a ghost king for a friend? Besides, as I told Richard, I was on vacation! Time to kick back and have some fun.
"Truly? That is what your parents named you?"
"No, not really," I said, rolling my eyes. I couldn't believe he'd think that! "But they had a wicked sense of humor and named me Hortensia Delilah after my two grandmothers. I prefer How Delightful."
"I can understand why. If it's all right with you, I'll just call you H D."
"Works for me."
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Richard and I were making our way around the castle grounds. He'd been bringing points of interest to my attention when suddenly he blinked out of sight. "Have a seat over at that picnic table," he said.
"What are you going to do? Do you know how odd it feels, talking to a disembodied voice?"
"Just watch," he said, and I could almost see him grinning. Now that I'd gotten to know Richard Plantagenet better, I found he had a great sense of humor and wasn't above the occasional practical joke. "Have a seat, sip on your mead, and pretend you're reading that tour book you bought at the gift shop, but keep your eye on that couple to our right."
Now what the hell was he up to?
It was a slow day at the castle, and there were only two other visitors in our immediate area – a man and woman, middle aged and from their body language probably married. Their animated conversation and occasional bursts of laughter made it obvious they were enjoying their outing. So I sat and watched, and just when the woman turned her head in my general direction, Richard reappeared, this time wearing his NPG garb. He casually strolled past her, keeping a straight face although I suspected he was grinning on the inside. He briefly turned his head in her direction, gave the woman a slight nod, and continued on his way before blinking back out of sight. I had to admit, the look of astonishment on the woman's face was worth the price of admission.
"Neil, did you see that?" she was saying to her husband, grabbing him by the arm and pointing to where Richard had just been. "It was him. It was King Richard! I saw Richard!"
"What are you talking about, Joanna?"
"King Richard. He walked right past me!"
"Oh, you mean one of the living historians."
"No, the real Richard. One moment, nothing; next moment, there he was, big as life!"
"You're telling me you saw his ghost? How many of those meads have you had to drink today?"
"I've barely touched my mead and I wasn't imagining things! Yes, his ghost!"
We left the couple discussing whether Richard had been real or an actor and continued our tour.
"That was wicked," I said.
Richard, who by now had blinked back into visibility wearing his modern clothes, just smirked.
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The next day began my personally guided tour of Yorkshire sites associated with Richard III with the king himself as my guide. Although I loved how he looked when he wore his medieval attire, I agreed that jeans and t-shirt would be less likely to draw unwanted attention, unless we wanted to pretend there was a medieval reenactment somewhere nearby. I let Richard choose our itinerary, so our first stop was Sheriff Hutton Castle, located in the village by the same name and about 13 miles north of the city of York.
Several years ago, Sheriff Hutton Castle had been on the market. Can you imagine owning your own castle, especially a castle with such strong connections to Richard III? If only I'd had a spare £1.1 million in my piggy bank, but I didn't and somebody else got the place.
These days it is mostly an unstable ruin. That means there's no public access to the castle, so we parked on Main Street and made our way to the footpath adjacent to the site. This path allows visitors to get a good look at the ruins, but from a safe distance, and as I gazed up at what had once been a mighty fortress, I was beginning to wonder if there were any intact castles left in England. According to what I'd read online, the devastation this time was caused not by being used for target practice during the Civil War (Cavaliers and Roundheads, anyone?) but by being a 17th century quarry when the owner decided to build a mansion house nearby and saw the castle as a great source of pre-cut stones.
A fence circled the property, but Richard ignored that. He easily climbed over it, although I suspect he could have done a ghostly thing and walked right through it, and was making his way toward the ruin. He motioned for me to follow.
"Isn't this private property?" I don't know how spirits felt about getting arrested for trespassing, but it wasn't something I wanted to deal with.
"It might be," he hesitated. He knew damned well it was, but that wasn't going to stop him. "Besides, I know a back way in."
"Why does that not surprise me?"
So around the back we went, and a few minutes later found ourselves standing within what had once been a lordly residence. It was a cool, cloudy, breezy day so there weren't any other sight-seers around to avoid.
"So this is where the Council of the North met," I said as I admired what was left of the place. As Wikipedia put it, "The Council of the North was an administrative body first set up in 1484 by King Richard III of England, to improve access to conciliar justice in Northern England." Hey, anybody who makes access to the judicial system easier for the common folk is okay in my book.
"Yes, here and Sandal Castle."
Note to self. Add Sandal Castle to my list of places to visit.
