Cicely's Sovereign Secret

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  They left the palace to go out into the white winter day. The sky was still yellow-grey, but for the moment the snow had stopped. It lay in a deep carpet of white, flawless and beautiful. Cicely paused before reaching the river stairs, because this was where she had seen Jack go out of her life forever. After being with her in that same room she had just left, she had watched him board a private barge with Tal, and then sail away into the driving snow of a winter’s night.

  ‘I … still cannot really believe Jack is dead,’ she said.

  Tal turned to her. ‘But he is, and we both have to accept it.’

  ‘Maybe we have to, but I do not want to. I still love him so much.’

  ‘At least you have the consolation of knowing he loved you too, my lady.’ He hesitated, unsure of the moment, but then ushered her gently on towards the crowded steps.

  It was low water, so all larger vessels were out on the river, with only small skiffs at the steps. Passengers for the barges and other more substantial vessels had to be ferried out to them. There was still a great bustle, but her attention was drawn out across the gleaming mud to a gilded barge of particular grandeur. The badge it flew – a white lion on a red background – was that of the Mowbray Dukes of Norfolk and Earls Marshal of England. That badge had been absent when last she saw the vessel. There had been no identification at all.

  She said nothing as Tal assisted her into a skiff. She knew they were going out to the barge, which rocked gently on the current, but as the skiff was rowed towards it, she looked at him. ‘You are connected to the Mowbrays?’

  ‘My younger sister, Elizabeth, is the Duchess of Norfolk. Surely you remember that? There being such a close connection with your family, albeit briefly.’

  Cicely was ashamed to have forgotten. Lady Elizabeth Talbot had married the last Mowbray duke, and they had only one child, a daughter, Lady Anne Mowbray, who had died when she was only eight. She had been married to the younger of Cicely’s two brothers, whose disappearance from the Tower when Richard came to the throne was still such a mystery.

  Steps had been lowered to the water and Tal assisted her aboard with great courtesy and care, before issuing instructions to the crew master to go downstream to Three Cranes wharf. She was ushered to the cabin superstructure. It was richly accoutred inside, a main cabin and what appeared to be a side cabin with mattresses for sleeping. The barge was capable of long river journeys.

  When they were seated and provided with wine, the page who had served them was waved away, and Cicely was alone with the man who professed to be Henry’s enemy, but was apparently not only his trusted Marshal of Calais, but also Jon’s unacknowledged friend.

  The gilded barge rocked as it came about on the swirling Thames, and Tal regarded her steadily. ‘What is it you wish to know?’

  ‘What is it you mean to tell?’ she countered.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘I imagine you heard everything that passed between the king and me?’

  ‘Yes, and I noticed you denied knowing Welsh.’

  ‘A prudent precaution.’

  ‘Is that also why you profess to me that you support Richard, yet I know Sir Humphrey Talbot did not fight for him at Bosworth?’

  ‘Because Richard bade me stay in Calais, and that is what I did, although I wished to be at his side.’

  ‘You are a man of influence in Calais, snug in Henry’s favour and enjoying many privileges, so why do you risk it all with Yorkist plots?’

  He smiled. ‘I have no intention of explaining that to you just yet, my lady, until I am as sure of your trustworthiness as you need to be of mine. After all, if I merely converse with Henry Tudor, you do far more and with much greater intimacy. I can be trusted, my lady, if only because of the immense regard I have for Richard and Jack.’

  The air always prickled when she was with him, and she did not like it. ‘How can I ever feel comfortable when you wear your disapproval like a mask?’

  He got up irritably, twisting his topaz ring around several times. ‘You are the disapproving one, Lady Cicely, naming me pilgrim, Crusader, Templar and saint. You mock my piety and suggest that I could be Jack’s murderer, so do not accuse me of unfair conclusions!’ He turned away. ‘My lady, you are a danger to me if Tudor’s fond caresses have finally secured you to him.’

  For a few moments, she was too angry to respond, but with the hesitation came common sense. Jack had trusted him completely, so who was she to express doubt?

  ‘Perhaps we should begin again?’ she ventured slowly.

  His lips twitched into what may have been a smile. ‘I forgive you if you forgive me?’

