She stripped off her shift in one swift movement, tipped back her head to shake out her hair, and his eyes moved over her milk-swollen breasts, wrinkled abdomen and purple-threaded thighs.
“Love, you’re still wondrous fair,” he murmured huskily and pressed his lips to her arching throat.
There was still his mother to face. He knew she would be waiting for him and she was. She had dismissed her ladies so they could be alone. By this action alone he knew he was in for a dressing down. Family scandals were best kept within the family. The rest of the household probably believed that Sir Walter Lucy had sired Elizabeth’s child.
“Well, my lord, what have you to say for yourself?”
“I will admit that Lady Lucy and I erred –”
“Erred?” she repeated incredulously.
It didn’t surprise him that she let him get no further. In this, she was like his father. She wouldn’t allow him to present his case until she had got off her chest whatever was encumbering it. She did not take a seat, and therefore he couldn’t sit, but he kept his eyes on her attentively and respectfully as she slowly paced in front of him.
“The cook might be said to have erred if he put too much pepper in the sauce. The steward might be said to have erred if he failed to lay in sufficient provisions. The smith might be said to have erred if he shod the wrong horse. You, my lord, are guilty of moral degeneracy. Clearly, you have no regard either for the sanctity of marriage or the conventions of decent behaviour. And the same charge can be laid against Lady Lucy for going willingly into the embrace of a young lord with the instincts of a tomcat. You have brought disgrace on yourself, on your father and me, on Sir Walter and his lady, and on our house!”
Edward winced. Now that hurt.
“Or am I misjudging you, my son? Perhaps it was she who did the pursuing.”
“No, mea culpa. Lady Lucy tried to resist me but proved unequal to the struggle.”
The Duchess, arms folded on her breast, had been taking a turn about the room. Now she stopped and gave him her sternest look. “Don’t be facetious, Edward!”
“I apologise,” he said meekly.
“I cannot imagine what your father will say when he hears of your reprehensible and irresponsible conduct.”
“I think perhaps Father will understand another man’s frailty,” he said.
“Your father, Edward,” declared the Duchess, positively glaring at him, “is an uxorious husband and the most principled of men. You could do no better than take your example of correct behaviour from him.”
“I didn’t intend to impugn his devotion to you, Mother, only to suggest that men have a less rigid view of such matters than ladies do. Unhappily, I do not have the consolation of a wife, although I am past the age when a man needs a wife – or some satisfactory substitute. Nor is a wife a prospect in the near future as long as Father wishes me to wed a French princess. If an English bride had been chosen for me, I could be happily wed by now and as uxorious as Father.”
There had been a close call with the Duke of Alencon’s daughter some time back, which had fortunately fallen through. The Duke of York was keen to improve his standing in Europe, but the notion of being put to bed with a virgin princess, and a stranger, made Edward shudder. He liked his women earthy and uninhibited and very definitely of his choosing.
“A man in my position can hardly be expected to avail himself of women of ill repute,” he pointed out virtuously. “Not only would it be degrading, but there is, I’m told, a strong chance of catching something unpleasant. It would likewise be degrading, and inappropriate to use any of the castle women for such a purpose.”
The Duchess narrowed her eyes at him as if she knew very well he was lying, but she didn’t interrupt.
“In Lady Lucy,” he concluded piously, “I believed I was making a considered choice.”
“A considered choice,” his mother said scathingly. “Another man’s wife? A lady of my household, who is under my protection? And I don’t suppose it had anything to do with rampant lust.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Regrettably, I am as I am.”
There wasn’t any point in appealing to his mother’s understanding. She didn’t have a great deal of tolerance for human weakness in general, and when it came to sins of the flesh, she was as inflexible as an iron rod. So, instead, he appealed to her strong streak of pragmatism.
“In any case, the damage is done. Lady Lucy has borne my daughter. It is foolish to continue to pretend that there is nothing between us. You will understand and agree, I hope, that I cannot just abandon her and that some adjustment in her status is required. I beg your compassion on her behalf and on behalf of our child. When I am absent, I need to know that they are safe and cared for.”