"It's also here that I sent the children for safety back in 1485," he said, referring to his nieces and nephews as his own son had died the previous year. "Poor Eddie," he murmured.
"Are you referring to your brother George's son? Edward of Warwick?"
He nodded. "The child never had much of a chance at a normal life. It was obvious from early on that he was a little...slow. And the treatment he received at the hands of others was abhorrent. These days it would be considered nothing less than child abuse. Then, years later after I was gone, there were those trumped up charges of treason." He shook his head slowly as he let out a big sigh. "If only..." But Richard was interrupted before he could finish his thought.
"If only what, you sniveling piece of excrement?"
That's when I saw Richard's face go black as thunder, and wondered if I was going to get an up-close demonstration of that famous Plantagenet temper I'd read so much about. I turned to see who had interrupted us, expecting it to be a ticked off property owner upset with trespassers. Instead, I found myself face-to-face with Pietro Torrigiano's sculpture of Henry Tudor in living color, an English Renaissance king in fur-trimmed robes and a cute little hat but without the bling Richard enjoyed wearing. The narrow eyes and snarling lips told me this wasn't a courtesy call.
"Is that the best you can come up with, you old skinflint?" Richard snapped back. "Get the hell out of here. This is my place!" And with that, Richard went from t-shirt and jeans to full-blown regal medieval dress. Clothes make the man, as the saying goes, and Richard was not about to be outdone by Tudor.
"This is Crown property," Tudor snarled. "You died, and it became mine."
"I died because you're a usurping bastard!"
I could sense a lot of pent up hostility and I'm sure Richard was dying (if you will pardon the pun) to go full Plantagenet on Tudor's ass.
Now, I don't know if spirits have special powers like zapping thunderbolts, but I suspected this might be a good time to step in before this pissing contest got out of hand. I held up my hands, gesturing for both to back off. "It's private property these days, so let's just knock off the BS."
Tudor pointed a finger at me, still seething. "Who's this?"
I took one look at him and could almost imagine him cackling with Margaret Hamilton's voice, "And your little dog, too." Lucky for both of us, Richard came to my assistance before I said something to exacerbate the situation.
"This is Hortensia Delilah Kingsbury, but you can call her Miss Kingsbury."
"You had to tell him that?" I hissed. "You couldn't just call me H D?" I made a face to let him know I was pissed. At least he hadn't told Tudor my name was How Delightful.
Richard ignored me. "By the way, how's Tubby doing?"
The scowl on Tudor's face got bigger and uglier, if such a thing were possible. "That's my son, King Henry VIII, you are talking about." He sounded none too happy.
"Yeah, I kind of knew that," said Richard.
Good grief, he was trolling Tudor! Well, there was no way I was going to be left out of the fun, so I asked sweetly, "Are we referring to the misogynistic sociopath?"
I thought Tudor was going to pop a gasket. "What did you just call my son?"
"Very good," Richard whispered to me. I smiled back at him and realized I was done being pissed. He turned his attention back to Tudor. "She said he's a woman hater and without a conscience."
"You, my dear woman, need to learn some manners," said Tudor, the sarcasm dripping fast and furious. I suppose he thought he was insulting me.
"You first," I replied with a simpering smile. I grew up with five brothers and had heard far worse before I was old enough for kindergarten. One of the first lessons they taught their little sister was to never let a bully get under your skin because that gives him the upper hand.
"Watch yourself with this one, Henry," said Richard. "In her country, they threw out kings a long time ago. No respect for rank whatsoever." He turned and gave me a wink. Yup, I was definitely done being pissed at him.
Tudor looked as if he were going to say something else, but got flustered and turned to leave. "Don't think this is the last time we'll meet," he threatened, then disappeared.
I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "Well that was fun," I said, still trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
By this time, Richard was back in modern clothes. "Just ignore the old fart. Let's go into town and find a nice pub."
"I thought spirits didn't eat or drink."
"We don't, but the living do and I'm guessing that after this you wouldn't mind a pint."
"Or two!"
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Later, we were sitting in the corner of the local pub, enjoying the atmosphere and generally unwinding from our encounter with The Tydder as Richard preferred to call him. There were two pints in front of us, one for me and one ostensibly for Richard, but as he couldn't enjoy this elixir of the gods, I'd sip from one, switch glasses, then sip from the other. Made it look like both of us were drinking, when in fact I was getting pleasantly buzzed as two pints were twice as many as I usually drank. We were having a good time, talking about anything and everything except HT when I saw the look on Richard's face change from happy to annoyed
"What the hell does he think he's doing here?" he muttered, keeping his voice low so the rest of the patrons wouldn't hear him.
