He soon knew. The letter Richard read from his cousin—his only royal cousin—was, in essence, an answer to his prayer for help. Henry Stafford, third duke of Buckingham, had been shunned by Edward for most of the previous decade, which must have peeved the arrogant young duke greatly. He had never forgiven Edward for pandering to Elizabeth and bestowing her younger sister, Catherine, on him as a bride at the tender age of eleven. He had whined to Richard that he should have married far above a Woodville and held a high office in Edward’s court. He greatly resented Elizabeth’s influence on the king, and Richard was sure Harry hated the Woodvilles even more than Hastings did.

Edward had dismissed Harry as a “vain and officious buffoon,” but in February 1478 the king had given the buffoon the temporary title of Lord High Steward. Thus it was from Harry’s mouth and not Edward’s that the pronouncement of death for George of Clarence had been made. “He griped about that, too, saying it would be the only thing history would remember him for,” Edward had said. “Ungrateful ass. Elizabeth warned me not to treat with him—said he was cruel to Catherine, and in truth, I think I would have wrung his neck if he hadn’t disappeared back to Wales for long spells.”

Richard thought of that conversation now as he re-read Harry’s friendly letter.

Richard, duke of Gloucester and cousin, I greet you well. First, my sincere condolences on the death of your brother and my cousin, the king. It has been a shock for us all, but we must not allow our grief to cloud our judgement on how to proceed from here. I was glad to know that you are named protector, cousin, for you possess an exemplary character to counsel a king. I hereby give you my promise of support. I have no doubt you will be in need of friends with those wily Woodvilles ever ready to seize power, and, if I may be so bold, I am offering my help. It is time for my royal blood to be recognized and to take my rightful place by your side. I can muster a small force to meet with you along your route if you tell me where to make our rendezvous. Let us keep this discourse between ourselves. We do not need to give our enemies any cause to evade us, for I believe their thirst for power is a dangerous threat to you, and they will want to hold young Edward close.

Written this seventeenth day of April at Brecknock by your humble and loyal cousin, Henry Buckingham.