Cicely's Sovereign Secret

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  ‘And neither of them was.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  She looked at him. ‘And you considered yourself free to marry Bess?’

  ‘Of course not. I knew well enough that in the eyes of God and the Church—and secular law as well—I was still married to Tiphaine. But I did think I had heard the last of her, that Roland was safely du Coskäer’s heir and would in due course inherit from him and whatever was his mother’s. I believed him to be very well provided for. Nor did I know du Coskäer’s character. That is the truth, Cicely. I knew nothing of how abominably that bastard treated her, because she gave him no more sons, nor was I aware that he alternately pampered and thrashed Roland.’

  ‘It explains a little of why Roland is as he is.’

  ‘And why he has to be retaught.’ Henry leaned his head back. ‘I considered it in the past, and then one day last autumn, I received a communication from Tiphaine. She told me she was very ill, would soon die and feared for Roland’s safety. She revealed that, in spite of begging me to destroy all evidence of our marriage, she had changed her mind and kept everything, even my indiscreet notes in which I referred to her as my beloved wife. Not only that, she had obtained a sworn statement from the priest who married us, in which he identified me as the bridegroom she had wed when she was fifteen. She was afraid du Coskäer had come to suspect Roland was not his child, and she wanted to send the boy to me. It was the last thing I wanted, and so, to my shame as a father, I did nothing. I was an ignoble knave, cariad, and I know it.’

  Cicely did not comment, for the self-reproach was appropriate.

  ‘Then, on the day you remarried my uncle, I was handed another sealed note from her to which I finally did respond as she wished. It was impressed upon me that the message was urgent. Someone else had written it for her. Three words. Please help me. I knew it was from her because of the yellow wax, although I did not recognize the seal. Some mythological beast or other. Du Coskäer’s maybe.’

  Cicely looked away. The second note had not been from Tiphaine, but forged by Jack and Tal. Those three words had been chosen because they could mean anything to Henry, and they knew it. Their purpose had been to rattle him, and they succeeded. She recalled how Jon had retrieved the broken seal from the hearth, where Henry had dropped it. They had studied the mythological beast and not known what it was. As forged as the letter itself, no doubt.

  ‘So,’ Henry went on, ‘I sent for Roland secretly, and first set eyes on him at that meeting at Knole. Guillaume de Boulvriag, his tutor, brought him to me, and also the news that Tiphaine died two days after I received her last message. I am now a widower, living sinfully with your elder sister, whom I have gravely dishonoured, and who is as much my queen as your mother was your father’s. Roland is the next rightful King of England. There, is that not a quaint state of affairs? England’s first King Roland.’

  ‘And to think of all the things you said of Richard for having accepted the throne. What a hypocrite you are.’

  ‘You never spare me, do you, cariad?’ he observed softly, tracing a fingertip around her right nipple.

  She stopped him. ‘Have you finished your story?’

  ‘No, not entirely. You see, my problem now is that I do not know what happened to Tiphaine’s documents. I have de Boulvriag’s vow that he destroyed them, but … ’

  ‘You do not believe him?’ Surely they had to be the papers that had come into Tal’s possession and had been destroyed in the fire at St Andrew’s.

  ‘Oh, come now, you know how sweet and trusting a nature I have, cariad,’ he said with a hint of a smile. ‘Of course I suspect him, and thus I have to fear that proof of my marriage to Tiphaine is still in existence. Somewhere. And the priest may still live, for all I know, and be prepared to swear to the marriage all over again. He was not that old a man at the time, and priests seem to live forever. And might Tiphaine have confided in someone? Given a letter to someone that relates everything? Nor do I even know if Roland is aware of anything. He has convinced your vixen of a sister that he has prospects of some sort.’

  ‘Maybe it is simply bragging. You have created an air of mystery around him.’

  ‘Mea culpa?’

  ‘In every way. One thing I have noticed is that Roland goes in dread of you. Why?’

