“I must first say how sorry I am for the loss of your husband, Marguerite,” he said. “A bully and a warmonger, but your husband nevertheless. Your life must have changed in a moment, and a day does not go by that I do not think of you and pray for you. But I was sorrier to hear about Fortunata. She must leave a large hole in your life.”
Margaret nodded sadly. “Many times larger than her dear little body took up on earth.” She took a deep breath. “What next, Anthony?” she asked. “What is there for us?
“For us? ’Tis your decision, my dearest Elaine, not mine. You are a dowager duchess and a princess of England, and I am a mere earl. Your brother may not like it.”
“My sister Anne was allowed to divorce her traitorous husband and wed her lover, Thomas, may God rest her soul,” she said, signing herself. She had not mourned Anne’s passing four years before as she had hardly ever seen her eldest sister. “You and I are free to wed, Anthony. And now Mary has Maximilian—” She broke off and said as loud as she dared, “Are you saying that if I desired it, you would agree?” She could not believe she was actually speaking these words and that they were not part of one of the many waking dreams she had had alone in her curtained bed since becoming a widow. And so calmly were they talking about marriage that she laughed at the release of her pent-up hopes.
“His grace, the duke of Gloucester!” The announcement cut off any more conversation, and all eyes were on the door as Richard walked into the room, his long leather boots covered in the dust of travel and his spurs ringing on the flagstones. The courtiers gave him reverence as he came purposefully to Margaret, his smile broad and his hands outstretched.
“Margaret!” he cried. “I did not believe my eyes when I read Ned’s letter summoning me to a banquet in your honor. What brings you back to England?”
“Duty, Dickon.” Margaret had risen when she saw him and stayed Anthony’s answer with her hand on his arm. She went to her youngest brother and embraced him fondly. She was taken aback at the change in him. New lines creased his sharp features, his mouth was hard, and his shoulders stooped a little. She had the impression the weight of responsibility that Edward had put on him in the north had aged him. But when he smiled, it still brightened his dark features and reached the eyes whose color matched hers. Ned came forward to greet him, and they grasped forearms and clapped each other on the back.
“Uncle Richard!” cried Ned’s eldest, as young Elizabeth ran unheeding into his arms, earning a frown from her mother. “Uncle Richard, I am so happy to see you.”
“And I you, my poppet.” Richard kissed the top of her head, while Ned smiled benignly on them. “Now let me greet my sister properly, child, and I hope you will look after Johnny while we are here.”
Margaret had noticed a youth follow Richard into the watching chamber and thought he was a page. Now she saw Richard take the boy gently around the shoulders and lead him to her for inspection.
“This is my son, John,” Richard said proudly. “Anne was not feeling well when I left and begs to be excused,” he told Ned, “and my little Ned is too young to come without his mother, so I thought I’d introduce you to another member of the family, Meg. John, this is your Aunt Margaret, my sister, who lives over the sea in Burgundy.”
“I am honored to make your acquaintance, my lady,” the sturdy youth said, unafraid. He gave a little bow over an extended leg, also encased in long leather boots. “John of Gloucester, an it please you.”
“Why, it does please me, John of Gloucester!” Margaret exclaimed. She gave him her hand to kiss and bent to ask, “Tell me, do you sing as well as your mother?”
Richard coughed nervously, but he had forgotten his wife was not there. John furrowed his brow, obviously thinking hard. “I do sing, my lady, but no one sings as well as my mother,” he finished earnestly, reminding Margaret so much of Richard as a boy that she chuckled. He turned to Richard, gray eyes expectant. “Will Katherine be here, Father?”
“’Tis his sister,” young Elizabeth explained to Margaret. “She lives with our other aunt in Suffolk. I like Katherine, she’s amusing.”
“Willful is how I would describe her,” Ned said, returning to Margaret and laughing. “But then she’s very like her mother, n’est ce pas, Dickon.” He still loved to tease his little brother, and his eyes danced when he saw Richard’s telltale flush.
