by Anne O'Brien
‘Have you disbanded them and sent them home?’ I persisted.
I could almost see his face flush in the shadows, but his voice was edged with his own righteousness, his own belief in what must be. ‘No. I have not. We need time, and to disband the army would give Henry freedom of action to pursue us here to the gate of our castle. The army remains in place until tomorrow. I have told our officers that we have retired here for the night, and that we will return at dawn. The Lancastrians will see nothing amiss until we have gone.’
‘Richard…’ I did not like it. I did not like it at all, but could think of nothing to say. He had made the decision.
He sensed the tenor of my silence, as he would after more than thirty years of marriage, through good times and worse. ‘I know. It’s bad, but we must redeem what we can from a desperate situation. Henry will not wage war on common soldiers. It’s us he wants. If we stay we will be taken prisoner, if not killed outright. That will be the end of our cause.’
I thought that he was trying to convince himself that our men would not be obliterated by his decision to escape. I held his hands, willing him to tell me that flight was not the only possibility, but I knew, as clearly as he, that they must get out of England before the royal hounds were slavering at their heels.
‘We’ll go in different directions,’ he was explaining, already planning, while I had moved no further than the despair that he would leave me. ‘I’ll take Edmund with me into Wales and from the coast we’ll take ship to Ireland where I know I’ll be welcomed. My years as King’s Lieutenant in Ireland will stand me in good stead. I’ll make my base in Dublin.’
How confident he was, or at least sounded – possibly for my sake – that this journey would not entrap him into the hands of his enemies.
‘Salisbury and Warwick will go south and they have agreed to take Edward with them. When they reach the coast, they’ll take ship and join us in Dublin or make for Calais. Either move will be safe. With the boys travelling separately, there is at least the chance that one of them will survive to continue to lead the House of York.’
My family stripped from me in this one momentous decision, in which I had had no voice at all. I had considered the outcome of battle. I had not accepted that I might be abandoned to face the Lancastrians alone.
‘When do you go?’ I asked, my voice steady.
‘I can’t stay any longer than this hour.’ He was as calm as I in the circumstances. ‘We must go immediately before anyone can raise any sort of alarm.’
‘I understand.’
And I did. But surely there was one question I must ask.
What of me? What of those three young children asleep in their beds?
My lips parted to ask it, only to be prevented by an embrace and a hasty kiss before he put me from him.
At the door he turned, his voice breaking in bitter self-condemnation, full of despair.
‘I abandoned my army, Cecily. I abandoned my banners. They are lying there to be trampled on, come the day. All the pride and glory of York to be buried in mud and ignominy.’ His eyes, wide and despairing, held mine. ‘And now I must abandon you. You did not ask. I honour you for it. But I cannot take you and the children with me. Time is too short, and I must get our sons away before they fall into Lancastrian hands. Oh, Cis, my dear love. What have I done?’
He strode back towards me, enveloping me in his arms as he had done so often, in cold departing or joyful arrival. At the same time he whispered in my ear. I replied in kind, but then placed my fingers on his lips to silence him. No time, in this chill guard-room with dawn fast approaching, to express what might be in our hearts.
They were sentiments that I would remember for ever.
And then: ‘Keep the gates bolted, your guards set,’ he commanded, returning to practicality. ‘They’ll not get in and they’ll not harm a woman and children. Whatever his weaknesses, Henry has more chivalry than to do that.’
But what about Marguerite? What of her chivalry?
Another question I dare not ask.
‘I have no doubt of the quality of your courage. The Nevilles were all bred up in adversity and pride. Keep faith with our people here. Will you promise me?’
‘I promise.’
‘You will never know the depth of my gratitude.’
Now his kiss was deep and wretched indeed. I clung to him for a second, absorbing the essence of him, for what might be the final time.
‘Go, Richard. Go before the huntsman sounds the three long motes for the hounds to seek the hart. You will be hunted most fervently by the Duke of Somerset.’
‘But by God’s will, we will escape and take refuge.’
‘Amen.’
Out into the cold air of the inner bailey, there was one more burden to lie heavily on my heart. I must bid farewell to my two sons, for how long I could not imagine.
‘May the Blessed Virgin keep you safe from harm,’ I said, a soft benediction as all was clamour and activity around us.
A grip of hands, a light kiss of farewell, cheek against cheek. This was no time for excess emotion. Ned was eager to be away, his gaze already straying towards the impressive bulk of his cousin of Warwick, but Edmund remained and shivered under my grip. There was only a year between them but Edmund still had much growing to do, in confidence as well as in height and breadth of shoulder.
‘You will bear yourself nobly as a son of York,’ I encouraged him. I would worry over this son more than I would over Ned.
‘Yes, madam.’
‘You will be the first to tell me that you have no time for accepting maternal advice on your conduct, but pay heed to your father’s instructions. Be strong in the faith that I have instilled in you and in your duty to your proud name.’
Edmund bowed his head as if taking a solemn vow before an altar. I felt him straighten, his spine stiffen. He was already taller than I.