The Duchess took another turn about the room. Encouraged by her silence, he went on persuasively.
“Mother, we cannot change the facts. We can only provide for the future. I am seventeen and a man with a man’s needs. If I am not to bring further disgrace to our house by depositing my seed in the bellies of low-born women, those needs must be met in the most discreet way possible.”
“You want a resident mistress,” she said baldly.
“What I want,” he said carefully, “is an arrangement that acknowledges the fact that I am an adult, with a child and a mistress.”
The Duchess made a sudden decision and swung round on her son, her eyes hard. “I will make a bargain with you Edward. The terms are not negotiable. I will feed and house your mistress and her child and when you’re absent you’ll have the comfort of knowing they are safe and well-cared for. I won’t be unkind to her, although I think her a wanton and, in terms of moral deficiency, a perfect match for you. I will even permit you to visit her chamber from time to time as the need arises. In return, I want your undertaking that you will be constant to her, that you will not consort with low women, and that you will continue to be as discreet as, obviously, you have been in the past.”
Recognising that she had compromised her scruples in no small way, Edward took her face between both hands and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, Mother. I knew I could count on your good sense.”
Chapter 44
August 1460 – Calais
Warwick left the archiepiscopal city for Calais, bearing an order from the council to take possession of Guines and another ordering the Duke of Somerset to yield it. To Warwick, it was a great joke that Somerset had found himself in a trap of his making, unable to leave Guines now that he was desperate to do so in order to aid his Queen. For without a fleet he could not set foot outside Guines except by stepping into Burgundian territory. Not only would that be a dangerous breach of international custom, but he dare not do so without some assurance that his person would not be seized and handed over to his enemies – or worse. Charles VII had already sent him a safe conduct, which he would have been happy to use, except that he needed one from Philip of Burgundy allowing him to pass safely through the Duke’s domain, and Philip, more kindly disposed toward the Yorkists than was King Charles, refused to provide the passport. Somerset enlisted the aid of his friend Charles of Charolais, but the wayward son was unable to persuade his father to relent. So Somerset was stuck.
Since it was not in his interests to have Guines in enemy hands, Warwick found himself in the odd position of sailing to Calais in order to help his enemy escape the trap he had made for himself.
The two men met on Newnham Bridge, where Edward had soundly thrashed Somerset in April while Warwick had been in Ireland, and managed to exchange the customary kiss of peace without soiling their lips on the other’s flesh. Warwick was in the best of spirits, Somerset full of hatred and anguish.
“Thank you,” said Warwick sweetly, “for not turning Guines over to the French.”
“That,” said Somerset through his teeth, “was never an option! Will your rumour-mongering never stop, Warwick?”
Warwick opened his eyes wide in innocent surprise. “Not my rumour, my lord. I had
it from French agents, including Maurice Dulcereau, Pierre de Breze’s friend and confidant. We captured him at Northampton. Now, why would he lie?” The brown eyes opened even wider. “Perhaps to sow discord between us?” And he laughed merrily, looking round at his attendants to invite them to join him.
Somerset did not laugh. He stood in stony silence until Warwick’s merriment had run its course. Then it was his turn. Jerking a thumb at the castle, he forced a travesty of a smile. “It’s all yours and welcome to it. You’ll find it’s still a hotbed of dissent, hostility and bellyaching. And I’m not just talking about the garrison.”
“At least the garrison’s been paid. Again, thanks to you.”
“A drop in the bucket, that. And don’t think it appeased them one whit. I’ve told them that as part of our deal their new governor has given me his assurance that all arrears are to be paid immediately.”
“Well, you’ve put me in a bit of a quandary there,” said Warwick, taking off his cap to scratch his head in comical fashion. “I can’t think where the money’s going to come from – me being a poor man under attainder and all. Unless… Yes, why not? When parliament meets, I have no doubt that the honourable members will be eager to reverse those attainders and perhaps even order some new ones drawn up. Who knows, I might be able to pay the garrison’s arrears from your confiscated estates, my lord! Wouldn’t that be justice of the sublime sort?”