Margaret marveled at the growth of her family in twelve years—so many children she had never seen before. A warmth suffused her at being in their midst. It appeared the York succession was safe and, barring her concern for young Edward, strong.
Now if she could only bring the diplomatic negotiations to a fruitful conclusion and finish her conversation with Anthony, she would be as content as she had ever been in her life.
THE ROYAL BARGE came for her at midmorning on the day of the banquet, and the people of London came to wave to her from the wharves and houses on both banks of the river. St. Paul’s dominated the London skyline, its great belltower topped by a gilded eagle, and Southwark’s mighty St. Mary Overie towered over the gabled roofs of the south bank community, where the stews and taverns attracted those seeking solace with prostitutes and ale. The bells of London rang for Matins, and Margaret was proud she could still distinguish the carillon from St. Paul’s, the bright tones of All Hallows, and the big, booming bell of St. Mary-le-Bow.
She found herself holding her breath as she always had as the barge navigated the treacherous waters under London Bridge, and then, in no time on a waning tide, she was pulled up to Elizabeth’s favorite Palace of Pleasaunce. The river at Greenwich in front of the gleaming white building was teeming with boats and barges of all sizes, and liveried boatmen maneuvered their craft into vacant spaces along the pier to discharge their passengers. The king’s guests had arrayed themselves in brilliant silks and satins, and nary a somber black gown was to be seen.
A cheer went up when the royal barge approached the water steps leading to the royal apartments. Guillaume had begun vicariously to enjoy the attention given his mistress, and he waved before helping Margaret reach the doorway to the tower. He was proud of the duchess in her purple and silver gown, the deep revers of the bodice and slashed sleeves showing the crimson silk of her underdress, and the train trailing many feet behind her. Her enormous butterfly hennin, on which floated a transparent golden gauze, was embroidered with gold thread and sewn with pearls. Around her neck was a ruby and amethyst collar from which hung a sparkling diamond as big as a robin’s egg.
Guillaume’s considerable height was amplified by his high silk hat, and he was the only man there to show off the floor-length gown preferred by the most fashionable court in Europe. It was split from floor to waist in front and belted, exposing his long, muscular legs clad in creamy hose, and sported enormous padded shoulders and sleeves. A heavy triple gold chain necklace adorned his barrel chest, and his shoe points preceded him by a foot or more. He was the perfect escort for the tall, elegant duchess, and many on the pier stood and stared at the picture of Burgundian opulence in front of them before the couple turned and disappeared up to the great hall.
The quiet hum of voices belied the number of people who had gathered to honor Edward’s sister, and when she was announced, she was surprised to see so many crowded into the king’s watching chamber. The conversation ceased as she waited for Guillaume to present her to the king, who was seated at the other end of the room with Elizabeth beside him.
Then she saw Cecily, regal in black satin, her widow’s wimple white against her face, its folds tucked neatly into the high bodice. She almost forgot herself and called out “Mother!” but instead, to a fanfare of trumpets, she walked sedately on Guillaume’s arm between the bowing guests, amused by the awed glances she and her chevalier were attracting. She could not wait to be with Cecily, but she knew she must play her part first in this courtly charade. And besides, her mother of all people would never condone a public show of emotion.
“Lord Hastings,” she murmured as
she passed Will, who grinned in open admiration. “Lord Howard … Sir Edward … Bishop Morton …” she remembered them all and finally she was at the low dais making her obeisance in front of the king. Edward was standing, his hand held out to her in a welcoming gesture. She took it and bowed to Guillaume, who bowed in turn and went to take his place behind her chair. Edward turned her and boomed, “We are here to honor my dear sister, Margaret of York, dowager duchess of Burgundy. Let us give thanks for her visit to us and for a safe return when she leaves us.”
“Thanks be to God,” muttered the crowd, crossing themselves. Edward nodded to the musicians, who began to play quietly, signaling for the guests to resume their chatter.
“Mother, dear Mother. How I have longed for this moment. Give me your blessing,” Margaret said, on her knees in front of Cecily and kissing her hand. Cecily lightly touched her daughter’s forehead and murmured a blessing. Margaret rose and took her seat between Cecily and Edward. “I was afraid you would not come. ’Tis a long way from Berkhamsted for some oysters, flampayns and porpoise.”
