“Of course,” I said, and Margaret hustled the offending George away, trailed by Richard. “Odd what children get into their heads, isn’t it?”
“Odd indeed,” agreed the duchess. For the first time she looked ill at ease, probably wondering if the sharp-eared George would make a reappearance. “I will come to the point, if I may. With my husband being attainted, I have been left with no means of support, and a jointure has not been provided for me. I would ask that your grace help me in my petition to the king that I be granted an adequate income to support myself and my three children here. Without it we are nothing but a burden upon my sister and the Duke of Buckingham.”
“What sum do you need?”
“A thousand marks would be adequate.”
And York had called me extravagant? But I supposed that for the duchess this was a rather modest income. “I shall recommend it to the king.”
“I thank you,” said Cecily. She looked genuinely grateful, even humble. Probably she had thought that George’s indiscretion had doomed her request, but I could feel for a sister woman, then and now, and took no pleasure in seeing her and her children, even loud-mouthed George, suffer for York’s presumptuousness. Who knows? Perhaps when everything changed, she put in a word of kindness for me.
All in all, though, I rather doubt it.
***
It is one of the sadder ironies of my existence that when the day came that I needed the Earl of Warwick’s services as a fighter, he failed miserably. When he was fighting against me in 1460, he seemed invincible.
Hal, having managed to establish himself at Guînes, could make no headway against his garrison at Calais, and his situation became even more desperate when the fleet we had assembled at Sandwich was seized by Warwick’s men, who captured poor Lord Rivers and the Duchess of Bedford as well and hauled them to Calais as prisoners. Doggedly assaulting Calais nearly every day, Hal succeeded in April in engaging Warwick’s forces in combat at Newenham Bridge—and had to retreat. Short of men and funds, by the summer he was barely holding on to Guînes. Exeter, in charge of the seas at last, lost the chance to intercept Warwick, traveling between Ireland and Calais, because he could not be certain that his own unpaid men would be loyal. Even my old family friend Pierre de Brézé, whom I secretly begged for aid in seizing Warwick, was unable to capture his ship.
When not making the lives of my friends miserable, Warwick was plotting with York. In June 1460, the news we had been anticipating finally came: Warwick, Salisbury, and March had arrived back in England, minus the Duke of York. “He is making the others do his filthy work for him,” I said when I heard the news. “As ever.”
“May I tell your grace how tired of all of this I am?” Buckingham asked as we strolled outside together. He had been attending a council meeting with Henry at Coventry, where I was staying also. As Henry had been exceptionally nervous over the last few days, I had taken the opportunity of catching Buckingham alone to press him for details.
“Yes, you may.”
“I can tell you this also: when we confront him, there will be no negotiation at this point, and he will not escape.” Buckingham tightened his fist. “I have come to the conclusion that all of York and Warwick’s high-flown language about their loyalty and their plaints about their grievances come to one point: York wants the crown.”
“Well, I have been thinking that for years,” I snapped. “If only someone had listened to me.”
Buckingham’s careworn face brightened into a faint smile. “We men underestimate your sex, I sometimes think,” he admitted.
“Do you think he wants to depose the king?”
“I don’t know if he has the ba—er, the nerve for that. No, your grace, I fear that he wants to be named as the king’s rightful heir, in place of the Prince of Wales, who they are saying is a—Well, your grace must have heard the rumors.”
I nodded. This year there had been a fresh spate of gossip about the parentage of my son. The rumors were even spreading abroad. “Soon I shall have a truly international reputation as a great whore. I do not believe there is a man at Henry’s court I have not been said to have lain with, with the exception of Henry himself, of course.” I blinked back my tears. “I can bear those rumors for myself, but they hurt Henry so deeply.”
“No one here believes them.”
“But everyone else does.”
Buckingham did not deny it. After a silence for a while, I said, “So Henry is moving to Northampton?”
“Yes, and summoning troops to meet him there. We will be ready for Warwick and the rest if they attack, which I have no doubt they will. Nonetheless, I will warn your grace now: if it should go ill for us, you would be well advised to flee with your son.”
