“I pray you remember,” Cecily said, putting her arms around her husband and laying her head upon his back, “you are not usurping anyone’s right to the regency. It is your right and no one else’s.”
I should rejoice in Richard’s success, she thought, but upon recalling her audience with Margaret, she knew for a certainty that his acceptance of the protectorate would make the queen and her adherents hate her husband even more, and she sighed. How long have we imagined this moment? she asked herself. Is this truly what I have worked toward all these years? It did not feel at all like the glorious moment of her dreams.
“I shall pray for your safety and for God to give you the strength and wisdom to perform this sacred duty,” was all she could say now. “I am so proud of you.”
CECILY WAS IN London when Richard’s appointment was made formal on Wednesday, April 3, 1454, and when, a day earlier, her eldest brother, Richard, earl of Salisbury, was appointed Chancellor of England. It was a controversial appointment, Richard told her, proud of his choice. For the past five decades, the Great Seal had been in the hands of churchmen.
Cecily made the decision to move back to Fotheringhay in late May, as soon as she heard that Richard was hurrying north to put down one of the most persistent and violent family feuds that had plagued the country for the past two years. It perturbed her that one faction was her own Neville family, the younger sons of Salisbury, who fought to keep their northern inheritance away from the long-time foes of Neville, the Percys of Northumberland. More disturbing was that Henry Holland, duke of Exeter—Nan’s violent husband—had sided with Percy, and riots and uprisings were occurring as far south as York.
“We might as well be comfortable at Fotheringhay,” she told Constance, while she engaged in one of her favorite activities—tending to Meg’s golden tresses. For some reason the mundane task took her mind off the tedious duties of running the castle in Richard’s absence. She dipped the comb in rosemary water before stroking it through the shoulder-length hair. Meg had come down with a case of head lice during the winter, and so Cecily had ordered the beautiful waist-long hair to be cut off so that Meg’s young attendant could better remove the pests. Now it was growing back thicker and glossier than before. Cecily appraised her youngest daughter in the polished silver mirror. Young Margaret of York promised to be attractive, and Cecily was glad that the girl’s front teeth had recently appeared and were straight. Richard was always quick to point out those large, gray, intelligent eyes that did not miss anything. “’Tis what makes you notice her,” he told Cecily. “But I confess, for beauty, none of our daughters can hold a candle to you, my love.”
“Oh, pish,” Cecily remembered answering, and she smiled over Meg’s head into the mirror and resumed her ruminations.
Here it was late June and Richard was still north chasing Nevilles, Percys, and most importantly, Henry Holland, duke of Exeter. Cecily had been horrified to learn of the attempted assassination plot in York against Richard, instigated by Exeter, and her heart was hardened even more against the man who had abused her daughter so violently.
What had Richard written?
The plot came to naught, but it was revealed that Exeter was not merely attempting to oust me from the protectorate, but to place himself upon the throne. It seems his arrogance has no bounds, although his common sense has, for when I succeeded in sending the Percys packing back to Northumberland, his grace of Exeter chose to flee south, where he cannot hide from me, I promise you. If he presumes to cower behind the queen’s skirts at Windsor, I think he will be surprised by his lack of welcome. She wishes nothing more to do with him, and I cannot blame her. Moreover, his only friend, Somerset, lies moldering in the Tower, awaiting trial.
I miss you, my sweet lady, and our children. Speaking of whom, I received a report from Ludlow that Edward and Edmund have misbehaved on several occasions, according to their tutor. After I had chastised them in a letter, they wrote me a most humble response full of flourishing phrases about their diligence in their studies and then had the gall to ask me for money for new clothes. I wonder from whom they inherited such impertinence!
Cecily had chuckled when she read this. Now she sighed. She put down the ivory comb, kissed the top of Meg’s head, and gestured to the young attendant to ready her mistress for bed. How she missed her two big boys, she thought. Perhaps we can be together again as a family at Yuletide, and yet who knows where Richard might be then.