‘I swear that I will, madam. I swear that you will be proud of me.’
‘It is time to go. I look for the day when we will be reunited.’
I was pleased to see him walk with more assurance as I pushed him in Richard’s direction. A woman’s tears or anxieties would bring nothing to this emotional occasion.
‘Farewell, my love.’ My final words to Richard. ‘God keep you and bring you home.’
‘Uphold the honour of the House of York,’ he replied, ‘the honour which I have this night all but buried. I will keep you in my mind and my heart.’
‘As you will remain in mine.’
Surprising me, he drew me close in the darkness, running the pads of his thumbs over my brows, my cheekbones, my lips, along the line of my jaw.
‘Just so that I can remember you,’ he said, ‘when time and distance between us seem too vast.’
The last I saw of my warlike family, they were riding for the outer gate, supplied with money and food for what could be a long journey.
I was beyond tears. I could not imagine when I would see Richard again, or any one of them. I returned to my chamber where, with deliberate self-control, I dressed for the coming day when I must face the Lancastrians. I would stay here in Ludlow, as I promised Richard that I would. I would hold firm to that promise and protect our people with every remaining breath in my body.
Recorded by the private hand of Cecily, Duchess of York
I am alone and Richard has gone, fled from Ludford Bridge, leaving me to record the manner of his flight. Cowardly. Dishonourable. Contemptible. Despicable. The denunciation of my lord clamours in my head.
That is what they will say of Richard. These words will be written in history, in my husband’s blood. Richard of York, the great lord who betrayed his wife and children to the marauding Lancastrian army to save his own neck. Who abandoned his army and relinquished his banners on the battlefield because he dared not face his King. The chroniclers will look to me for condemnation, for would I not join my diatribe to theirs? The Duchess of York must surely disavow her loyalties to an ambitious husband w
ho left her behind.
What had he said in those final minutes together, when we could have merely spoken of our love for each other? I record his words here, for my own encouragement in future times of despair, when hope dies within me. Do not let them turn you against me, he said. We have lived and fought side by side for so many years. I need you to believe in me.
Oh, Richard, how could I not believe in you? But why leave me to face the enemy alone? We were capable of riding as hard and as fast as the rest. Why not take us out of danger, for our safety?
And why had I not, in the end, voiced my fears? Why had I not demanded to be rescued from what would become a second battlefield, here in the streets of Ludlow?
I had not asked because I knew all the answers and I already understood all the thoughts that had not been spoken between us. The questions I had wanted to ask and had not because time was too short. Who would know Richard and the working of his mind better than I?
If he had remained to face the royal army, it would have been more than the carefully worked and gilded flags that suffered. It would have been catastrophic defeat, leading to almost inevitable capture and death by the edge of the axe. Flight might save his life and that of our sons. And life meant hope of return, to put wrongs right.
But what if, in the process of flight, they were recaptured? A fast beheading outside the walls of our own castle? There would be no trial, no recourse to the King’s mercy. Even now Richard might be in Lancastrian hands, facing death.
All is quiet both within and without the castle. But so is death silent. Silent as the grave. Richard and my two eldest sons might already be bodies, stripped and humiliated on public display.
Why had he not taken me with him?
I trust my courage will run as freely as this ink on my pen.
I am here alone because I am the keystone. I am the one firm guiding hand to hold all in place until better times. Easy to fly like a mallard from the nest when a fox comes prowling. Richard trusts me to remain to care for those in need, to speak out for our people’s interests. If I had ridden with him, if we had all fallen into enemy hands, the House of York would have been obliterated in the blink of an eye, in a fit of mad revenge for the bloodshed at the battles of St Albans and Blore Heath. What if we had made it to the coast to take ship? Any whirlwind storm to sink our vessel and we would all lie, bones stripped of flesh by fish, at the bottom of the sea.
Now I must brace myself, forcing my shoulders to bear the burden placed on them. Here are the remaining children who are the hope of York, under my care. Meg, who will grow to make a profitable alliance with a European Prince, George who will be the heir to the dukedom if his brothers suffer misadventure, Diccon with all his fervour.
And here am I, to guard and guide them. I must pray that in their youth they will not be held responsible for their father’s sins.
Nor, I pray, will I.
I cannot take you with me because you are needed here, Richard had whispered at the end, answering the question that I had never asked. I have trusted you all my life. You are my heart and my soul and my right hand. I need you to stay here to hold all I have of value. I need you to hold fast to all that I am forced to abandon. I swear that I will return and take up my heritage once more, but I need you to keep the name of York alive in the minds of our friends and allies. And our enemies. Our heritage must not be allowed to die through lack of tending. Will you do it for me?
I had placed my fingers on his mouth to still his words. Such faith he had in me, and I would hold fast to it. There would be no further destruction of the House of York under my watch.
A record of the sons and daughters of Richard, Duke of York, and Cecily Neville
I have instructed my clerk to make this record. His hand is more legible than mine. In these days of uncertainty, our marriage and the fruits of it must be put on record. For those who may wish to know, I give my signature and my solemn oath before our priest, here at Ludlow, that these are the true offspring of Richard Plantagenet Duke of York and myself, Cecily Neville.
