Northumberland suppressed a smile. While Richard was Lord of the North, the earl had become used to Richard’s moral preachings. Stanley could only grunt an assent; he was not about to argue with the king when he himself was already under suspicion by virtue of his wife’s involvement in the rebellion. It was as well Stanley had been with Richard since leaving Yorkshire and had mustered a goodly number of troops to Richard’s banner or he, too, might have been suspected of abetting Margaret Beaufort and John Morton.

“We march on the morrow, my lords, despite the foul weather,” Richard told them. “We should have news of where the bulk of their force is by then.”

Never was Richard more thankful for the disagreeable English weather than he was that October. Perhaps God had heard him on the Lincoln battlements. The rivers to the west swelled and overflowed to bog Buckingham’s reluctant, resentful troops in the mud, and storms in the Channel forced Henry Tudor’s small invading fleet back to Brittany. Unable to unify, the rebels scattered and fled. By the time Richard and his force reached Salisbury, the rebellion was over “with nary a drop of blood spilled,” as he proudly told Anne later. Much of the success was attributed to Richard’s leadership. He had acted quickly and decisively.

“I shall have only the captured leaders executed, all the rest, the commoners, are pardoned. Let them go back to their homes with my blessing,” Richard told his new constable, Sir Ralph Assheton. “It was always my brother’s custom to spare the commoners.”

Two days later, on All Hallow’s Eve, as news of the fate of the other rebel leaders filtered into Richard’s council chamber in the cathedral close and after ten executions had taken place, Francis barged into the room to announce: “Buckingham is taken, he is being led to gaol as I speak!”

Richard leaped out of his seat, elated. “Where was he found? Who can I reward?”

How glad was Richard to discover that Buckingham in his turn had been betrayed. “Now perhaps you know how it feels, Harry,” Richard muttered under his breath, “and how fitting it was done by a servant.” He turned to Assheton. “You will try him on the morrow and give me a report. I have no doubt his lordship will wet the axeman’s blade before this week is out.” This time, there would be no quibbling as to the king’s meaning.

Any mercy for his cousin Richard may have held in his heart was expunged when he heard that it had taken only the threat of torture to convince Harry to deliver up his fellow rebels. Richard felt relieved and disgusted. Harry begged his guards to take him to the king, and when Richard refused to see him, Harry then sent his cousin a pathetic, pleading letter.