"Don't tell me. Is he here?" I turned my head to look where Richard was looking, and sure enough there was Tudor staring daggers at us. "What a turd!"
"Not too loud," cautioned Richard. "I'm sure he's made it so that only you and I can see him."
"Well, it's obvious he's just trying to get your goat. Ignore him. He's not worth the angst."
So that's what we did. We ignored him. But the mood was spoiled and we left about half an hour later. By then, The Tydder had disappeared, but we knew he planned on keeping his promise about this not being the last time we'd see him.
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In spite of being harassed by a rude spirit, I was determined to enjoy what time I had over here and with a medieval king as my personal tour guide, what could be better?! Besides, this could make good material for a follow-up piece to my interview. Although he could easily have just materialized to wherever we wanted to go and have me meet him there, Richard chose to ride with me and let me do the driving, and for the next several days, I was in history geek heaven.
We drove to County Durham where we visited Barnard Castle with what's left of the once magnificent fortress set on a high rock overlooking the River Tees. We wandered around the ruins, having paid our admission, and more than one fellow tourist would approach and ask, "Has anyone ever told you that you bear a striking resemblance to King Richard?" Richard would smile graciously, and received more than one invitation to attend the next meeting of the local Richard III group.
"Is this another property you inherited from your wife?" I asked.
"Yes, part of the inheritance that came to me after we married. Just remember, back when I was alive, a youngest son almost never got any of the family inheritance but had to either fight or marry to get anywhere. That is, if he hadn't already been destined for the Church."
"I often wondered about that, how it is you didn't end up as a bishop or something."
Richard shrugged. "I suspect it had to do with my father's death when I was but a child, and Edward being king shortly after that." He quickly changed the subject, apparently this one not being something he was interested in talking about. "Did you know I had some work done here?" He took me up a flight of steps to an oriel window in what had once been part of the Great Chamber. "Look." He pointed to his boar badge carved into the slab over the window. "And over there," he added, pointing to a section of the curtain wall, "is the Brackenbury Tower."
"Named for Sir Robert Brackenbury?"
"The same. Unfortunately, after I died the castle fell into ruins."
I sighed. "Seems to be the fate of so many castles."
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Another day we visited some of the ruined abbeys in Yorkshire. Now there are some beautiful abbey ruins in Yorkshire, and one of the most beautiful in spite of its condition is Rievaulx Abbey. It was once one of the great abbeys in England until Henry VIII (aka Tubby) seized it as part of the dissolution of the monasteries. Thank you, Henry VIII, for destroying such beauty all because you were running out of money to pay for your divorce.
"I visited Rievaulx in the spring of 1484," Richard was explaining. "On my way from Durham to Scarborough."
"That was during your Royal Progress, wasn't it? Did you actually stay here?" I asked, admiring the architecture, trying to picture how it all looked when it was a thriving community and there was stained glass in the now-empty windows.
"Yes. Rievaulx Abbey and nearby Helmsley Castle both provided lodgings for my royal servants."
"So, this wasn't just a pleasure trip."
"Think of it more along the lines of a working holiday."
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I was also able to cross off a visit to Sandal Castle from my bucket list. A major battle of the Wars of the Roses took place here, the Battle of Wakefield, fought either December 30 or 31, 1460, depending on which book you're reading. It was at Wakefield that Richard's father as well as his older brother Edmund were killed, leaving the eight-year-old without a father. Great way to start the New Year, although Richard would have reminded me that in his day, the New Year was celebrated on March 25, Lady Day.
There wasn't a lot left to see of the castle, although the scenery was spectacular. Sandal Castle was yet another victim of the English Civil War, having endured a siege after which Parliament ordered its demolition. Philistines! Didn't they realize they were destroying history?
"I never understood why my father left the safety of the castle," Richard said as we stood on the grounds of the old bailey. The weather had warmed, so even though we were out in the open, I wasn't shivering.
"Haven't you ever asked him?"
"I think he and Edmund must have gone ahead and passed on over to that other place before I died, as I've never seen him in all the years I've been wandering the earth as a spirit."
"A shame. Think of all the questions he could have answered."
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Though the sight-seeing was pure joy, it seemed that no matter where we went, Tudor went, too. He didn't force another confrontation, didn't even approach us. He'd just blink into sight, stand and glare at us for a few minutes, then blink out. I didn't want to admit it, but at times his presence was enough to throw a wet blanket over our sight-seeing junkets. I said nothing about this to Richard, but I sensed he felt this way, too.