  ‘Too childish for you, perhaps?’

  ‘No, not at all, my lady. I am content to begin again, for I think we need to be on good terms.’

  ‘Then let us start with something innocuous. Why do you wear cinnamon?’

  ‘Because in hotter lands it serves to keep insects away, flying and crawling. Then I found that I liked it as well, and so have used it ever since. Does it offend you?’

  ‘No. It makes me think of the Holy Land. Please, do not take that as another snipe.’

  He smiled.

  ‘I … feel a little uncomfortable calling you Tal, when you are so formal towards me. I would prefer to be plain Cicely.’

  ‘I cannot be so familiar with a king’s daughter.’

  ‘Yes, you can. It is my wish.’

  He studied her for a long moment, and then went to replenish their cups. As he resumed his seat, the barge swayed gently on the swirl of the uncertain low tide, which would surely soon turn. He leaned his head back, gazing at nothing in particular.

  ‘I find it difficult to confide my secret at all, so please do not think it is a personal slight to you. I need to be absolutely certain of my facts, and have proof of them, before I can act, so I will not tell you all. But some of the history is already known to you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Before marrying your mother, your father was pre-contracted to someone else.’

  ‘Yes, to Lady Eleanor Tal … bot.’ She faltered over the word as her memory was jolted for the second time. Her father had been secretly wed to Eleanor before he ‘married’ her, Cicely’s, mother, Elizabeth Woodville. Eleanor lived on for four years, and was his rightful queen. Edward’s children by Elizabeth were all illegitimate.

  Tal nodded. ‘Your father died intending the treason of putting his baseborn son on the throne of England, when he knew that by then his only true heir, legitimate and not attainted, was his brother Richard. That is why I have always held your father in contempt.’

  ‘I am so very sorry, Tal.’

  ‘So am I. Eleanor was the woman who put Richard on the throne of England.’

  ‘And my father, as much as Henry, was the man who killed him,’ she said quietly.

  Tal tasted his wine. ‘And here I am, the brother of a Queen of England, but merely Sir Humphrey. The title of my father, the 1st Earl of Shrewsbury, descends through the children of his first marriage. The barony of de l’Isle descends through my mother’s first marriage, which leaves poor little Humphrey of the second marriage with nothing at all.’

  She was sympathetic.

  But he smiled. ‘It is galling to have lofty connections, without any of the benefits. I am actually a cousin of several degrees to you, and therefore to Jack, and to the present Earl of Warwick, who slaves in Henry’s kitchens as Lambert Simnel.’

  Warwick was the son of the Duke of Clarence, the middle brother between Edward and Richard. Before being executed and attainted for treason in 1478, Clarence had sent his two-year-old son and heir to safety in Burgundy. A changeling was substituted in England, and no one knew, except the Duchess of Burgundy, to whom Clarence had written, describing a scar that would identify his true son. There had been no such scar on the ‘Warwick’ captured at Bosworth by Henry, but there had been on the boy known as Lambert Simnel, for whom Jack had fought at Stoke, and whom Cicely herself had met on the eve of the bat
tle. The unfortunate changeling had been imprisoned in the Tower ever since Bosworth, along with John of Gloucester, while the real Warwick, who had been crowned King Edward VI in Dublin Cathedral, could have escaped at any time from the royal kitchens.

  Tal sighed. ‘Warwick wants nothing more to do with the House of York, and it is understandable, but, like Jack, I believe a man should follow his destiny.’

  There was a brief silence, before Cicely said, ‘Warwick is not a man.’

  ‘But he will be, as Leo will one day too. They are both of royal York blood, and Leo is a king’s son.’

  Cicely spoke of Richard’s old friend, Francis Lovell, instead. ‘Do you know what happened to Francis? His body was not found at Stoke, and he was seen crossing the Trent to escape, but—’

  ‘Lord Lovell is well, and keeping his corn-coloured, bewigged head low in Burgundy. He is unrecognizable, but made himself known to me one day at Calais. He and a number of other Yorkist fugitives are sheltering under the duchess’s auspices. They await something, but I do not know what, nor would Francis confide when I last saw him. There are whispers that do not amount to rumours, if you understand what I mean. An atmosphere.’