  He shrugged. ‘I do not know. I am strict with him, yes, but that is all. I certainly do not beat him, use thumbscrews, or other instrument of torture.’

  She believed him. ‘Henry, did you know that Jon and I witnessed your receipt of the letter on our wedding day?’

  Henry raised an eyebrow. ‘I imagine your curiosity was more than pricked.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, now you know how and why Roland de Vielleville has become a cuckoo in the English royal nest. An unpleasant little cuckoo, at that. Between them, Tiphaine and Briand du Coskäer made a sow’s ear of him.’

  ‘I feel sorry for him.’

  ‘He needs to earn sympathy, not have it extended to him regardless of his conduct.’

  ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘Sit, wait and hope to God all proof of that foolish marriage has been destroyed after all.’

  ‘What of Bess? And Arthur?’

  ‘I intend to continue as now, pretending that she is my queen and Arthur is my legitimate son. I know I have played her false, but for the life of me, given all she has done, I cannot sympathize. I would love to tell her, just to see her face when she learns that all the fucking she has endured from me has been in sin.’

  He caught Cicely’s hand tightly. ‘I am the culprit in all of this. The moment I chose to invade England without mentioning Tiphaine and Roland, I committed the crime. I threw the dice, and they fell in my favour. Luck. Always luck. I achieved everything, when I had not expected to achieve anything. I promised marriage to your sister in order to gain the Yorkist support that won the battle for me. I am your father all over again. I was already married, but took another woman, named Elizabeth, to my bed. Then I presented my son by her as the heir to the throne.’

  ‘Henry, if I were to pass this information on—’

  ‘But you will not, cariad,’ he broke in, ‘because I give you my Roland for your Leo, do you not see it? Now we both have a secret son to protect and keep secret.’

  ‘Oh, Henry …’

  ‘You think I am base after all?’

  ‘What would you think if you were me?’ she countered. ‘You see this as an excellent way to fetter us together, an undeniable reason for us to keep faith with each other. To keep me to you. But sometimes there is too much honesty, Henry.’

  ‘Keeping this from you had become intolerable to me. We belong to each other, Cicely.’

  No. I belong to Jack de la Pole!

  ‘The secret I have given to you today is by far more dangerous to me than anything I know of you. Do you not see it?’ He rose from the bed again, and began to dress, not to signify anything, but rather for something to do that would hide his agitation.

  She watched him, and then said exactly what Jon had said before her. ‘Henry, you expect me to commit treason for you. To join you in it, and allow a bastard boy to ascend the throne after you. I am York! York! You have forced this information upon me, and it is not something with which I can blithely comply. That is the one thing Richard would not do, do you see? He would have been a loyal Lord Protector during the minority of my brother, but not after he learned my father had been married before. I am Richard’s niece, friend, subject and lover, and I am proud to be in his mould and to share his beliefs.’

  ‘But not proud to be my great love?’ His hurt was palpable, and he reached for his shirt. ‘So, when Leo is old enough to challenge me for the throne, you, his mother, will not support him because he is illegitimate?’

  She gazed at him, unable to answer.

  ‘It is a straightforward question, cariad. To you, illegitimacy is an insurmountable barrier to the throne. Am I right?’

  Be against Leo if he wanted to honour
his lineage?

  ‘You see? Nothing is simple.’ He came closer, tucking in his shirt. ‘Nothing is clear to either of us, my darling. There are areas where mist and fog obscures everything, and finding our way through it can never be easy. I love you, and need you to be close to me. If I had held my tongue about all this, and then you found out, what would you have thought of me? Instead, I have chosen to be honest, and now pray you can forgive me and remain my lover.’

  ‘You have had time to dwell upon it all, Henry, to think about what you had to say, but I have only just learned. I must clear my mind and be certain that the answer I give you is one to which I can adhere. Honestly. And with the honesty and consideration for you that you need. Please do not press me for an immediate response that I may not be able to honour. A little time is all I ask. No, not days or even hours upon end. Just a few minutes on my own.’

