The tomb is empty.
York does not look up when he hears footsteps approaching from behind him.
“Don’t say anything,” York says, voice held steady. He is trying hard not to burst into tears, he has been trying for too long.
The man behind York is silent, though probably not in obedience to him. Why should a king obey a duke.
“I know why you took him,” York says finally after a sufficiently cold silence has settled around them. “You wanted to do what your father couldn’t.”
“I had my own reasons,” the intruder says, which is not a denial.
“Your father had his reasons too,” York says bitterly. He expects there to be a response along the line of “I am not my father” but no such reply comes. More silence, and he fights back the tears that now seriously threaten to spill.
An answer finally comes from behind him. “I am just following his desires. He wanted to be buried at Westminster.”
“You wanted to show up your father,” York muttered. “Or you wanted to finish things for him.”
“He left things unfinished, yes. But I do this simply to comply with the wishes of our late cousin of Bordeaux.”
How hateful a title sounds when divorced from the man’s name.
“And?” York knows that isn’t all. That’s never all for a Lancaster. “You took him. You took him from me.” He remembers arms wrapped around him, warmth, comfort when he knew the end was near.
“I reburied Richard where he should have been buried in the first place. At Westminster, as befitting a king.”
York cries now. Befitting a king. Richard was once king, then he was nothing and soon after that he was dead. What does the man here know is befitting of a king? He only wears the crown because his father stole it from the man York now mourns.
The man who has stood behind York now steps forward and kneels at the altar next to the duke. Today is the day they remember the resurrection of a King, betrayed and murdered and yet living.
“You took him from me,” York sobs quietly, not looking at the man to his side.
“My father buried him as far away as he could from the throne so he could forget what he had done,” the man says, fixing his eyes on the ornate altar piece in front of them. “He specifically avoided what Richard asked for.”
He falls silent again and all that can be heard in the stone chapel is the quiet weeping of Edward, Duke of York.
“He wanted to be with Anne,” Ned finally says.
“And so he is.” Ned watches the man rise to his feet. King Henry, fifth of that name focuses on the crucifix on the altar.
“He is risen,” says the king.
“He is risen indeed.”