by Anne O'Brien
Will you bring Humphrey home to Tonbridge, or will you leave him where he was buried in the Church of the Grey Friars in Northampton? I imagine that if Richard died in battle, God forbid, that I would want him to lie in the place he loved best, not where he met his death.
If you return to London before I do, I would be grateful if you would call at Fastolf Place. Ned promises to look in on the children daily, but what weight would you put on such a promise from a young man of seventeen years, full of ambition and energy?
Your affectionate sister,
Cecily
Recorded by the private hand of Cecily, Duchess of York, Hereford Castle, September 1460
I have discovered in the muniment chamber a document of high treason.
Not that I had any suspicion of such when I recognised the little carved coffer that contained the scroll of the lines of descent of the Kings of England that I had shown to Meg and George and Diccon at Ludlow. I considered the sword-bearing figure of the fourth Henry, my mother’s brother, so different from the others as he cleaved through the line of succession to take the crown for Lancaster.
But a new section has been added, an extra sheet of vellum, softer and whiter in its newness. A line of descent from the mighty third King Edward, quite separate from the line of Lancaster. It portrays clearly the five sons of King Edward, with my Richard descended from both the second and the fourth son. And I was there, too, joined to him in wedlock, with my own Beaufort descent from John of Gaunt and his mistress, later legitimate Duchess, Katherine Swynford. Our children had been added, with all the weight of their complex but undoubtedly royal Plantagenet blood.
Whose work is this? There is only one possible source for something so inherently treasonable. This is Richard’s claim to the throne of England, exhibiting his descent from the second son, Lionel of Clarence, more potent than the Lancastrian claim of hapless Henry, from King Edward’s third son. More potent, as long as we are prepared to ignore Richard’s descent through a female line, Philippa of Clarence, Lionel’s daughter. If this is admissible, then Richard’s claim is supreme. One day, if this is proved to be a presentiment of the future, Richard and then Ned will wear the crown of England.
What’s more, it is clear to me that I have been summoned here to be a part of the conspiracy. Here is treason on a far more dangerous level than facing King Henry on the battlefield at Ludford Bridge, when our quarrel was not with the King but with his counsellors. Far more dangerous than attempting to win back the position of Lord Protector, to hold the realm together until the young Prince Edward is of an age to rule in his father’s stead.
There is one critical omission in that newly designed chart of royal descent; the name of Prince Edward, son and heir of King Henry and Queen Marguerite, around whose birth there has been so much discussion. Given Henry’s fragile mind and incapability, how could this child be his legitimate son? Rumour has not been slow to question the Queen’s chastity within her marriage. Here Richard is denying the young Prince his birth and inheritance as Prince of Wales.
I record here that Richard has made a life-changing decision, for both of us, for our children, which will put us at odds with the magnates at Henry’s Court and with our own family.
I am afraid.
Duchess Cecily accepts the seeds of treason in Hereford Castle, September 1460
Without a word, I placed the coffer on the table, slid it in front of him, opened the lid.
‘Do I understand this?’
I had not intended it to be a challenge, but it undoubtedly was. Richard knew it was.
‘I am sure that you do,’ he replied, pushing back in his chair, ‘since I expect you have already investigated the contents.’
‘It is treason, Richard.’
‘It has been treason since we raised arms and banners against King Henry. Am I not declared traitor? Am I not disinherited? And my sons after me?’
Suddenly we were both drenched in the bitterness that he had so far hidden from me.
‘Is claiming your inheritance not enough?’
Richard’s hands clenched hard around the edge of the table but he fought to keep his voice equable. ‘No. How can it be enough? How can we trust Henry to keep his word? We cannot trust the state of his mind from one day to the next. We are fortunate if he actually recognises who we are. Marguerite’s influence is too strong. Demanding the restoration of my inheritance is no longer enough. It is my right, my right through my Plantagenet blood, to be one of the King’s trusted counsellors. If I cannot be assured of that, then why should I not rule? Henry has proved time and time again that he is incapable of holding England together. He wavers from one counsellor to another. I would spend my days looking over my shoulder for a dagger in my back, most likely wielded by Somerset’s hand, or even one of your disaffected Neville and Percy relatives. Do you not see that?’
‘Yes. I do see it but…’
‘But it is treason. Yes it is treason, but the man who is successful is no longer treasonous.’
‘You would be a usurper, as was Henry Bolingbroke.’
‘He made an effective King, far more so than the second Richard. He was able to pass a stable country to his son. A son who, in Europe, made a name second to none at the battle of Agincourt.’
I moved to perch on the edge of the table beside him, curling my fingers around one of his wrists. Aware of the heavy beat of his pulse, as I had felt it the previous day. Today, as I called into question his vision of the future, the throb was irregular.
‘Is this what you wish to do? Usurp Henry and wear the crown, to make England strong and admired again?’
‘Yes.’
I inhaled slowly, trying to absorb all that it would mean.
‘Don’t tell me that you don’t have the belly for it, Cis. Will you support me?’
Releasing him, once again I lifted and unrolled the new, final section by the clerkish hand, studying the lines that ran down the page to Richard and our sons. There was the little gilded crown adorning Richard’s name.