  I need to summon Richard. I must speak with him… . Oh, how long had it been since she had done that? But now, at such a time, when she could not consult Jack, Richard remained her ultimate resort. Her ultimate conscience.

  Henry was stricken, but could only nod. ‘If that is your wish.’

  ‘It is my need, Henry.’

  ‘Please do not spurn me, cariad,’ he begged, and then almost slung the silver collar around his shoulders, snatched his doublet and boots, and left the room.

  Several minutes later she watched him return to the willow tree. His head was bowed, and everything about him suggested dejection.

  It should be so easy to despise him, she thought. So easy. ‘What would you advise me now, Richard? Mm? Come to me, I implore you, because this is one time when I do not know what you would do.’

  ‘It is something only you can decide, sweeting,’ his voice said behind her.

  She turned gladly, and there he was, her beloved Richard, leaning back against the wall, his arms folded. He had not aged, but was still only thirty-two; still as arresting as ever. His build was slight, and if it were not for the occasionally painful sideways curve of his back, he would have been taller. His long, dark, chestnut hair brushed the shoulders of his grey velvet clothes. Court garments, worn one memorable Christmas. The sovereign’s circlet was around his head, but even without it he would have been unmistakably royal. He was more than merely handsome, with a fine-boned face, enthralling grey eyes, and quick lips that played in a tender smile. Richard III, King of England and France, Lord of Ireland. Master of her soul, and, in her eyes, the perfect man and perfect monarch.

  ‘I swore upon your honour, Richard, and crave your forgiveness,’ she whispered.

  ‘My poor Cicely, how life tests you,’ he said gently.

  She moved towards him, and he opened his arms to her. Then she was in his embrace again. It was imagination, she knew, but oh, how real the costmary, and the warmth of his body beneath his rich clothes. The moment she touched him, she was again in the heaven taken from her at Bosworth. She had been so strong for months, not giving in to this need to be with him again, but now, with so much to decide upon, she had to speak to him.

  His lips were loving on her cheek. ‘You do not need me, sweeting,’ he said softly.

  ‘I do. This time, I do.’ She linked her arms around his neck and hid her face against his hair. ‘Hold me as tightly as you can, Richard, please. I need you so much now, because I do not know what to do. And my guilt weighs so heavily I feel it will stop my breath.’

  ‘Guilt? Because of that mangy mongrel Tudor?’

  ‘Yes, and because he has told me such things now that I could weep from the bewilderment. Forgive me. Please.’

  ‘There is nothing to forgive, because none of it is your fault. It is his, and he accepts it. He gives the impression of being strong, except in health, but he is not. He really does need you as he says.’

  ‘You defend him?’

  ‘I am not real, merely your conscience. You are prey to the wonderful passions awakened by our love, and now I am gone, you have turned to Jack, who well deserves to have you. But Henry casts a spell on you that is born of his incredible love for you. Do you understand? No one else will ever see the loving man that you do. So, with Jack gone to Burgundy, you call me back again.’

  She leaned back to drink in every detail of his face. ‘You still plunder all that I am, Richard. No one else, not even Jack, will ever mean as much to me.’

  ‘When I saw you in sanctuary at Westminster Abbey, in 1484, so frightened of me and yet so full of spirit … I knew you were my reflection—an echo of my own heart. Oh, I did not desire you, not then, for you were so young and my niece; it was much later, when I knew you more, that what I felt changed to something it should not have been. But from the beginning, we understood each other. We were in harmony.’

  ‘You were the perfect uncle to me, Richard. Never fear otherwise. And when I was of age, you were still the perfect uncle and king. You broke no rule, nor did anything for which you could be censured. I am blessed, because I have known a love so true, pure and without blemish, that it will sustain me until the day I die. No, do not remind me that we were all we should not have been as well, because it does not matter to me.’