My vacation was coming to an end, and we decided to make Fountains Abbey, another one of those glorious but ruined Cistercian monasteries, our last stop. We were enjoying a bite to eat in the restaurant at the Visitor Centre. Okay, I was enjoying a bite to eat while Richard offered his commentary on modern food, when he stopped mid-sentence and glared at something behind me. Sure enough, The Tydder had arrived.
"That's it," Richard said none too happily. "I've had it with his moronic stalking."
He got up from the table and headed in Tudor's direction. Naturally, I had to follow. We ended up outside, away from the other visitors who had no idea they were missing what could turn into a battle royale.
"Do you have a reason for being so obnoxious?" demanded Richard.
Tudor stuck his nose in the air. I suppose he thought it made him look regal. "Are you talking to me?"
"Who the hell else do you think I'd be talking to? You're the one who insists on stalking me for no apparent reason. Isn't it enough that you won at Bosworth? Do you have to keep annoying me even in death?"
The Tudor king looked to actually be considering Richard's question. Finally he replied. "Why after all these years are there so many people still making a fuss about you?"
"Really? It bothers you that after all your efforts to blacken my name, I still have my defenders?"
"And what's this Richard III Society? Why isn't there a Henry VII Society?"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He was doing this because his feelings were hurt? "I believe there is a Tudor Society," I threw in. Maybe if he knew he had his own group of supporters, he'd disappear. "It just doesn't have the same kind of support the Richard III Society does," I couldn't resist adding, realizing I just nixed any chance of convincing him to go.
"Who asked you to speak?" Tudor demanded. Apparently he still didn't like me.
"No one," I said, his attitude getting on my nerves. "I don't need anyone's permission to speak, least of all yours."
At that point, I have no idea how matters would have progressed (probably not well). Both spirits were displaying an intense dislike toward the other to put it mildly, and things might have gotten even uglier had another voice not interrupted our...erm...conversation.
"Henry Tudor, what do you think you are doing?"
Whatever the two onetime kings had planned to do next came to a screeching halt with the arrival of a fourth person, a woman richly attired in a full-length gown and gable headdress. A woman who held her head high and had the blood of the Plantagenets flowing in her veins – or would have if she'd been alive. This was Elizabeth of York, wife and queen consort to Henry Tudor and Richard's niece. Yeah, the same one Richard's detractors say he wanted to get into bed with.
Henry's displeasure at being interrupted was easy to read on his face. "Be gone, woman. I'm busy."
"Busy my royal arse," she said, frown on face and hands on hips. No doubt about it, she was one ticked off woman.
"How dare you…" he started, but his wife cut him off.
"How dare you, running off like this, leaving without a word as to where you were going and generally behaving in such a rude and undignified way?"
Her tone must have rattled her husband. I could tell because his jaw literally dropped.
"Elizabeth, what has come over you? I've never heard you speak like this to anyone, much less to me."
"That's because when we were alive, I did everything I could to be a good and proper wife, submissive to my husband in all things. I'd seen where scheming had gotten my mother, and I didn't want a repeat of that for me. I wasn't happy with how you came to the throne, but I was determined to make the best of it. I even grew to care for you after a while."
Henry looked chagrined. "And I grew to care for you, too, wife."
"Even when we were reunited after our passing, I wanted to continue being that good wife. But times have changed. Those days are over. I'm not about to spend the rest of eternity with you if you're going to keep going after my family. I don't care if you dislike Uncle Richard. You've got to stop harassing him. Such behavior is unseemly in a king."
Henry stood there, the shock and surprise on his face almost comical.
Elizabeth ignored him for the moment and came over to Richard. "Please accept my apologies, Uncle. I don't know what got into my husband, unless it was reading that magazine article about you."
Was it possible? All this was because someone was j-e-a-l-o-u-s? I wanted to laugh out loud, but decided that would be rude, and we'd had enough rudeness to last a month of Sundays.
Richard accepted his niece's apology with all the grace I would have expected from him. "Think nothing of it. It's not like anyone was hurt, only annoyed."
"Then if no one has any objections, I'll take my husband home." She returned to Henry's side and held out her arm, waiting for him to link his with hers. "Come on, you grumpy monkey. Time to get back to Westminster Abbey. If you like, we can visit our tomb; maybe pay a visit to your mother."
Richard made a face. I guess visiting Margaret Beaufort is not something on his list of things he'd like to do.
"That would be nice, my wife, but I'm not a grumpy monkey," Henry said, sounding like a petulant child.
"You are too."
"Am not."
