Still it had led him to Katharine, for if all this had not happened he could never have met her.
As he stood on the deck watching the coastline of Ireland grow nearer he could echo her words: “We are together.”
Lord Desmond was dismayed. Life did not stand still, he pointed out, and in spite of the rebellions Henry Tudor still had a firm grip on the crown. People were beginning to like his rule apart from one thing—the exorbitant taxation, and they blamed Empson and Dudley for that. Those two were the most unpopular men in the country and the fact that they did not regard Henry himself entirely responsible was an indication of how he was beginning to be accepted as a good king.
The fact was that Desmond did not want to have anything to do with the rebellion. He could see that Henry’s calm wisdom would inevitably make him the victor.
He said: “The Irish are an unpredictable people. They sway one way and then another. There has been a rebellion in Cornwall. Now that is where you would find your supporters.”
“Henry suppressed that rebellion.”
“Because it was just a rabble. Audley was there to give it some standing, but they were not trained soldiers. No. It would have been different if they had been. After all, they captured Daubeney in the first place. Think what they could have done if they had had some backing. No, the West Country is your hope, my lord. You should go there and raise an army.”
It was quite clear that Desmond did not want to be involved.
Scotland had rejected Perkin, and now Ireland. So there was nothing for it but to take ship to Cornwall.
There his spirits rose.
From the moment he landed at Whitesand Bay Perkin was warmly welcomed and he rode in triumph to Bodmin where memories of the recent march to London were still vivid.
“Good Flammock,” they said. “His parts exposed all over London! And him always such a modest man. That they could do such a thing to Lawyer Flammock is past belief.”
“And don’t ’ee forget Joseph. There’s none could shoe a horse like that ’un . . . And to think of ’ee . . . Oh it be past thinking of.”
They were smarting from the humiliation levied on those two worthy men.
“But the rest of ’em just came back. Don’t ’ee do it again . . . that’s all they did say.”
“Well, stands to reason, they couldn’t do to us all what they did to good Flammock and Joseph.”
“I’d think not. Cornwall wouldn’t stand for that.”
“Aye, and ’e do know it, King or not. He couldn’t treat us Cornish like that.”
And now here was the handsome young man.
“Reckon he could show old Tudor a thing or two. . . .”
“He could and all . . . if he had Cornishmen to back him.”
Perkin’s spirits rose.
“This is different from our reception in Ireland,” he said.
The Mayor proclaimed him in the square as “Our King Richard the Fourth.”
The Cornishmen were with him. They were going to have a king of their own choosing and it was going to be this handsome young man, and his beautiful wife who should reign beside him.
“I shall win this time,” said Perkin, trying to bring enthusiasm into his smile.
“I shall be nearby,” said Katharine.
Perkin shook his head. “I want you to be safe . . . you and the baby.”
She shook her head but he would not listen.
Men were flocking to his banner. They all wanted to go and fight the Tudor. It was an adventure and if all went well they would have put a new king on the throne and if it did not . . . well, they would just come back as their friends had done when they had followed Flammock and Joseph to London.
Three thousand men had rallied to his banner. This was success. He believed that when he was on the march with such a following more men would fall in behind him.
“I must go,” he told Katharine. She was in tears. Perhaps she who loved him knew that, good husband that he was, he was no leader of men. But it was true, he did seem inspired. If it should happen that he gained the throne she must stand with him, reign as his queen. She fervently wished that it could be happily settled and that they could go away and live in obscurity and leave Henry Tudor his throne.
“They tell me that you will be safest on St. Michael’s Mount,” he told her.
“It will be so far from you.”
“I shall not rest happy unless I know you are in a place of safety.”
“Do you think I can rest happy anywhere until you are back with me?”
He kissed her fondly. “It will not be long,” he promised her.
But she did not believe him. Sadly they parted—she going westward with her child, he marching on to Exeter.
It was true that men fell in with his army. They liked the look of him. He was so handsome; he had the Plantagenet look; he had the appearance of a king—more so than Henry who never smiled and whom they said had