IT BECAME APPARENT that if Cecily wished to see more of her busy husband, she had to move the family south to Hunsdon. Richard gave his permission for the move, so preparations were made, and the October weather smiled on the cavalcade as it set out from Fotheringhay with the best of the York furnishings and an armed escort of four score men to guard the duchess and her young children. Other than a skirmish with some outlaws upon the second day, the journey was uneventful.
Richard joined his family a few days later following a session of oyer and terminer in Derby.
“A date has been set for Somerset’s trial at last,” he told Cecily, after they had made love in their big tester bed, around which were drawn Cecily’s favorite curtains brought from Fotheringhay. “’Tis later this month, and unless the king recovers suddenly, I cannot believe Somerset will not be attainted and exiled. And with Exeter secure in Pontefract, we should know some peaceful times.”
“And the Percys? Are they content to remain on their estates now?”
Richard harrumphed, stroking her back. “Time will tell, Cis. I do not trust your Percy nephew Egremont, I regret to say. He and Exeter were a deadly combination, each egging on the other.”
Cecily turned over and looked at him in the guttering candlelight. It was late, she guessed, but she had no sense of time when she was with Richard. He was staring at the canopy overhead, at the white roses mingled with the falcon and fetterlock. “I pray daily for you, Richard,” she whispered. “I fear you may have angered God by snatching Exeter from sanctuary to imprison him at Pontefract. I trust you have done penance for the sin.”
Richard yawned again. “Over and over, my dear. Over and over. And yet when I heard what the brute had done to our little Nan, a dark cloud settled over me, and I could not emerge from under it until I had punished the whoreson.”
“Aye, ’twas as well you had support for his abduction for reasons other than the mistreatment of your daughter. Anne is safe here with us now, and you shall see your granddaughter on the morrow.”
“Granddaughter.” Richard said the word slowly, a grin breaking across his face, and for the first time in a long time Cecily saw the crinkling around his eyes. “’Tis hard to believe we are grandparents, Cis. Where has the time gone?”
Cecily ran her hand under his nightshirt and caressed his thigh. “I know not, Richard, but when we are together like this, I feel no older than the first time we pleasured each other. Come,” she said huskily, “let us forget family feuding for a few precious hours.”
DESPITE THE INABILITY of the council to bring Somerset to trial on the prescribed date in October, the York family was in a merry mood at Hunsdon a few days after celebrating the birth of the Savior. Even Anne had come out of her melancholy following the safe delivery of her daughter in the summer and estrangement from Exeter. Cecily was pleased to see her dancing with Ned, who had become his sister’s protector once he had left Ludlow and joined his father’s household. Cecily had not hidden Anne’s troubles from her son, and she discovered that he had also formed an intense dislike of Exeter from his father’s accounts of the man’s actions in the north. Ned’s childhood over, Richard had taken charge of his further education by taking his son to London and acquainting him with those clergy and nobles who made up the council.
“The earl of March has a way with women,” Constance whispered to Cecily as they watched the young people go through the paces of a country dance. Cecily had decided a while ago that Ned danced with the precision of a soldier; his style was perfunctory but not without a certain man
ly charm. “Perhaps he was permitted to read too many romances with his tutor, Master Croft?” Constance added and smiled to herself when she saw Cecily frown. “I am but teasing you, madame. It is just that he is so very handsome, and look at the way he makes even his sister blush and smile.”
Cecily decided that she would have a word with Richard about his eldest son’s pursuit of the ladies and turned her attention to Edmund, who was gallantly partnering Bess. Now there is a natural-born dancer, she thought, her heart melting as it did every time she studied him. He was not as handsome as his brothers Edward and George, but he had a gentle grace about him. Although he never wavered in his partnering, his eyes had a faraway look as he listened to the lute and recorders strumming and piping the rhythm. Cecily hoped he would gain strength of purpose, for gentleness and grace would not be appreciated by his peers, she knew.
