by Anne O'Brien
Not everyone is pleased, but I enjoyed the fun.
I would like to build a castle like Hesdin in England when we come home.
We are not unhappy.
Your son,
George
Cecily, Dowager Duchess of York, to George Plantagenet
Written from Baynard’s Castle
My son,
It pleased me to know that you are withstanding your exile with fortitude. I hope that it will not last long.
I do not think it a good idea to build a Hesdin here in England. We have enough tricks, traps and shocks to keep us on our toes without creating more. I can think of none of our magnates who would respond kindly to being sprayed with paint.
Your affectionate mother,
Cecily, Duchess of York
Cecily, Dowager Duchess of York, to Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk
Written from Baynard’s Castle
Dearest Kat,
All that Richard and I had striven for is now achieved, and my heart burns with gratitude and God’s grace.
Henry, Marguerite and their son were seen bound for Scotland when I last heard, Somerset in unholy alliance with them. I pray that they might stay there for a lengthy sojourn. Or even that Marguerite will return to France, taking her troublesome family with her. Now I can look to the future. Ned will be crowned.
And I? Am I not Queen Dowager? Richard never wore the crown that was stolen from him at Wakefield. It was I and my family who brought my son to the throne, so do I not have an interest is this new reign? Ned has not quite yet nineteen years, and so will need advice and counselling. Who better to give it than I? Rest assured that I know that it is my son who is King. I will never do more than support that honour. I have made that promise to myself.
I expect Anne has already complained to you about the authority given to me in my handling the reins of power. She is bitter, I think, that her attempt at reconciliation between the Queen and the City went so wrong. I told her that she should not have got herself involved.
Do you come to London for the coronation?
I will be relieved when Ned has returned to London. The terrible fear remains with me that, having survived the bloody deeds at Towton, he will be cut down in some minor skirmish on the roadside somewhere in the north. He is not a man to hide his consequence or his person. Instead he displays it, much like the proud peacock whose tail feather he sported in his cap when he last rode into London.
I suppose I must now consider him to be a man. Until such a short time ago he was my son and a mere boy.
Your sister,
Cecily
Cecily, Dowager Duchess of York, to George and Richard Plantagenet
Written from Baynard’s Castle
To my most well-loved sons,
Come home now.
I have sent a courier and entourage to escort you to London. Make your grateful thanks to the Duke of Burgundy, as I will too. I have sent gifts to mark his generosity to you.
Don’t waste time. You will give thanks in Canterbury Cathedral for your safe journey, then come on to me at Baynard’s Castle. You are young men of significant importance. You, George, until your brother Edward weds and has sons of his own, are heir to the throne of England.
You will behave accordingly.
Your affectionate mother,
Cecily, Dowager Duchess of York
Chapter Seventeen
The Stark Reality of Ruling
Duchess Cecily offers advice at Baynard’s Castle, the twenty-ninth day of June 1461
‘You wished to speak with me, madam.’
My son, the new King, come from the Palace of Westminster, without too much haste. I could forgive him that, but he must not make a habit of it when I express a desire to speak with him. On this occasion I would forgive him; he would have much to do during these crucial weeks.
Ned bowed, while I surveyed the changes that his victory at Mortimer’s Cross had wrought. The sun falling through the high window gilded a bright new maturity. His garments were rich, his face fair, his hair, newly trimmed and curling about his ears, the hue of new-minted gold coin. His movements were confident, hammered with an assurance that power had vested in him. His formality also amused me, at odds with his flamboyantly hanging sleeves and the feather that depended from his felt cap. Ned had discovered the importance of adopting the eye-catching style of a ruler. I must accept that he was now King and should be treated as such.
‘This will not take long, my son. Come and sit with me,’ I invited, gesturing to the window embrasure with its familiar view over the busy life on the Thames, the coming and going of craft large and small.
Placing a bulky package on a coffer by the door, Ned sat, his legs stretched before him, his fingers smoothing the carving on the arms of the cushioned chair. However great his regal authority, however lacking in years he might be, Ned was at ease. His feathered hat had been cast on the floor at his feet, with his gloves.
‘I have barely had time to draw breath,’ he said.
‘Then I am grateful that you found one moment in all that occupies you to respond to my invitation.’
He did not rise to my gentle bait.
‘As you see, madam. But I cannot stay long.’
‘Then here is your mother’s counsel,’ I began. ‘As a new King, with no experience of the art of government to draw upon, you will need strong supporters and knowledgeable counsellors. My advice is to use your family, your closest allies and friends.’
‘Yes, madam.’
‘Then here, from my own experience, are my suggestions.’ I held out to him a document, on which I had written a comprehensive list of the men whom I considered essential to the success of my son’s reign. Ned took it, glancing idly down as if it were of little account.
‘Reward them for their past allegiance, and they will continue to remain loyal,’ I urged, turning fully towards him to hold his gaze with mine. ‘Promote your Neville relatives as well as the powerful Herbert family in the west.’ Ned’s gaze had strayed beyond me, to the window. ‘Do you hear me, Ned? You must keep the Nevilles with you. Raise George Neville, most valuable in swaying London in your favour, to be Archbishop of York.’