  ‘My brothers?’

  ‘Anything is possible when nothing is known.’ Tal drew a long breath. ‘Richard sent for me before he laid claim to the crown. He sent for my sister Elizabeth as well to tell us that he had learned of Eleanor, and that he believed her, not your mother, to have been truly his sister-in-law. He apologized for his brother’s actions. He actually apologized on your father’s behalf. I respected him so much for that. Jesu, if ever there was a man who could have been a great king, it was Richard. I was proud to be his adherent, because I liked him for himself, and because he restored Eleanor’s honour.’

  He paused, and Cicely could see that he was almost overcome, but then he recovered and continued.

  ‘Now … now there is Henry, who to suit his own purposes has declared your parents’ marriage to be true after all, and thus he has dishonoured Eleanor all over again. I love her memory too much to stand by again and do nothing. I stood back at the time because she begged me to. I even received my knighthood from your father, and he advanced me to the position of Marshal of Calais! My mother was granted rewards. We were bought, Cicely. To my eternal shame.’

  ‘Do you really think you could have done anything? My father was the king, and for all his charm and brilliance, he could be pitiless. He would have disposed of you quickly enough. I imagine Eleanor knew this. Tal, I know what it is like to fear for loved ones and want to protect them. The circumstances may not be the same as Eleanor’s, but the principle is. She was your sister and could only protect you from your rash loyalty by holding you to a promise. Why else do you imagine men like Jack and my husband apparently failed to protect me from Henry? I chained them with promises. I understand how Eleanor felt, Tal, and I admire her for it. I also admire you for standing by your word.’

  ‘You think I should continue to stand by it?’ He asked it quietly, with meaning.

  She began to realize. ‘Henry? Is he the sin that is not yet committed?’ She felt such a mixture of emotions in that second that she trembled.

  ‘I want him off the throne, with no hope whatsoever of ever regaining it. Or of his line regaining it. I want him damned to perdition, do you understand? That is why I did not kill him when I had the chance. It would have let him off too lightly.’

  Cicely gazed at him, trying not to shiver. This was a side of Tal that cast him in an entirely different light.

  ‘I have long had secret plans in place to bring the Calais garrison over to York. The men are loyal to me. I held Calais for Richard, and if Jack had won at Stoke Field, I was to have brought men over to secure London and the Thames. Now, once I have tangible proof of his private matter, and know I will be able to rid England of him and his blood, there needs to be a new Yorkist leader in readiness, so those same plans will be implemented.’

  She stiffened. ‘But what of the “atmosphere” in Burgundy?’

  ‘What good is something that is nothing more than smoke in the wind? Warwick wants no more of it, Edmund de la Pole is unthinkable and John of Gloucester is witless. Would you wish to resort to other, more distant royal cousins … or to an undeniable heir?’

  ‘Leo is baseborn, Tal, no amount of wishing on your part can put that right. Richard and I were uncle and niece and were never married.’

  ‘Do not be naïve, Cicely. If there was a pre-contract with my sister, there can be another between you and Richard.’

  She gasped. ‘You would forge such a thing?’

  ‘Did you become lovers while his queen still lived?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘And he never once mentioned marriage?’

  She hesitated, because Richard had mentioned marriage, even though he knew it would be virtually impossible. And at the very least inadvisable, even supposing the Pope would have granted dispensation. They both knew they broke the laws of Holy Church and that they should not have loved at all.

  Tal watched her. ‘So, he did mention it.’

  She did not want to answer, but knew she had to. ‘Yes, Richard mentioned marriage, but it was a romantic desire, not a practical suggestion, and we both knew it. Certainly it was not the same as my father with your sister. I lay with my uncle before any mention of marriage, and I lay willingly with him again after the brief thought of matrimony had been discarded. Our love was everything. You have no idea … at least, maybe you do.’

  ‘You surely do not imagine I have reached this ripe age without ever experiencing love? I may give the impression of being constipated by religion, but I am not.’ He glanced away. ‘Love has visited me in a way it should not, and please do not leap to the conclusion that it concerned another of my own sex! Nor has it concerned my sisters or any other woman forbidden by blood. My sin is to love another man’s wife, and to know that if I had been offered the chance, I would have consummated that love, even though her husband was a man towards whom I felt the utmost honour and respect. I would not have even thought of the Bible or Holy Church.’