“Where?”
“The Earl of Pembroke’s estates in Wales.”
I nodded. “I will remember that.” Impulsively, I put out my hand. “My lord, I have not always valued you as I ought to have. Forgive me for that. I know now that you have been one of Henry’s truest friends.”
“He is lucky in his queen. I have not always fully realized that myself.”
We smiled at each other. No doubt, I thought later, someone would soon be adding poor Buckingham to my list of lovers.
***
Henry set out for Northampton the next day, looking pale and distracted. “My dear, take care of yourself,” he said, kissing me tenderly and quite at length. “You know our token. Do not come to me unless it is given to you.”
I nodded. Following Blore Heath, Henry and I, concerned that we might be separated, had devised a code known only to the two of us. I and our son would not come to him unless the messenger asked for Daisy. “I love you, Henry,” I said, hugging him close to me. “I will pray for you constantly.”
“And I love you, my dear. There is no need to tell you that I will pray for you too.” Henry bent and smiled at six-year-old Edward. “God bless you, my boy.”
“I wish I could come with you,” Edward said. “When do I get to see a battle?”
Henry’s face turned gloomy again.
“Not for a good long time yet,” I said firmly. “You have much to learn. And when these traitors are subdued, there will be no need for it anyway.”
This time, it was Edward’s turn to look gloomy as I gave Henry one last kiss good-bye.
***
Midway through July, I was sewing in my chamber when Katherine Vaux came in, her face ashen. “William is back.”
There was no need to guess what had happened when William, limping, followed his wife through the door. Everything on his face bode ill. I forced myself to stand up straighter. “We lost.”
“Yes.” William swayed on his feet, and I quickly motioned him to a stool as Katherine sat beside him and put her arm around him. “Badly. The king is in the hands of Warwick and his men. My lord of Buckingham, the Earl of Shrewsbury, Lord Egremont, and Lord Beaumont are all dead. They died fighting in front of the king’s tent.”
I crammed my fist into my mouth and bit my knuckle.
“Grey of Ruthin ought to be dead, but he is not. He deserted to Warwick. It was planned ahead of time; it had to have been. Warwick’s men did nothing against Grey’s. We began to suspect something when Warwick’s men refused to fight his men, even though they were in the vanguard. And then Grey’s men actually began to help Warwick’s men over the trenches! It was lost after that, for we had been outnumbered from the start, and when Grey’s men turned on us, it was over in minutes. Buckingham and the other lords surrounded the king’s tent, trying to protect him, and were all cut down.” William crossed himself. His voice broke. “We had guns, but it started raining just as Warwick and his lot attacked, so they were useless. Nothing went right.”
“William, tell me about Henry,” I said.
William composed himself. “I am sorry, my lady. When I think of Grey’s treachery, and poor Buckingham dying after having been loyal to us for so long…Well, the Earl of March, Warwick, and the rest knelt to the
king and told him that they were his loyal subjects. I didn’t see the sight myself; I was one of the lucky ones who escaped. Many didn’t; they drowned in the river. I’d have been dead if I hadn’t got away. Warwick gave the order to spare the common soldiers but to slay the lords, knights, and squires.” He caressed Katherine’s cheek. “I came very close to making you a widow, my love.”
They clung together. I let them do so for a couple of minutes. Then I said, “We have to get out of here. Buckingham said that we should, and I shall take his advice, God rest his soul, for this last time.”
Three hours later, six of us, including my son and the Vauxes, were riding away from Eccleshall. Gone were the tall hennins Katherine and I fancied; we were dressed in the simplest clothes we owned, as were the men and Edward. No one spotting our party at a distance would have taken us for a queen and her entourage. Only the very good quality of our horses and saddles might make for suspicion, and I could only pray that the men in my party could deal with that sort of situation as it arose.