‘I can see the value of that.’
He folded the document, and made to rise.
‘I have not yet finished.’ I stretched out a hand and gripped his wrist to keep him still. ‘There are your two brothers, newly returned in time for your coronation. Young still, but they will grow and their loyalty will be of inestimable worth to you. Ennoble them, Ned. Use the royal titles which have become obsolete. It will make a grand impression on the whole realm. Make George Duke of Clarence. Make Richard Duke of Gloucester. I think they will both benefit from being placed in the household of the Archbishop of Canterbury until a more permanent settlement can be arranged. It will be good for their souls and for their education. Their maturity while in Burgundy is significant, although I have to say more so for Diccon than George.’
‘Of course. I will not neglect my brothers.’
Did I detect a faint sigh? I allowed my hand to fall away. Ned instantly sprang to his feet, to patrol the length of the chamber with all the excess energy that I recalled.
‘You must also consider our enemies, the Lancastrians,’ I said.
‘What do I do with them?’ He had come to a halt before me. ‘An axe to each Lancastrian neck seems appropriate.’
‘Do not be too quick to punish. Be generous in granting pardons to those who can be won to your side. You may feel bitter, having watched your supporters die on the battlefield, but so did the Lancastrians die in vast numbers. My advice is this.’ I proffered another document. ‘Pardon some of them. Pardon Sir Richard Woodville and his family. His wife Jacquetta was once an important woman as Duchess of Bedford, and a close friend in our Rouen days, even though they have become supporters of Marguerite. It will do no harm to win over Jacquetta’s new family. They may be willing to espouse Yorkist sentiments if the p
urse of gold is sufficiently large. Their eldest son, Anthony Woodville, is a man of some talent. It might be politic to look for a marriage for him.’
Ned held the document, but made no move to read it.
‘I will consider your advice, madam. I am aware of my obligations, and of the need to build support.’ He paused, then added, ‘Although I would have come to the same conclusions from my own assessments.’
Was this a warning to me not to interfere too closely? Would he reject my advice? Ned’s face had suddenly acquired an austerity, as if he would announce some policy that I would not like.
‘I should tell you this, madam, before you hear it from Court gossip. I will keep the Earl of Warwick as my chief counsellor. My cousin has been my rock and my strength.’
‘Which is good policy.’ I could see nothing wrong here. My hands, that had tensed in my lap at the hint of Ned’s insurrection, once more relaxed.
‘It is also my intention to appoint him Great Chamberlain of England. Also Admiral of England, as well as Warden of the Cinque Ports and Dover Castle for life.’
My hands re-clasped, fingers hard-gripped. I took a breath to reply, but Ned continued, as if in a confessional.
‘I will give him the Wardenship of both east and west Marches in the north – the old Percy areas of power – as well as the office of Steward of the Duchy of Lancaster, where he can keep his eye on my own lands while I am busy governing.’
I could no longer sit. I pushed myself to my feet, searching for appropriate words.
‘I know that you will agree,’ my son said. ‘He is your nephew, your much-missed brother’s son.’ For a moment I thought that his eyes were sly, but perhaps it was the angle of the light that caught a gleam. ‘Do you think that this enhancement of Warwick’s power will keep him firmly chained to my rising star? Do you not approve?’
I abandoned any attempt to be conciliatory. What had he done?
‘Before God, Ned! I do not approve!’
‘Why not?’ His brows rose, but he knew the answer.
‘Have you thought about this?’ I tried to keep my voice level, to banish any sense of turbulence at what my son was planning. ‘How much power are you willing to shower over Warwick’s head? A man already the strongest magnate in England. Why not give Warwick the crown as well?’
Ned smiled as if I needed to be soothed. ‘But he is such an able man.’
‘And his ambitions match his ability.’ I was beyond soothing. ‘I think that you would live to regret it. I advise you to reconsider concentrating so much influence in the hands of one undoubtedly clever man.’
Ned strode away again, mayhap to escape my disapproval, but then returned as if he had made up his mind.
‘How can you question my preferment for my cousin of Warwick? So many of the Nevilles rode beside me all the way to the steps before the throne, when others did not. They deserve to be rewarded with brilliance. And yes, I will make George Neville Archbishop of York. He has the métier for it. He is already planning a great feast to celebrate. I presume that you have no fault to find with that.’
‘No. But for Warwick to be handed so much power on a gold platter…’
‘He will use it well, in my name.’
I could already sense that I was fighting a losing battle. Ned’s admiration for his magnificent cousin had not dimmed with the events of the past year.
‘Can I not persuade you to reconsider?’ I tried once more.
‘No, madam. My decisions are made.’
Thus the King had spoken.
Suddenly Ned grinned, his face alight with joy, and he fell to his knees before me, gathering my hands in his, covering them with extravagant kisses.
‘Can we now forget all of this, and simply enjoy my coronation? It seems a hard task, to take on the government of England. I know that I can rely on your strength at my side.’ He cocked his chin winningly. ‘Will I find any time for hunting? I think I must make time. Wearing the crown must not be all hard work.’