Ambition flared. There was no doubt that we had a claim. Did we have the right? I looked up at Richard, still uncertain.
‘Is this what you wish to do?’
‘Yes. Who would be a better King? Henry of Lancaster? Or Richard of York?’
‘But Henry of Lancaster has been anointed and crowned.’
‘Henry of Lancaster is no longer fit to be King. Moreover I would question his son’s legitimacy. How he could have got a child on Marguerite, when he was victim of a mute and uncomprehending state of stupefaction, I can barely imagine. Is it not true that he had no understanding that a son had been born to him?’ Richard slammed his hand down onto the wooden surface in a sudden burst of irritation. ‘Can you deny the legitimacy of my claim to the throne?’
‘No.’
‘Can you deny the claim of our sons? Made doubly acceptable through your own royal bloodline.’
‘No, I cannot.’
He stood, and drew me to stand also, hands firm on my shoulders, as he might draw forward a young knight who was making his first oath of loyalty. Between us, the scroll rested in my hands, full of potential for glory and tragedy.
‘Are you with me or against me, Cis?’
And indeed, that was what he wanted. My loyalty, my fealty. As if I were that young, untried knight. But it did not need him to put that question to me.
‘Do you have to ask?’
‘I need you to say it.’
‘Then this is what I will say. In the name of the Blessed Virgin, I give you my absolute fidelity.’
I saw him exhale slowly, the little grooves beside his mouth flattening. Had he ever thought I would stand against him?
‘Then will you ride at my side?’ he asked with a sudden urgency. ‘To London.’
‘Yes.’
‘You will stand with me when I put forward my claim?’
‘I will. When did a Neville and a Plantagenet retreat from what is honest and just?’
&n
bsp; ‘Never. Particularly a Neville.’ He took the scroll from me and re-rolled it, replacing it in its case. ‘Did you not suspect what was in my mind?’
‘No.’ And indeed I had not. ‘I thought you would make a bid to oust Somerset and Exeter and rule as Lord Protector again.’
‘Once, that is what I would have done. Now I have had too much of uncertainty and exile. I wish to return, to settle again, with full reinstatement and recognition of who I am. And if it means that I challenge Henry for the throne, then I will do it.’
An uncomfortable thought crossed my mind.
‘Does Warwick know? You met with him in Shrewsbury.’
He shook his head. ‘You are the only one to know my mind. I need you with me. You are essential to my cause. Be with me, Cecily. In mind and heart as well as body.’
‘I will be with you. In mind and heart and body.’
Thus I committed myself to whatever the following days would bring. Thus I gave my complete and utter allegiance into the hands of my husband. And yet…
‘I see a frown in your eyes,’ Richard observed.
‘Perhaps there is.’
‘And you will tell me.’
‘I think it would be dangerous to risk pushing Salisbury and Warwick into opposition. I think you should be circumspect in how you handle the Nevilles when you arrive in London.’
‘In what manner?’
‘You may not wish to hear.’
‘But you will say it anyway.’
And because I knew him so well: ‘Don’t cast your hood to the floor in a challenge as soon as you arrive. Be patient. Make a bid for authority at Henry’s right hand to begin with. Don’t rush in to snatch the crown before you have sounded the attitude of parliament. Don’t threaten their power before they have barely taken their seats. Be gentle with Henry.’
‘What good would that do? He’ll make any promise demanded of him, then break it within an hour of Marguerite’s return, as soon as she tells him otherwise. Is that not so?’
‘Yes.’ I sighed, accepting the truth. ‘But promise me that you will be careful. We have loyal friends, but too much arrogance would stir revolt. If you claim the throne, not all will smile on us. Salisbury and Warwick might just resent your presumption. They have worked and fought hard for you in your absence. Don’t push them aside as if they no longer have a role in your plans.’
He thought about it, head bent, studying the scuffed tiles at his feet.
‘You speak sense, as always, Cis. I will be discretion itself.’
‘You won’t antagonise parliament or the Nevilles.’
‘I will be the perfect example of courteous, well-mannered conciliation.’
I did not believe a word of it, but I had made my promise. I would follow him into the depths of hell if necessary.
Cecily, Duchess of York, to Margaret of York
Written from Hereford Castle
To my dear Meg,
We expect to be in London by the second week of October if the Duke’s travel plans fall out as expected. It will please you to know that your father has some bolts of Irish cloth for you in his luggage.
It will please you even more that your father is considering a betrothal for you. If his planning comes to fruition, there will be a string of suitors, as many disreputable as suitable. Don Pedro of Aragon is one possibility, a young man who is a contender for that throne.
As a daughter of York, newly reinstated and absolved from past sins, we anticipate that there will no longer be an obstacle in your path to a good marriage.
You have not been forgotten in your father’s absence. You will always have our love, and our burden of care. You have become a young woman of beauty, intelligence and piety.
Your father has a litter of Irish wolfhound puppies. I expect he will give you one, whether you wish it or not. George and Diccon will enjoy the prospect more than you, my dearest daughter. I trust that your brothers are in good heart since I have had no urgent letter from Ned to the contrary.