Bess, like Edward, was mentally counting the beats, unlike George and Meggie, who could barely contain their pleasure in the dance. Cecily could see Bess’s heart was not in it. ’Tis time we found her a permanent partner, Cecily thought. True, she is only ten, but by now she should know what her future will be after the time she will spend with her Aunt Alice learning to be a lady. It will be hard to let her go, Cecily mused, but Bess was more than ready to turn the corner on childhood.
She mentally scrolled down the list of eligible young lords for her daughter, but unhappily many of them were already contracted or vehement adherents of the Lancaster court. Richard had still not won everyone to his side during these months of his protectorate, and indeed she had been shocked to find out how many councillors had pleaded ill health to avoid many of the meetings. Their absence meant that nothing of note could be accomplished, making Richard look indecisive at best and incompetent at worst. It was unfair to judge him in such a short period, she grumbled to herself, and under such adverse conditions. With Exeter in prison and Egremont captured in a fierce skirmish at Stamford Bridge, the fighting in the north had subsided, and Nevilles and Percys had gone home, thanks to Richard. However, the seeds of hatred had been sown between the two powerful landowners of the north, which would add to Richard’s worry. He was learning that doing his duty was fraught with danger, and Cecily was often left with only prayer to sustain her while he held the kingdom’s reins.
Without warning, the object of her thoughts came striding into the room, causing the musicians to halt, his children to fall to their knees, and Cecily to rise and go to him anxiously. “What is it, my lord? Your face is paler than ewe’s milk.”
“There is astonishing news, my lady. I suppose I should be glad of it, but it has come as a shock and I was not prepared.” He paused before unleashing the thunderbolt. “The king has recovered his senses.”
All gasped and crossed themselves, but little Dickon toddled up to Ned’s side and took his hand at Richard’s entrance, his face a picture of delight. “Papa,” he babbled repeatedly, pointing at Richard and tugging at Ned. “Mama, Papa.”
Richard’s face softened into a smile, and he picked up his youngest son and tossed him in the air. “Aye, Dickon, your father and mother are here. We will always be here for you.” His eyes embraced the other eager faces as he repeated, “We shall always be here for you.” The children rose in unison and once again Cecily rejoiced to see Richard’s daughters put their arms about their father. They gave him such joy, she knew, as she stood proudly watching the familial scene. Standing in his family’s midst, Richard looked at each face in turn as if to take a picture of them with him when he had to leave them again.
“Children,” he said, putting Dickon down, his tone turning suddenly serious. “Look around you and take note of your family. Never forget your blood kin, do you hear? The most important people in your lives are right here in this room—not forgetting all those who loyally serve the house of York. Do you understand?” He looked at all his offspring in turn, waiting for a nod of acknowledgment from each. “But hear this. We are also all liegemen of our sovereign King Henry. Let it never be said that York did not serve the king and his country. I beg of you, whatever you may do in your lives, be loyal to your family, loyal to our house, and loyal to your king.”
Silence followed this speech. The children stared up at their father and Dickon hid behind Cecily’s skirt. Cecily held back tears. What portent had Richard had to cause him to deliver such heady words? She found herself trembling. But then she remembered the reason for Richard’s return.
“The king! God be praised for his recovery,” Cecily said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “We must give thanks immediately. Gresilde, go and find Father Lessey. He must prepare a special mass within the hour.” Let it not be said the duke of York did not give thanks for our sovereign’s renewed health, she told herself.
As Nurse Anne carried Dickon back to the nursery, the other children stood in a line in silence while the duke and duchess awaited the summons to the chapel.
“What will happen now?” Cecily asked Richard quietly.
“I will tell you what will happen, my dear. Henry will free Somerset, and the queen and her favorite will poison the king against me. I fear the dreadful cycle will begin anew and we shall again be unwelcome at court.”
Cecily gripped his hand within the folds of his long, woolen robe so that the children could not see and whispered, “You have more support now, my love, and I think perhaps you may be wrong. You might have snatched the opportunity to take the crown these past nine months, but you have remained true to your oath of allegiance to Henry and to his son. Surely the king will be grateful for your good leadership and want to keep you by his side.”
