“It is what I am doing, Father,” Richard had whispered into the darkness. “I am trying to uphold my position and govern my nephew and England as faithfully as I can. But I fear betrayal—betrayal by those I thought were friends.”

“Then you know what you must do.” His father’s words reverberated in Richard’s exhausted brain as the image faded. But it was the last voice he had heard last night that made him cringe. “Sometimes you must play God, Richard Plantagenet,” the murdered King Henry murmured. “You played it once before, remember. Now you must do it again for the good of England. I said ’twould not be easy.”

Richard banished Henry’s ghost now and, clearheaded, he glared at Hastings. “Take him away,” he commanded the guards. “Let him be shriven, but then execute the traitor!”

The others in the meeting room gasped as Hastings was pulled to his feet.

Jack Howard stepped forward. “Without trial, my lord? Where is justice in such haste? What is proof of his treason?”

“Aye,” Thomas Stanley, Margaret Beaufort’s husband, agreed, “we must have proof.”

“Look to your wife,” Richard spat at him. “She is not innocent in this.” And Stanley cowered in his chair. His fellow councilors, Lord Chancellor Rotherham and John Morton, bishop of Ely, remained silent. Richard knew why—they were complicit, he felt certain of it.

“As protector and chief constable of England I do not need to answer to any of you, but I will tell you that Lord Hastings has been dealing secretly with the queen to plot my downfall.”

“’Tis a lie!” Hastings cried, now terrified. “Why do you accuse me of this?”

“Your mistress was seen visiting the queen in sanctuary. Prove to me you did not send her. ’Tis certain the two have been practicing witchcraft to aid my demise,” and he held out his stiffened arm. His superstition blamed witchcraft at this volatile time instead of a perfectly natural result of sleeping heavily on one side of his body. “Do you see their work?” he shouted. “Witchcraft, I tell you, and I have sent Tom Howard to convey Mistress Shore to prison for it.”

Richard was surprised by the anguish in Hastings’ face. The man is in love with the harlot, Richard realized. Was she really so desirable, or did the woman’s witchery entrap her prey, including his brother Edward, which had led to his demise? She was immoral and a necromancer, and he was right to arrest her. All of these thoughts further enraged him. “If that is not enough for you, my lord,” he continued, loudly, “then shall I accuse you of withholding a secret from me and the council that would put the monarchy in jeopardy. You have such a secret, do you not? And by not confiding it to me, you have betrayed your country and your king.”