Your loving mother,
Cecily, Duchess of York
Duchess Cecily’s intercession to the Blessed Virgin Mary
Hail Mary, full of Grace, Our Lord is with thee.
Blessed Virgin, Holy Mother. I am in need of your guidance and your infinite understanding.
This is a dangerous path. Guilt and ambition war within me. I accept that I have little control over Richard’s plans. I fear for the impression he will make when we leave Hereford. Here we are still anonymous, even if ostentatious. Anonymity will not last long when the Duke of York shakes out his banners. Already he resents my suggestion of discretion.
Give me strength, Holy Mother.
Be with me, he said.
Of course I will. He owns my loyalty, as his wife and as his love. Give me strength and forgiveness when I put his wishes before all else.
It is the power of love.
If we are to be indiscreet, then so be it.
Still my heart quails a little at what we are about to do.
Queen of England. Am I worthy of a crown? I believe that I am. As worthy as any woman in England.
Blessed Virgin have mercy.
Cecily, Duchess of York, to Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury
Written from Hereford Castle
Brother,
It is essential that you know what is afoot in my lord’s mind. This should reach you by fast courier before we do. Do not speak of this to Ned or to Warwick, although Warwick might already have more than an inkling of the way the wind is blowing. Still, I am of a mind to say that the fewer to know of this the better.
Richard intends to make a bid for the crown. Not as Lord Protector, but as King.
If he does, we will all be called on to make our loyalties known.
I see nothing but more trouble, but he does not always accept my opinions when so much is at stake. Sadly, women have the habit of merging with the tapestries when matters of high politics take precedence.
Ambition is a fine thing, but also a deadly one.
My loyalties are committed. You may yet have to decide on yours.
I fear it will take more than a holy reliquary to bring this venture to a successful conclusion.
Your sister,
Cecily
Chapter Eleven
The Wheel of Fortune Begins to Spin
Cecily, Duchess of York, to her son Richard
Written from Gloucester, on the second day of October 1460
To my well-beloved son Diccon,
Today is the commemorative day of your birth and we are not together to celebrate. Do you remember this day, one year ago, when we were all in Ludlow and managed some festivity even with an army at our door? It was the last time that you saw your father. Now he travels home with me. Soon you will see him again.
Give thanks to God for your life and health.
When we are reunited, we will mark this auspicious day, however late it might be.
Do not give any weight to rumours of unrest in the City or your father’s continuing perfidy. All will be well.
Your father sends his affection.
Your loving mother,
Cecily
England’s Chronicle, October 1460
For those of you uncommonly interested in the travels of a certain noble lady earlier in the year, it is our duty to inform you that she is returned to London. Of even greater significance to every man in England, her husband, traitor and outlaw, is riding with her.
Sufficient to record here that the Duke of York is making a progress, accompanied by an army in everything but name. And what takes our attention, apart from the size of the retinue? The fact that the mustered company might be promoting the falcon and fetterlock, York’s own heraldic symbol, but the banners, shaken out in Abingdon for all to see, display the royal arms of England, the royal devices outlined in gold over the bright red and blue. And yes, the crowds are cheering. Duchess Cecily is smiling, bowing her head in gracious style. On her breast can be note
d the jewelled reliquary. The value of the gems cannot be disputed. Nor its contents. A piece of the true cross, so we are told.
We foresee the Duke being present for the summoning of the parliament. Which might be acceptable if the Duke merely wishes to make a genuflection to the government that has King Henry within its control. We believe that York has returned with more than his reinstatement in mind.
Does Duchess Cecily realise how great an asset she is?
If you wish to make comparisons:
Our present absent Queen has only managed to produce one son, and that birth is open to question if you are a gleaner of gossip. Duchess Cecily has four strong sons, with no question of her faithfulness and honesty within her marriage.
Duchess Cecily is proven to be an obedient wife, rushing to be at her husband’s side when he called. Her piety is beyond question. Who can say that of Queen Marguerite? When is she ever guided by her husband? She abandoned him on the battlefield at Northampton, leaving him to Warwick’s tender mercies.
So make your comparisons as you ask the question:
What does the Duke of York seek when he returns to London?
These royal arms that are so prominently displayed are York’s arms too, as a royal son with legitimate descent. He has every right to display them. Even more disquieting, before York in the procession is borne his sword, upright, as if it were the Sword of State carried before the King himself.
The message is clear to all: ‘Let England know that the Duke of York is back.’
Beware, mighty Duke. Is it the role of Lord Protector that you seek, or do you make a bid for the throne itself? Who will smile on you in your ambitions, other than your Duchess?
Duchess Cecily returns in triumph to London, October 1460
We rode into London on the tenth day of October, with all the panoply that Richard had been devising over the last twelve months. Parliament had been meeting for three days.
‘Which is perfect timing for me,’ Richard said. ‘All the tedious business of taxes and corruption and the frequency of highway robberies will have been swept out of the way.’
All we had talked of on that long journey remained a fervent desire for both of us. That Richard should indeed be proclaimed King of England. But how it would be achieved remained firmly in Richard’s hands. Securely locked in his fertile brain.