We made good time, stopping only once to rest the horses and—in my case and Katherine’s—to rearrange the jewels that were tucked into our bosoms for safekeeping. By dusk, we were just outside of Malpas. “I know of no one here who would put us up,” I said regretfully as our horses took a long drink and we stretched. “But there are plenty of inns, and Lord knows we have plenty of money with us.” In addition to what Katherine and I were toting around in our bosoms and in our saddlebags, the men had sizable amounts of gold on them as well.
“Don’t be so sure of that.”
I turned to stare at John Cleger, Edward’s groom. He had been particularly eager to be of help to us on our flight. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I mean”—he pulled out a dagger and yanked my son against him—“if you value your boy’s life, you’ll hand me those jewels inside your breast. Lady Vaux’s too.”
“Are you mad?”
“No. I’m poor, and I expect that if I stay in your service I’ll be poorer yet now that the king’s a captive. So instead, I intend to be richer, starting now. Hand them over, your grace. The rest of you, don’t even think of moving against me, or I’ll cut the boy’s throat. And that would put a crimp in your plans, wouldn’t it?”
Katherine Vaux let out a string of curses in French, so quickly and fluently that even I did not understand entirely what she was saying. Cleger simply laughed. “For God’s sake, stop that noise! I’ll be glad to be done with you lot of Frenchwomen as well.”
“Hand your jewels over, Katherine,” I said. “William, put away that dagger. You too,” I said to my groom and to fourteen-year-old John Coombe, one of my pages. “We’re better off without the whoreson.”
Katherine, trembling with rage, reached inside her bosom and began pulling out jewels as I did the same. Katherine, who was rather well endowed, was still retrieving jewels when I was finished. Even Cleger seemed surprised at the quantity. “Take them, you knave!”
Still holding Edward, Cleger stuffed the jewels in the saddlebags of the horse he had been riding. Then he shoved my boy aside and mounted. Tipping his hat in a mock salute, he galloped off.
My three remaining men turned in unison toward their own horses. “What are you doing?”
“Your grace, we can catch the whoreson! And kill him as the faithless knave deserves.”
“No! It would waste time, and killing him might call attention to us. We must move on.”
Edward, who had seemed more puzzled than scared throughout the proceedings, tugged at my hand as the men reluctantly obeyed. “Mama? Can we go find an inn?”
“Indeed we shall,” I promised, stroking his hair. Then I snorted. “Malpas. The very name sounds troublesome. I should have known. Katherine!”
Katherine had sunk to her knees and was retching. As William and I both bent to help her, she whispered, “It is all right,” then smiled and with our assistance rose shakily to her feet, patting her belly. “I suppose this is not the best time to announce this, but I am with child.”
William turned as white as Katherine as I gave way to gales of nervous laughter.
“And look!” Katherine put her hand daintily inside her bosom, then flourished a large ruby in the air. “There’s still some treasure left where that came from.”
With me riding behind John, Edward riding behind my groom, and the Vauxes riding together—William holding on to Katherine like a fragile object—we finally made our way to Harlech Castle. I knew its constable, David ap Eynon, to be loyal to the Earl of Pembroke, and he did not fail me. Safe inside its mighty walls, erected by the equally mighty Edward I, I could plan what to do next.
Cleger, the rat, must have made his vile way to Warwick and his men, for a couple of weeks after I arrived at Harlech, messengers began to arrive from that scoundrel, all promising me and my son the best of treatment if I would come to London. Desperate as I was for news of Henry and the lords who were my friends, I sent the messengers away unheard and unanswered, for none bore Henry’s special token.
Then, in September, Henry Holland, the Duke of Exeter, appeared at Harlech Castle. He was thirty now, as was I; it was strange to look at him and think back on the time when we each had been fifteen. “I have come to be of what help I can, your grace,” he said, with none of his old sullenness. “God knows that I have been a hindrance in the past, but I hope I can do you good service.”
“I know you can. But first, what has gone on?”