Without moving his feet at all, Somerset leant forward until their noses were only inches apart, malevolent blue eyes locked with unblinking brown ones. “We’ll meet again one day, Warwick,” he said and managed to imbue the conventional words with untold layers of menace.
But Warwick had kept his good humour throughout and replied as if parting from a friend, “I look forward to it, my lord.”
Chapter 45
October 1460 – Hereford
The Duchess of York was in Hereford with her three younger children, awaiting her husband who had arrived in England in four ships appropriated in the Severn by his good friend Lord Clinton. He proceeded first to Ludlow, which had been refurbished in readiness for his arrival and then he would come to Hereford.
When her husband’s summons came she did not ask why she must cross the country when he would surely be coming to London; she just packed her things and went.
She had obtained lodgings in one of several new cottages surrounding a quadrangle that had been built for the use of the high clergy of the cathedral. Far from being the Spartan cells favoured in abbeys and monasteries, these were richly appointed and spacious houses with every modern amenity.
On the evening of the day Cecily arrived, the family heard evensong in the cathedral and then inspected the marvellous thirteenth century Mappa Mundi, a five-foot wide map of the world with Jerusalem at its centre.
“Oh, I am exhausted,” Cecily said when they returned to their lodgings. The children were abed, Edmund was in the hall with some friends, the servants had been dismissed, and she eyed the big canopied bed with appreciation. But the Duke wanted family news.
“I hear from Elizabeth frequently. She seems happy enough but seldom leaves Suffolk. I didn’t see Anne, but Edward came every day to visit his brothers and sister. He has changed, matured, grown in self-assurance. Calais was good for him.” She didn’t add that it was good for him only in some ways, but it hadn’t curbed his woeful tendencies toward levity and idle sports, nor improved his spiritual condition. And she didn’t imagine his morals had improved in such a place.
But having heard her out her husband seemed to lose all interest in family matters. Taking a seat in a comfortable fireside chair, he drew another one up beside it. “Come and sit down, my dear. Make yourself comfortable. I know it’s late, but this won’t wait any longer. What about some wine to revive you?”
“It’s serious, then?” said Cecily, studying the face she knew better than her own. She sat but refused the offer of wine. Her husband jumped to his feet and began to pace up and down. “Well, what is it?”
“Please, Cec, be patient with me. Let me get this out in my own good time.” After a few more moments, he added, “It’s hard to know where to begin.”
“Shall I come back later?”
Ignoring this unhelpful remark, the Duke finally spoke. “Do you remember when we were last at Ludlow? With an army marching on us led – at least nominally - by Henry. I was inevitably reminded of Blackheath and St. Albans. On the first occasion I surrendered; on the second I fought, but the outcome was the same in the end. It’s always the same. There was a time when Henry considered me a trusted kinsman and advisor. That was a long time ago. It began to change I think when we came back from Ireland in ’50. In any case, he will never trust me again because there will always be those about him ready to poison his mind with suspicion and mistrust. But, no, that is to be too generous. The fact is that Henry is a puppet, manipulated by the Queen and her minions, and he is too weak to stand up to them. He will do what he is told and believe what he is told. I’m convinced of that.”
That was new. Cecily didn’t believe she had ever heard her husband so overtly critical of Henry. Though she stirred with impatience, she didn’t interrupt. If he saw the necessity of rehearsing his history with the King, which she knew quite as well as he, she could only suppose that he must have a good reason.
“And then there is the Queen,” he said, baring his teeth on the last word. “That she-wolf! Twice I have held power and proved what I have always contended: that I am a loyal servant of the Crown, only wanting a better government. And yet she persists in seeing me as a threat to her husband and her precious son. Well, if it turns out that her enmity should precipitate the very thing she fears, she’ll have no one to blame but herself.”
“Yes, and so I told her when we met at Ludlow.” Margaret was like some pagan goddess of old, with her bodice sewn all over with golden links and balls that rattled when she moved and flashed in the sun like a gilded breastplate, her eyes diamond-hard and brilliant with gloating triumph against a backdrop of foul smoke and churned grit and four men hanging from a tree limb. Cecily had been unable to save them. Margaret was determined that someone must pay.