“So you remember my favorite dishes, Margaret,” Cecily said, pleased. “Certes, I would not miss a chance to see you, my dear. Yet you should feel honored, for you must also remember how much I hate long journeys.” Margaret nodded, memories of long days on the road to Fotheringhay flooding back. “I must say, daughter, you wear your office well.” She leaned sideways to whisper in Margaret’s ear. “You are the envy of every woman here today, aye, even the beautiful Elizabeth.” Cecily had never really approved of her daughter-in-law, and Margaret suspected Edward’s choice had been one of the reasons why her mother had withdrawn from the court.
“You exaggerate, Mother,” she answered. “But I will take a compliment from you gladly,” she said. She was amazed at how clear Cecily’s skin still was. Her face was lined a good deal more, and her hands showed the bumps and knobs of joint stiffness, but no one would guess she was born on the third of May in the same year Agincourt was fought, sixty-five years ago. It always seemed to Margaret that sharing the same birthday with her mother was important. A good omen perhaps. Now it was her turn to whisper, “I know not how Ned has grown so corpulent. He worries me, in truth. Listen to him breathe. I have heard better in the sick wards of St. John’s hospital in Bruges, where I minister.”
Cecily shook her head sadly. “I know not. And his court is dissolute, Margaret. I am shocked to see that harlot Jane Shore is invited here. I cannot understand why Elizabeth allows it.”
“The Duchess Isabella had it worse, Mother. My father-in-law had twenty-three bastards by various mistresses, and they were all in positions of power at court when I arrived.”
Cecily pursed her lips in disapproval. “I hope you did not have to consort with any of them. But now I remember, Antoine, who fought Scales, was one of them, no? I hope your husband was more circumspect, Margaret. You were happy, dear?” she asked, not observing that Margaret almost choked on her wine. She was disappointed Margaret had borne no children but had the tact to say nothing. “I was sorry to hear of his untimely death—like your father’s.”
Margaret mumbled something unintelligible in response to the query but immediately began to extol the virtues of her two step-grandchildren. And then she turned the subject to Dickon’s bastards. Cecily shrugged. “John is a nice boy. And Katherine over there is a beauty. I never saw the mother, but then I believe Richard has been faithful to little Anne since he married her.”
Margaret did not like to tell her mother that indeed she had seen Richard’s mistress, Kate, right under her nose at Stratford Langthorne. She followed her mother’s gaze to a group of the royal children talking animatedly to each other. A petite young woman, perhaps twelve or thirteen judging from her sprouting breasts, was the center of attention, her long chestnut hair a crowning glory above a sweet but mischievous face.
“They do not look at all alike, the brother and sister, I mean,” Margaret said. “But it seems Richard is very proud of his son.”
Cecily nodded. “And the dark-haired boy next to John is Arthur, Edward’s bastard. The Wayte wanton was discarded soon after his birth, I remember, but no one speaks to me of such gossip. There are others, I assume, but Ned at least has the decency not to parade them here. I hear the queen does not care for that boy, though,” she sighed, shaking her head as she looked at her son’s growing brood. “Arthur, I mean.”
“Certes, I am having a difficult task absorbing so much in such a little time,” Margaret said, scarcely believing she was having this conversation with her proud parent. Bastards, mistresses, dissolute court—these were not topics she thought Proud Cis would even mention, let alone speak about to her youngest daughter. She suppressed a laugh.
“What are you two whispering about,” Edward interrupted them. “I have just been given the signal that our dinner awaits. Mother, will you let Margaret’s elegant escort take you in? As the guest of honor, Margaret must go with me. Are you ready, sister?” He stood and offered his arm, and the court watched in silence as the king and the duchess led the way into the great hall to a fanfare of trumpets.
And thus began the banquet of the era, as Margaret was to dub her family reunion.