"Are too."
And that's the last we saw of Elizabeth of York and Henry Tudor as they blinked out of sight.
I looked at Richard. "You know, they sound just like an old married couple."
Richard laughed. "That's because they are an old married couple."
"Good point."
-0-0-0-
My visit to Yorkshire was coming to an end. Tomorrow morning I would catch a flight back home, but before I left, I wanted to visit Middleham one more time. Having expressed this to mine host, Richard told me to meet him at the castle after visiting hours. "I know a secret way in," he said. I'd come to realize that when it came to old castles he once owned he knew every secret door and back entrance.
So here I was, inside the grounds. It was about an hour after sundown and the full moon gave everything a fairy tale look. I don't know how he managed it, some kind of spirit world glamour I suppose, but suddenly, instead of standing inside the ruins of a castle, I was in a Great Hall that looked as it must have been in Richard's day. A cheery fire was roaring in a large fireplace, and Richard, dressed in kingly splendor, escorted me to the comfortable chairs waiting for us by the fireside.
"I'm sorry I can't offer you anything to eat, but I did manage to have a bottle of wine on hand. I may not be able to enjoy it these days, but it would please me very much for you to do so for me," he said.
"That's okay. This is better than any dinner," I said, and I meant it. A quiet evening in the company of King Richard was better than a hundred evenings out at a restaurant.
"I wanted to show you a little of what this place was like when I lived here."
-0-0-0-
We sat and talked for a long time. He wanted to know all about what it was like growing up in a small Midwest town in the US, and I likewise wanted to know what it had been like growing up as a royal prince in 15th century England. It was a pleasant way to spend the evening.
"You have shown a great deal of restraint, HD."
I gave him a puzzled look. At least, I think that's what I did. "What do you mean?"
Richard gave that beautiful smile of his. "There's a question you've been dying to ask, isn't there?"
"Uh...yes?" I still had no idea what he was talking about.
"What did you call it in your article? The 400 pound gorilla in the room?"
"Oh, that question."
"Yes, that question. So, are you going to ask?"
Oh, what the hell. Why not? "I was trying to be polite and not ask potentially unpleasant questions, but since you asked for it – what happened to your nephew?"
"Let me tell you what didn't happen to my nephews. I did not in any way, shape, or form arrange for their deaths. They weren't the pleasantest of lads, but when I left the mortal realm, they were both still very much alive and well. End of story."
"Oh come on, now! That's all you're going to say? No explanation as to where they were? Why nobody saw them after the summer of 1483? Who they were staying with?"
"You asked what happened to my nephews. And I answered. Nothing. At least, nothing that I was responsible for."
I tried to worm more out of him, but he kindly but firmly refused to say any more on the subject.
"Is it that bad, what actually happened?"
"Not at all. It's just that I don't have all the details."
Talk about anti-climactic! After the excitement of thinking I was about to have the scoop of the century, or the past several centuries, I felt utterly deflated. "Sorry," I said. "I guess I was expecting some earth-shattering denouement."
"But that's just it. It's not that I don't want to tell you. The problem is that I truly don't have an ending to give you. I do, however, have a proposition. How would you like to work with me to find out what happened to my nephews after I died, because I assure you, they were very much alive the day I died."
Disappointment was suddenly out the door. I could feel myself grinning like a fool. "You mean like some kind of time detectives? But you'd have to tell me what happened with the boys prior to your death. We'll need a starting point."
"Then you agree?"
"You bet!" I was already imagining different research points, and he hadn't even given me the details.
"And so we can keep in touch, I got myself one of these." He reached inside his doublet and pulled out...a Smartphone!
"You can use that?"
He frowned. "Of course I can. It's not that hard."
"But how...? Oh, never mind. When do you want to start?"
"I have a few things to take care of at my end. Why don't I give you a call when I'm ready to start?"
Okay, whatever he said was fine by me. "Just one thing. I get exclusive rights to the story."
"Naturally."
"Shall we shake on it?"
He held out his hand. It felt so solid; it was hard to believe I was shaking hands with a spirit.
"What's this?" I said as I felt him place something in my hand. I looked down and saw a silver boar resting on my palm, just like the livery badges worn by his loyal knights back when he'd been king.
"Now you are officially a member of my retinue."
-0-0-0-
By the time we said our good-byes and till we meet agains, my head was swimming with ideas. I knew I wasn't going to get any sleep that night, and probably none on the flight home.
All I could think about was me working side-by-side with King Richard III to solve the mystery of the Princes in the Tower.
My life was never going to be the same.
The End