“You were so brave, my dear. I was proud when I heard how you had comported yourself. Is it true George called her a wicked woman?”
“He did. Her horse had almost trampled Richard, for which I absolve her of intention. George put himself between Richard and the horse. It was bravely done. But don’t let me divert you. Go on with what you were saying.”
He sighed. “When we were at Ludlow last year, I knew that even if I were to win a glorious victory, it would all come to nothing in the end. The outcome would be no different for the simple reason that Henry is the King!”
Cecily’s eyes were very wide and bright. “I begin to see where you’re going with this,” she said slowly. “I believe I’ll have that wine now.”
As he went over to a huge cupboard where the wine stood, the Duke said, “Please, don’t anticipate. Allow me to continue at my own pace.” Bringing two goblets back, he handed her one and resumed his seat. Cecily sipped without tasting.
“Do you remember how it was in Ireland when we were there in ’49? How greatly the Irish respected me. And it felt good, Cec, so good to have a free hand to put into effect the measures necessary to set a beleaguered country back on its feet, and to have my efforts rewarded by approval and gratitude, instead of censure and suspicion. And I found that the years had not dimmed the esteem in which the Irish hold me. On the contrary – I would say they hold me in higher esteem than ever. I did not exaggerate when I wrote that the Irish parliament was willing to do anything and everything to protect me from my enemies. In Ireland I was King!”
“I know, dearest,” said Cecily, suddenly aware that her fist was clenched around the goblet. She forced herself to relax.
York drew a breath. “The Irish lords are baffled that I have as yet made no attempt to remove Henry. Only with his removal, they contend, can
England begin to recover from the decline into which she has slumped and, since he is still a relatively young man, another twenty or thirty years of his rule could spell total ruin for England. I’m inclined to agree with that assessment. I have a growing body of supporters among all classes who have been urging me to put aside my reservations and assert my claim to the crown. After a great deal of prayer and soul searching, I am resolved to do so.”
There! It was said. He turned to look at his wife. Cecily didn’t lose her usual composure. Only the hand creeping to her throat gave evidence of her agitation, but she felt as if something had snatched her breath away. What did one say to such a disclosure; it was too momentous to take in at once. The implications were stupendous. After a long silence, the hand went down, and she managed to put her wine on the table beside her without spilling a drop. “Well,” she said evenly, “it’s about time!”
York blinked in surprise. Then he took her face in his two hands and kissed her full on the lips, a gesture that startled her, as neither one was given to such tokens of affection. “Best of wives!” he said, beaming. “How could I have doubted you?”
“If I believed you entertained serious doubts about me, I should be extremely angry, but I suspect yours were the kind of doubts inevitable in a man about to implement a momentous decision.” No one knew better than Cecily how indecisive and irresolute her husband could be.
“So you approve?”
“A wife can do little to advance the cause of her husband, but whatever I could do I have done and will continue to do so. You have always had my wholehearted support and loyalty. You know that. But, dearest, it is such a frighteningly irrevocable step. You must be sure it’s what you want.”
“I am more fortunate in you than I can ever say,” said the Duke with uncommon warmth. There was a suspicion of moisture in his eyes. He cleared his throat, eager to revert to the subject that had dominated his thoughts for so long. “I have searched every dark corner of my mind, and I believe I can say with absolute truth that I’m not motivated entirely by personal ambition. Although there are many contributory factors, some of which I’ve already touched upon, I believe the overriding reason is this: Henry’s England is going to ruin. Since he is far more interested in the worship of God than the welfare of his subjects, everyone would be best served if he retired to a monastery and devoted himself to study and prayer. He’ll be happier there and so will his subjects. And so will I. To be free of Margaret and Somerset and all that coterie, to have a free hand to implement the reforms that are necessary without being impeded at every turn, to finally have the right to exercise the power that ought to have been mine from birth but for Lancaster’s usurpation…” He paused to draw a deep breath. “Yes, of course, it’s what I want. In my secret heart, it’s what I’ve always wanted.”
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