  He stopped, and then added, ‘I could say this of Jack’s feelings for you, even though he really liked Jon Welles. But I was not Jack, because my lady did not glance twice at me. Nor did I try to seek her attention. I knew she was indifferent to me.’ The wryest of smiles was directed at her. ‘Nor am I speaking of you, should you dread an imminent confession of undying passion.’

  She coloured. ‘I did not think it for a moment.’

  Getting up, he glanced out of the door to see how far they were from Three Cranes wharf, from where he would escort her safely up through the narrow London streets to St Sithe’s Lane. The wharf was visible now, and the barge had already commenced to manoeuvre. Bitter cold swept into the cabin, and he closed the door quickly.

  ‘Soon we will no longer be guaranteed privacy, Cicely. So what are we to be from now on? Allies in a common cause?’

  As the gilded barge approached Three Cranes, she thought of Jack, whom she had encountered one day on the steps there. It had been her belief that he was importuning a pretty, yellow-hooded whore, but it had been the other way around. He had been accosted, and the woman had not been just a whore, but one of Henry’s spies, intent upon finding out all she could about the gallant nephew whom Richard III had intended as his heir. Then she thought of Bess, Prince Arthur and Henry, before returning to Richard, Jack, Leo and Jon. Loyalty to the latter left her no choice.

  ‘We are allies, Tal,’ she said quietly.

  But he knew she did not find it easy to work against Henry. ‘Cicely, if your feelings for Henry are stronger than you wish to admit—’

  ‘Of course they are!’ she cried. ‘Of course I feel for him! Do you think I could lie with him, laugh and smile with him, and make sweet love with him and not feel? He has an effect upon me that goes further than any coercion there may once have been. Do you understand? Sometimes … sometimes I can almost love
him. But I love my House too, and I loved Richard and Jack infinitely more than Henry Tudor. Yet that does not make it any easier to set myself—however secretly—against the private man. Harri Tudur. He it is who loves me, who battles so constantly with—’ She broke off sharply, for Henry’s innermost secrets were not Sir Humphrey Talbot’s business. They had been entrusted to her, and she would honour that trust.

  Tal studied her. ‘But you have made your decision, have you not? You are for York, and you will stand by it?’

  Would she be a viper in Henry’s breast? Could she? ‘Tal, what was it he said to you in Welsh? Just after he mentioned Winchester?’

  ‘Mae cariad yn holl-bwysig? It means “Love is all important”. You have the King of England at your feet, Cicely.’

  She closed her eyes and bowed her head. ‘All I can tell you of his plans is that he intends to go to Esher soon, but I do not know why. He has instructed Jon to be there, and wishes me to attend as well. Jon guesses—only that, no more—it may be to do with Roland du Coskäer. I do not think I am to be there simply to warm the royal bed.’

  He nodded. ‘I believe we have said everything we should. As I have already said, I will be leaving for Calais the moment the tide turns. My vessel, the Elizabeth is here at Three Cranes, ready to sail with a cargo of wine. I will be aboard. Do you remember everything I said about how to reach me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He smiled. ‘I wish you well, Cicely.’

  Cicely rested on returning to Pasmer’s Place … until suddenly Mary was shaking her urgently.

  ‘My lady! My lady!’

  Cicely sat up in alarm. ‘What is it?’

  ‘An urgent message!’

  ‘From whom?’

  Mary’s eyes were huge, and she held up a fragment of paper, upon which someone had drawn three leopards’ heads.

  Jack’s badge!

  Chapter Nine

  Cicely’s heart seemed to shake within her, and the crackling of the fire in the hearth was so sharp that it echoed. ‘Mary, it cannot be. Lord Lincoln is dead,’ she said quietly.

  ‘The messenger, named Edgar, begs you to accompany him to a house in Flemyng Court, near St Andrew-by-the-Wardrobe, my lady. And I am to go with you, and be sure to take my casket.’