To Hold the Crown: The Story of King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York by Jean Plaidy

woman, I will say that for her. . . .”
    “Well, what is the answer?”
    “Lambert shall come with you.”
    “Good. I will call for him this day . . . when the shop closes. Say nothing of this to anyone. There are such rumors nowadays.”
    The baker swore secrecy and later that day Lambert Simnel left his father’s house in the company of Richard Simon.

    Richard Simon quickly realized that he could not have chosen a better subject for his purpose. He had not been mistaken in Lambert. He had a natural dignity, a graceful deportment and, dressed in appropriate clothes, could indeed pass for a boy of high degree. Richard Simon had immediately tackled his speech, which was halting and carried the accent of the streets.
    He was sure that could be remedied. It was true that Lambert was simple, but that in itself proved an advantage. He did not question very much. Simon was amazed at the calm way he accepted his transition from his father’s household to that of the priest. It was as though he thought it was the most natural thing in the world for bakers’ sons to be whisked away from their natural environment to become someone else.
    He had a natural gift for mimicry and in a matter of days his speech had improved. The Earl of Lincoln had supplied Richard Simon with funds and Lambert was fitted out in a velvet coat, which reached almost to his heels and had elaborate hanging sleeves slashed to show an elegant white shirt beneath it; he had gray hose and pointed shoes and a little hat with a feather. He was delighted with his appearance and moved and walked with even greater grace so pleased was he.
    Richard Simon devoted the first few days in teaching him to speak. That was the most important. He must also learn to read a little and write a little. Not much would be demanded in that respect but of course he must have some ability in these arts.
    When a few days had passed, Simon was delighted with his results and the more he was with the boy the more pleased he was by his simplicity.
    It would have been impossible to impress on a normal boy that he was something other than he actually was. It was different with Lambert. That which his father called simple meant that his mind was pliable.
    Simon realized this as soon as he tested him.
    “You were not born in a baker’s shop,” he told the boy.
    Lambert opened his eyes very wide.
    “No. You were born in a noble palace . . . in a castle . . . and your father was not the humble baker. He was a great duke.”
    Lambert still continued to stare. Oh yes, it would not be difficult to mold him.
    “The great Duke of Clarence. When you were three years old your father died. He was drowned in a butt of malmsey when he was a prisoner in the Tower.”
    “The Tower.” He knew the Tower. Like other inhabitants of the capital he saw its gray walls often. It was regarded with a mixture of awe, apprehension and pride. It was one of the landmarks of London. He knew that terrible things happened there. Far away in the maze of his mind he remembered hearing something about a duke who had been drowned in a butt of malmsey.
    “Yes, your father was the Duke of Clarence. Your mother was the Lady Isabel. She was the daughter of the Earl of Warwick who was known as the Kingmaker. Your mother died before your father. . . . So you see you soon became an orphan.”
    He was still wide-eyed, taking it all in, not questioning what the priest told him. Priests often told of strange happenings . . . the resurrection . . . the Holy Ghost visiting the disciples . . . things such as that, and compared with them the fact that he was in truth the Earl of warwick did not seem so strange. He had his velvet coat; he wore pointed shoes. They showed that he was different.
    “The man who now sits on the throne is a usurper. That means he took what did not belong to him and when that is a throne all good and true men want to take from him that which he has stolen and put it back where it belongs.”
    The boy