Richard’s face was grim. “Not when Margaret of Anjou hates me, Cis. ’Tis as simple as that.”
Cecily understood that nothing she said would rouse Richard from his dejection, so she decided to wait for a happier moment to tell him she was again with child.
ALL THAT RICHARD feared in December had come to pass by March, and when the Great Council at Greenwich sanctioned Somerset’s release from the Tower, Richard was forced to resign his offices, captaincy of Calais and Protector. The king had also pardoned Exeter; however, the duke failed to attempt a reunion with his wife and infant daughter. Two days following Richard’s resignation, Salisbury was forced to resign as Chancellor. Somerset’s star was ascendant once again.
After Easter, Richard and Salisbury took their families and retinues back to safe havens in the north. Richard went to Sandal Castle in the south of Yorkshire, and Salisbury saw his family back to his stronghold at Middleham in the dales, taking young Bess with him. Then he and a large retinue joined Richard at well-fortified Sandal to plan their next move. A bond had been forged between the two ousted noblemen, and it was not long before Salisbury’s powerful son Warwick, whose lands in the south were still being contested by Somerset and other lands in Wales by the king’s Tudor half brothers, Jasper and Edmund, took York’s side.
On a bright spring day, the two Richards went to find Cecily, now in the last term of her pregnancy. Richard of York stood facing his wife, while Salisbury took the chair offered and sat contemplating his fingernails.
Richard was bristling with anger. “Somerset has called for a Great Council at Leicester, and Bourchier writes the measle intends to lay out the form of government with him at its head so that he will control the king should he be stricken again. Curse the man! We had no knowledge of that meeting, but we have been summoned to Leicester to profess our fealty to the king. Again! As if I have not sufficiently proved my loyalty to Henry. ’Tis evident, Somerset is determined to keep me from ever having power again, but by Christ’s nails, I will be damned in hell before I capitulate to that traitorous whoreson of a bitch!” he cried, his indignation echoing in his jutting chin and clenched jaw.
“My lord! I pray you, remember we are not alone,” Cecily exclaimed, glancing at Constance and Gresilde, who pretended they had not heard.
But Richard was so filled with outrage that he hardly heard his
wife’s admonishment. “We are saddled with a king who is fit only for incarceration in Bethlehem hospital or, if I am kind, a monastery, and a queen who is . . . who is . . .” He snapped his fingers in rapid succession, searching for exactly the right word for the woman he was beginning to understand was his real enemy. “A she-wolf!” he cried triumphantly.
“An apt description, York, if I may say,” Salisbury agreed grimly. “She has become a dangerous adversary, especially now that Somerset is at her beck and call again. Who would have thought that sweet, homesick girl would turn out to be such a termagant. But,” he added with a derisive snort, “what can you expect from a Frenchwoman.”
“Brother, I beg of you!” Cecily cried, nodding in Constance’s direction. “I would trust Doctor LeMaître and Nurse Anne with my life, but . . .”
“But they are Normans, Cecily,” Salisbury retorted. “One can hardly call them French, n’est-ce pas, mon docteur,” he apologized, as Constance looked up, more amused than offended.
“Pah!” Cecily rejoined.
“Enough, both of you,” Richard of York interrupted. “This is hardly a time to discuss the nuances of being French. We must stop Somerset’s bid to control the king and the council. God’s bones, how I wish I had had enough foresight and support while I was Protector to have put a policy in place to fall back on should the king become ill again. What do you propose we do now?”
The earl shrugged. “I respectfully leave that to you, my dear brother, but I am with you whatever you decide.”
Cecily grimaced inwardly, her brother’s indecision disappointing her again.
“Perhaps we should make an appeal to the king, swearing fealty but demanding that Somerset be tried as was decided last year,” Richard suggested. “What think you?”
Oh, no, Cecily wanted to shout, not again. Petitions have not had any effect upon the king before, so why should one today, and it was the king who had released Somerset from the Tower. She looked from one to the other and once again cursed that she was not a man.
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