The document will be kept in the sacred safety of the Church of St Mary the Virgin at my beloved Fotheringhay.
Anne
born at Fotheringhay on the tenth day of August in the year 1439
Henry
born at Hatfield on the tenth day of February in the year 1441; died
Edward
born at Rouen on the twenty-eighth day of April in the year 1442
Edmund
born at Rouen on the seventeenth day of May in the year 1443
Elizabeth
born at Rouen on the twenty-second day of April in the year 1444
Margaret
born at Fotheringhay on the third day of May in the year 1446
William
born at Fotheringhay on the seventh day of July in the year 1447; died
John
born at Neyte on the seventh day of November in the year 1448; died
George
born at Dublin on twenty-first day of October in the year 1449
Thomas
born at Dublin on fourteenth January in the year 1451; died
Richard
born at Fotheringhay on second day of October in the year 1452
Ursula
born at Fotheringhay on twentieth July in the year 1455; died
How much joy and sorrow is recorded here. The joy I may acknowledge in my sons and daughters who grow with health and vigour to enter into their own marriages, to raise their own children for the future greatness of England.
The sorrow I keep hidden close in my own heart. Richard knows of it, but it is not to be discussed since it brings grief to both of us. So many dead within a year of their birth.
There will be no more children now. Age has placed its withering hand on my womb.
Here is my testimony to my love for Richard and his love for me.
It is a testimony also to my sorrow.
The last will and testament of Cecily, Duchess of Neville
Made and witnessed by our priest, this twelfth day of October in the year 1459
In the event of my death (I pray that it will not happen) in the aftermath of the battle that never came to pass at Ludford Bridge:
I give the care of my younger children, Margaret, George and Richard, into the safe hands of Humphrey, Duke of Buckingham, my sister’s husband. He is a man of integrity who will guard and guide them until their father is able to return. I ask that he will protect them from the waspish tongue of my sister. They do not deserve any degradation.
To my sister Anne, Duchess of Buckingham, I bequeath the rosary-beads that she covets made with white-amber gold and coral. There are two strings. I pray that she uses them well to make petition for my soul.
To my serving women I give my jewels to be distributed amongst them in my memory. I owe them much for their past loyalties. They will find them buried beneath the floor in the stables, placed there in case of a Lancastrian sack. My Steward knows of their whereabouts.
I give all the remaining property belonging to me in Ludlow Castle, including all my books if they survive the coming pillage, which is debatable, to the parish church of St Laurence in Ludlow, to be sold and the money given to the poor who I fear will suffer greatly when the Lancastrian troops are let loose on them.
Finally, to the Queen I give a silver pyx containing the flesh of Saint Christopher. I pray that the Queen’s eyes will be opened by this Holy Martyr who, patiently, gave his life to the service of Christ. I pray for her selfless devotion to the needs of this war-torn land. She will need more patience than I have to manage her increasingly fragile husband.
I wish my body to be buried in the Church of St Mary at Fotheringhay, and leave money for that purpose. No other place will do, whatever my family might say.
Signed and witnessed on this day,
Cecily, Duchess of York
Duchess Cecily faces the sack of Ludlow, the thirteenth day of October 1459
I ro
se with the dawn, knowing in my head and in my heart that this would be a day of danger. As soon as the final blessing was administered by my priest at Mass, I had my sons and daughter stand with me before the altar in the chapel. Hastily clad in funereal severity, this was a time for utmost respect and solemnity; no jewels, no outward show, no ostentation. We could be in dark-clothed mourning, as black as the clouds that seemed to enwrap the Ludlow towers.
‘Whatever happens today, you will remember that you are my children. You are the figureheads of the House of York.’ I spoke calmly, sternly. Here was no occasion to stir panic. ‘Any man who looks at you, whatever his status, whatever his standing in life or the state of his soul, he will see honour and pride and duty to a noble cause. He will see your royal blood shining through whatever trials we are called upon to face. Do you understand me?’
They were so young, but they could still carry out this task. Whatever befell us I would have them stalwart in their demeanour. I tried not to imagine the effects of a marauding army in the town. It might not come to that, but to be forewarned was to be forearmed, and I would have no weakness.
‘You will do what I say. If I send you on an errand you will go without question.’ I could think of any number of eventualities when I would need them to be obedient.
‘Has Father left us?’ asked George.
‘He has gone because he must. He will return with help to rescue us if we need rescuing. Until then we will hold this castle in our proud name. You will all be very brave.’
I saw to it that they broke their fast and drank a cup of ale. I kissed each one.
‘Never forget that you are well loved.’
Then we waited. Beyond our sight our army would discover the disaffection of their leaders, their empty tents, the abandoned banners. In the cold light of day it was hard to make an excuse for it but I understood. I must understand. As for my own strategy, it was difficult to construct since the next few hours would be as formless as a shadow in a deep well. It would depend on the outcome of King Henry’s response. I returned to the question. What would happen when Richard’s army found itself leaderless?