  He put the backs of his fingers to her cheek. ‘If we could have been together, we would have changed the world itself, mm?’

  ‘You could.’

  ‘I had some merits, but not as many as all that. I was York, however, which perhaps brings us to the reason you have called me,’ he said quietly.

  ‘What do you mean? I do not understand… .’

  ‘Yes, you do, sweetheart. What if I were to ask of you the thing Henry asks? Would you doubt me? Would you consider it to be treason? Would you ask for time? Answer me, Cicely.’

  ‘I would never doubt you, Richard, but would do anything you asked.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I love and trust you above all others.’

  ‘Being loved and trusted would not make me right, or infallible. You are trapped by the emotions Henry Tudor stirs in you, so much so that even knowing what he has done—most recently to Jack, because you do believe Tal—you are still able to woo him and tie invisible, silken ropes around him. And find immense pleasure in his lovemaking, as he finds in yours. You are well matched between the coverlets, sweetheart. Now, he has told you everything that has been concealed, and he trusts you. But you, sweeting, are tied to him too. To protect those you love and cherish, you have already decided to stay at his side and in his bed for as long as you possibly can. If you are to do that, you have to support him now. You have no choice. York is still a very long way from overthrowing him. A very long way, no matter what Jack and Tal may think. They still have no proof.’

  She looked away. What he said was so obvious that she felt almost foolish.

  ‘And, Cicely, in one other thing, Henry is right. You would ultimately have no qualms about Leo taking the throne, illegitimate or not. It is what your father was prepared to do as well.’

  ‘For which you condemned him,’ she said quickly.

  He smiled. ‘So I did, but you would not be opposed to Leo becoming king, so how can you blame Henry for being willing to let his illegitimate son, Arthur, succeed him?’

  ‘You did not let my brother ascend the throne, nor John of Gloucester. Instead, you chose Jack because he was legitimate.’

  Richard met her eyes. ‘There is not a lot I can say to that, for it is true. But if I had not had Jack, I might indeed have thought of John.’

  ‘No, you would not.’

  He smiled a little. ‘On another matter, Tal is right, I did say I wanted you as my queen, I did lie with you and give you my child. I was almost as guilty of that as your father with Tal’s sister, although I did not say or do anything to trick you, nor did I discard you afterwards. It is therefore arguable that Leo is legitimate. Henry has no option but to fight to keep the throne, and he will. And his luck will stay with him. At least, that is what you believe. The stars like Henry Tudor. But if Leo challenges him one day, it will take
all his—Henry’s—resolve and tenacity to take up arms against your son. The fact that Leo is also mine will not be his real issue. It is you, sweeting. He loves you so very much, as I think he has proved today.’

  She searched his face. ‘Leo may not choose to—’

  ‘He will have to, sweetheart, as I had to. Events of 1483 forced the crown upon me. I did my duty. So, in due course, will Leo. And just consider that if the truth comes out, Henry Tudor’s legitimate heir is Roland de Vielleville, who has no Yorkist blood whatever. But through Bess, Arthur is at least half York.’

  ‘So, I must go along with Henry’s deception?’

  He smiled. ‘You know you must, for it is the only way that you can do what your conscience—and love for Jon and Leo—insists upon. Jack and Tal know of his marriage, but someone as yet unknown destroyed their evidence. Now they seek it again. You have to decide if there is any point in relaying to them what Henry has told you today. Look at me, sweetheart. Henry did not tell you anything that you could prove in a court of law, unless he stood up in the dock and confessed it all. Which will not happen. So it remains word of mouth alone, without a single page of proof. The House of York has to produce solid evidence if it is to rob Henry of all his support and see an end to him and his line. Even Henry does not know if such evidence still exists, so unless Tal’s agent somehow manages to find something, somewhere, there will never be a way to unseat him because of this other marriage and the siring of Roland de Vielleville. Do you understand?’