“I suppose you heard the Tower had been under siege?” I nodded. “It surrendered shortly after Northampton. Lord Scales, who was in charge of the garrison, had no real choice. They were running short on food, and the Tower was full of ladies—my wife included—who had decided to take shelter there. They didn’t leave much for the garrison, and the ladies were a nervous lot as well, which made things even worse. So Scales surrendered, and was allowed to leave—but then his barge was attacked by a mob. The Londoners were upset with him because he had been bombarding the city from the Tower. They killed him, stripped him naked, and dumped his body at a church in Southwark.”
“Christ,” I whispered.
“Warwick then executed some of my own men who had been in the Tower. Hanged, drawn, and quartered.”
That was the horrible death reserved for traitors. “But they were fighting for the king!”
“That’s nothing to Warwick. He’s power-mad. Somerset in Guînes had to surrender to him also. The king—that is, Warwick—issued an order for him to give it up, and he had no hope of holding out longer if he had refused. He and Warwick came to terms and kissed.”
“Oh, poor Hal! That must have been agonizing for him.”
Exeter, perhaps not as sympathetic toward Hal’s sensibilities as I, raised an eyebrow but went on. “Somerset went into France. King Charles is sheltering him; he was impressed with his actions at Guînes. I have been in communication with him; he is ready to sail to his castle at Corfe when the time is right. And I believe the time will soon be right. The Duke of York is expected back from Ireland any day. He may be here in England already, in fact.”
I shivered, then asked the question that I had been most wanting, and most dreading, to ask. “And Henry?”
“I have not seen him, of course—his household has been swept almost clean of all his own men, so access to him is controlled by Warwick’s creatures. The king went to pilgrimage to Canterbury in August; he even hunts. But the few of our friends who have seen him say he is like a man in a daze. They believe that the deaths of Buckingham and the others, and his worry about you and the Prince of Wales, have shattered him.”
I put my head in my hands and began to weep as Exeter gingerly held me. “I will do anything in my power to help you,” he said quietly after I had calmed. “Just give me the word.”
“Good,” I said. “Then you must help me raise an army. We need Henry out of these men’s hands.”
***
As Exeter and I began our task, York finally returned to En
gland and began to move slowly toward London, his arrogance and presumption growing with every step he took. He’d sent for his duchess to join him, and Cecily was borne into her husband’s presence seated in a splendid chariot, covered in blue velvet.
If Cecily was traveling in fine state, her husband had decided it was time to travel in royal state. At Abingdon, he sent for trumpeters to accompany him on his progress toward London, and the banners he unfurled bore the royal arms. He even ordered that the sword of state be carried before him. When he reached Westminster, he forced Henry out of his own chambers and into mine.
And then, on that same day, October 10, 1460, York walked into Parliament and put his filthy hand on the throne.
York’s gesture did not received the rapturous assent that he had expected. Instead, the lords had looked on in shocked silence until the Archbishop of Canterbury pricked up the courage to ask York if he wished to see the king. York had made a belligerent reply to the effect that it was York the king should be seeking to see and had stalked out of the chamber and into the rooms he’d commandeered from Henry. York was still polluting Henry’s chambers while the lords discussed this new state of affairs.
Warwick and his men had not come to England alone. With them they brought a papal legate, Francesco Coppini, the Bishop of Terni, with whom they had thoroughly ingratiated themselves. At Northampton, he had been supposedly negotiating between the two sides, but poor Buckingham, recognizing that Coppini was no more than Warwick’s tool, had ignored his overtures. It was even rumored that he had excommunicated everyone who had supported Henry at Northampton, and I for one did not doubt the rumor. Naturally, the good bishop had followed his new friends to Westminster, and it was from one of his subordinates, the friar Lorenzo de Florencia, that I had heard of York’s attempt to claim the throne.
The reply I had made to this piece of news really will not bear repeating.
November was about a week old when Lorenzo de Florencia appeared at Harlech again. “Your grace,” he said, speaking in French, “we have reached a settlement.”
The Queen of Last Hopes Page 18