Thomas Stanley, earl of Derby, Margaret’s third husband

Henry Stafford, duke of Buckingham, Richard’s cousin

Elizabeth Woodville, Edward IV’s queen

Jacquetta Woodville, duchess of Bedford, Elizabeth’s mother

Anthony Woodville, Elizabeth’s brother

William Hastings, Edward IV’s councilor/chamberlain

John (Jack) Howard, later duke of Norfolk, councilor

Margaret Howard, his wife

Thomas Howard, later earl of Surrey, Howard’s son

Francis, Lord Lovell, Richard’s friend

Sir Robert Percy of Scotton, Richard’s friend

Sir Richard Ratcliffe, Richard’s friend and councilor

William Catesby, lawyer and Richard’s councilor

John Kendall, Richard’s secretary

John Parr, Richard’s squire

Miscellaneous (*fictional character)

*Kate Haute, Richard’s mistress

Katherine, Richard and Kate’s daughter (later countess of Pembroke)

John, Richard and Kate’s son (known as John of Gloucester)

Dickon, Richard and Kate’s son (known as Richard of Eastwell)

Anne of Caux, the York family nursemaid

*Constance LeMaitre, Cecily’s attendant and physician

*Piers Taggett, Richard of York’s falconer

Gresilde Boyvile, Cecily of York’s attendant

*John Lacey, master of the Middleham henchmen

*Geoffrey Bywood, Kate Haute’s brother

Prologue

Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this son of York…

—Richard the Third, William Shakespeare

Prologue

Bosworth, August 21, 1485

The night before a battle affected men in various ways. Some spent it drinking and carousing with the camp followers; some spent it hiding in the woods and nervously emptying their bowels; others passed the time playing dice; others in prayer; and still more, like Richard, in contemplating the insignificance of their earthly lives. “No matter what the priests tell you about each of us being important to God,” Richard had once said to his wife, “How can one life mean any more than another among so many throughout the history of mankind? As an anointed king, I must be more important than the beggar in the street, but in truth, I know I am not. When we die and molder in our graves, who will remember us then, one any more than another?”

“God will,” Anne had said simply, “you must believe He will. And because you are a king, your grave will be marked by a fine tomb announcing to the world who you were.” She had laughed then. “If I am lucky, I will lie with you and be remembered, too.” Dearest Anne, he thought guiltily as he lay on his elaborate camp bed, I must see to it that you are remembered.