Leaping to his feet, he retrieved his hat and gloves, filched a ripe pear from the dish beside the door, tossing it in the air before sinking his teeth into it, and then he was gone.
The large parcel wrapped in linen, which I now unwrapped, contained a velvet robe, of superb quality, for me to wear for the coronation. I would not myself have chosen violet patterning on a red field, or the weight of bullion at cuff and hem, but the sable trimming was of excellent density.
I laid it aside.
My sharp concern over the Earl of Warwick becoming an all-powerful subject, with my son’s blessing, had suddenly taken precedence over the patterning of a gown. So had my failure to bring Ned round to my way of thinking. There it was, writ as clear as a spring morn in Ned’s every word, every gesture: Richard’s pride, Richard’s arrogance, Richard’s intolerance of any will but his own. And I loved him for it.
England’s Chronicle, the twenty-ninth day of June 1461
One final comment on the coronation day before London settles into the normal business of trade and shopping.
We expect that the Duchess of York was present with some degree of sadness. This should have been Richard, Duke of York, wearing the golden coronet. She should have been Queen of England.
Not to be. We expect that she will grow used to being King’s Mother, although our young King does not look to be the man to be wound around his mother’s fingers.
Will King Edward make a more effective King than King Henry? He looked every part the perfect monarch on this day of his coronation. He wore the ermine and crown as if they were made for him, and not borrowed from a passer-by. He won many hearts.
Are we not all now enthusiastic supporters of this resurrected House of York? King Edward has called parliament. He has stated that he will welcome every man who gives him his loyalty, no matter what his past allegiance. It has won over many who have fought for Lancaster. Although it has to be said that those who resist have been charged with treason. I foresee executions on Tower Hill if they refuse to bend the knee. Our King may be young, but he is not without political foresight. Better a dead enemy than a live one.
Will this now be peace?
We fear not. Marguerite of Anjou, once Queen, will never accept. There are pockets of resistance throughout England, as we know. One day soon we will return to sieges and conflict.
On this happy day, there is one further step which must be taken to make King Edward’s hold on the throne a strong one. Perhaps the Duchess is already advising him of it.
Perhaps King Edward has decided he has had enough advice from that quarter.
Anne, Dowager Duchess of Buckingham, to Cecily, King’s Mother
Written from the Palace of Westminster
Dearest Cecily,
You will note that I have honoured you with your new title.
I have to say it was a glorious occasion, although the violet hue did not become you.
Since you are not slow in handing out any opinion that crosses your mind, consider this, if you have not already done so. All is still so unstable. If Ned dies without a direct heir, it will be worse than unstable. All will be upheaval. George, as Ned’s heir, has a mere twelve years to his name. Dangers threaten from over-powerful magnates when a King is without experience and too young for the office. Did we not see that with King Henry, King before his first birthday?
Ned needs a wife.
A wife will also make his life more regular and worthy of the supreme office he now holds. I hear many rumours of his inordinate love of women and I am sure you have heard tales of these licentious liaisons also. Ned needs a marriage and a legitimate heir.
I am surprised you have not already considered this and placed a stratagem before him.
Your sister who enjoys dabbling her fingers in family marriages,
Anne
Cecily, King’s Mother, to Anne, Dowager Duchess of Buckingham
Written from Baynard’s Castle
Who’s to say that I have not considered i
t? You know me better than that, Anne. Ned needs a wife and quickly, I think. I consider it to be well-judged policy to look abroad so that any bride will not give too much power to an English noble family. I need an ally to achieve this for me, the seeking out of a suitable bride. I know just the man.
Thank you for your good advice. I know I can always rely on you to relate the obvious.
Have you any thoughts about a husband for Meg? She is of an age. It would all have been arranged if Richard had not met his death at Wakefield.
I am thinking of establishing Meg in her own household in Greenwich, and Ned is in agreement. Now that she is an English Princess she will be much in demand. How high can we look? Please send any ideas.
It was my plan to spend Christmas at Eltham, a quiet occasion, rather than with Ned at Greenwich which will be full of festivity and extravagance. For me this year it will be bitter-sweet indeed, the first since Richard’s death. I am in no mood for anything but austerity and mourning.
And before you tell me, I know that I cannot withdraw into misery. Royal receptions are important, and I must make an impression of wealth and power on Ned’s new subjects. I will have to resign myself to feasts and dancing after all, the fuss and fretting over where to buy, what to buy and how to cook it. I remember a detailed recipe for stuffing chickens with the flesh of other fowl, before colouring and glazing them altogether, but have lost it.
Can you recall? If so, please send. Even better, come and oversee the cooking of it. I’ll leave my cook in your hands. He tends to grumble when I appear in the kitchens.
Your resigned sister,
Cecily
Anne, Dowager Duchess of Buckingham, to Cecily, King’s Mother
Written from the Palace of Westminster
Cis,
The recipe you mention is too time-consuming and not worth the eating at the end. Here is a better one, fit for a feast. Tell your cook to collect the ingredients. I will come and oversee the cooking of it and insist on cleanliness. Your cook can grumble at me all he likes.
Anne
Recipe for a Royal Festive Occasion