The tables were set with spotless white linen, the king’s table covered by crimson cloth of gold. The sunlight streamed in through the two-story windows, glinting off the silver plate and cups on the head tables. After the ritual handwashing and grace said by Bishop Morton, the first of the three courses was brought in to the sound of smacking lips and whispers of anticipation. Elizabeth relaxed her silence at meal rule on this occasion, which made for a convivial ambience. The servers were clothed in murrey and blue from their soft bonnets to their parti-colored hose.
Soon the messes were filled with mouthwatering delicacies. Neighbors shared the food, spearing fish and fowl onto their own trenchers, sopping gravy with hunks of bread and quaffing quantities of wine. Each course began with a soup, and then it was a choice of roasted exotic game birds such as crane, egret, bittern and heron; fish—bream, carp and pike wrapped in paper-thin gold foil; followed by custards and flampayns.
Edward was happy to see the haunches of venison, mutton and beef appear and swamped them generously with rich sauces. Margaret was not surprised her brother weighed as much as a small horse as she watched him devour dish after dish, helped down with half loaves of bread and cups of wine. At one point he belched so loudly that the room went silent, thinking he was saying something important. He guffawed when he realized he had everyone’s attention, not caring that he had a mouthful of food and had dribbled gravy down his magnificent purple gown.
“Eat! Eat!” he bellowed, thoroughly enjoying himself. Elizabeth’s smile never faded, but her eyes were hard.
Cecily, who was given a place of honor on his left side, lost her temper. She rapped his knuckles with her spoon when the conversation resumed and spoke in a lowered but threatening voice. “Edward, your eating habits are reprehensible. I should visit you more often and then perhaps you would curb your appetites—all your appetites. Your court could benefit from some good Christian guidance, my boy.” She glared at him and dared him to respond. Margaret bit the inside of her cheek so that she would not laugh and waited to see what Ned would do.
He stared dumbfounded at his elderly mother. No one ever spoke to him this way. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, leaving a stringy piece of meat dangling from the ermine trim of his sleeve, and gulped down more wine. Margaret could have sworn she heard him mutter, “Aye, Mother,” but she could not be certain. He did, however, put down his knife, wipe his hands and push away his plate.
“I have had enough,” he called to Jack Howard, who was serving him that night. Cecily looked smug until he added, “I need to leave room for the roast swan I know we have been promised.” Jack bowed and removed his gold plate, and immediately a clean one was placed before him.
“Christ’s nails, Meggie, she still reduces me to a puling boy,” he murmured t
o Margaret on his other side. “Thank God she has found another calling in Berkhamsted.” He belched again, more subtlely this time, and asked how she was liking Coldharbour. He was carefully avoiding her mission. Besides, he had just noticed a pretty young thing who could not have been more than his daughter’s age talking to Anthony Woodville. “Ah, yes, Maria Fitzlewes, Bess’s new lady-in-waiting.”
Margaret sighed, despairing of him. “She is but a child, Ned. Be sensible.”
Later, when the tables had been cleared and the musicians had taken up their instruments at the far end of the hall, they were joined by Richard, who had headed up another table. He asked Edward permission to lead their sister out and begin the dancing for the evening. Edward, who found dancing difficult these days, waved his hand, happily passing off the duty to his little brother. For her part, Margaret was glad to stand up after hours of eating.
“I am no George, Meg,” Richard said with regret as they took their places for a basse danse. “You must miss him in the family gathering. I know I do.”
“And yet you did not come to his defense,” Margaret said more harshly than she intended. Certes, she missed George, and she had been dismayed that no one spoke of him except for one brief mention by Ned when she had first arrived. It was as if he had never existed.
She felt Richard tense. “I could not in all good conscience, Meg. He was a traitor to Ned, to our family, for all I loved him. Mother was the only one who tried, but even she gave up on him. But I do fear for Ned’s soul—to put one’s own brother to death …” He trailed off sadly. Margaret was keeping her eyes on the ground, as was the custom, but she was startled into looking up when Richard passed her to a new partner in the second part of the dance. Anthony took her hand, and they moved in unison down the brown and white marble floor.
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