“Wass-hail,” they roar. “May you have good health.” A great noise fills the hall as they clank cups and goblets, precious metal, clay, and pewter, to drink to the new earl.
The second Earl of Westmorland flushes with pleasure and rubs his hands as he looks around the handsome old hall. His gaze lights on me. “Is this little Cis?”
I make my curtsey.
“Yes, my lord,” says Mama. She makes a small gesture in the direction of Richard. “Are you acquainted with my lord of York, her betrothed?”
Richard inclines his head. Sir Ralph makes a perfunctory bow in return and continues to stare at me. I lift my chin, a flush mounting into my cheeks.
The new earl chuckles. He turns to Salisbury. “When do you and your lady mother leave for Bisham Manor?”
The great hall grows silent as Salisbury narrows his eyes. At last, he says: “I thought you knew—”
“Knew what?” snaps Westmorland.
“I thought you knew that your grandfather left most of his lands to my lady mother.”
I glance at Mama.
“No!” roars Westmorland. “I am the heir of the late earl’s eldest son. These lands are mine by the laws of England.”
Salisbury beckons to his scribe. “Show my lord of Westmorland a copy of his late grandfather’s will.”
Westmorland glances at it, then balls the document between his fists. ”God’s teeth!” he explodes. “I am to be Earl in name only!”
“You get Brancepeth,” says Salisbury.
“Aye, but Castle Raby, Sheriff Hutton, and Middleham with all their vast holdings go to that—” he breaks off abruptly and flushes.
“They go to my lady mother,” says Salisbury.
“Which you get when she dies.”
“I do not think we should be talking of the death of my lady mother.”
“As if you don’t have enough land, with all those rich holdings in the south your wife brought you when you married.”
“My lord father did not want my lady mother to be destitute.”
“And what do I get? Nothing, except for Brancepeth and a few paltry manors in the north of this country on poor land.”
“You are the Earl of Westmorland.”
The new earl glares, his blue eyes looking as icy as his grandfather’s. He stalks out of the hall.
There is silence for a few moments, then conversations rumble.
Richard turns to Salisbury. “What do you suppose he’ll do?”
Salisbury sighs. “I know not. But we haven’t seen the end of this.”
“He’ll go to the Percies to seek their aid in taking our land,” says Mama. “I heard he plans to marry Lady Elizabeth Percy.”
“But she’s old enough to be his mother!” says Salisbury.
Mama purses her lips and shrugs.
“I must see to our defenses.” Salisbury bows and leaves.
Richard glances at me, but I take my place beside Mama. Richard looks around the room, as if seeking someone, then bows to Mama and leaves.
Mama puts down her knife and draws a handkerchief from her sleeve. I see that she is weeping.
“Mama,” I say softly.
She takes my hand and attempts a weak smile.
“Papa?”
She nods. “Your brother tells me he didn’t suffer.” She gulps. “But I miss him so. I can’t believe he’s no longer here.”
“But—” I don’t quite know how to put this. “You didn’t always agree.”
She brushes her tears away and takes me gently by the shoulders: “Understand this, my love, your father and I were the best of friends.”
“But—”
“Of course, we didn’t always agree. You’ll understand when you’re a married lady yourself.”
I frown.
She leans forward and whispers. “Look what he did for me. He left me everything of value in his will.”
I look at her, and it is as if everything becomes lighter. I smile.
Mama smiles back.
“My lady!” The steward appears, bowing. He engages Mama in a long discussion.
I pick at my food, but can’t eat. Suddenly, the hall seems unbearably hot and stuffy. I long to get outside. I want to think about everything Mama has told me. When the steward has gone, I lean forward. “Mama,” I say. “It’s such a glorious day. May I ride out on Doucette?”
Mama nods absently.
I rise, filled with sudden energy. After a year of being mewed up in the castle keep, I will be alone.
I run.
I run with a speed I didn’t know I had, my heart pounding in my chest.
I don’t know where I get the energy, for I haven’t run in such a long time.
I head for Bulmer’s Tower and fly up the stairs towards Mama’s bedchamber. I fling myself onto her bed, gasping and sobbing.
Audrey appears. “My lady Cecylee. Whatever has happened?” She takes me by the shoulders. “Why, child, you are a sight to behold, your headdress gone, your hair wild, your clothes torn—” She pales. “Did someone try—?”
I nod, unable to speak.
“Who?”
“The new earl,” I manage to gasp out.
It is nearing dusk by the time brother Salisbury returns, followed by Richard and a large party of men—mostly untrained recruits carrying pitchforks, shovels and other farm implements.
I doze in Mama’s bed, dressed in a clean silk chemise. I’ve been given a bath, my bruises and scrapes treated with a salve. Mama strokes my hair and tells me I’ve been very brave, that I did right to run away. She promises she’ll take care of matters, that I should worry no more.
I gaze at her, unable to speak, tears sliding down my cheeks. I can feel his slimy hands cup my breasts, smell his foul breath on my cheek. Every time I think of it, I shiver violently and retch into a bucket.
Mail-shod feet pound up the stairs. Audrey opens the door a crack and drops a deep curtsey. Mama rises from her place on the window seat, taking Salisbury into an adjoining room.
Eventually Salisbury leaves. I hear him speaking to someone outside: “My lady mother wishes to see you.” Then I hear the bang, bang, bang of feet going downstairs.
There is silence for a while, then Richard’s voice fills the room. “I am more sorry than I can say about the death of your lord husband.”
“I dare say you are.”
Silence. I hear the rustle of parchment, as if someone is searching for something.
“We came back as soon as we could, madam.”
Silence. More rustling. A chair scrapes. “I hold you responsible for Lady Cecylee’s safety. It is your duty to protect her.”
“But Cis does not welcome my visits.”
“Why did you leave?”
“To help Salisbury raise his men.”
”Did you not notice the way Westmorland stared at her?”
Dead silence.
“I thought you hadn’t noticed.”
“Did he not ride to Alnwick?”
“I had no men to spare to see that my daughter was safe.”
“I thought it made sense to help Salisbury with his levies.”
“If her hound had not bitten Westmorland, Lady Cecylee would have been ruined.”
“Ruined?”
“I am saying she would have been forced to marry him.”
“Marry him? But I thought he was going to marry Lady Elizabeth!”
“Are you so doltish you could not see what his game was?”
Silence.
“He could have demanded Castle Raby and the other manors as her dowry. And we would have been unable to refuse.”
I am a pawn in the greedy and unscrupulous hands of men. I lean over the bucket and retch up the rest of my dinner.
“If you want Lady Cecylee, impress me. Show me you are truly worthy.”
“I am a Plantagenet, the Duke of York.”
“An empty title. Where are your lands? Held by the Crown. Because your father was executed as a traitor.”
“But I have been promised my lands back once I reach my majority.”
“You’re only fourteen now. That’s seven years away.”
I hear a crackle, someone opening a document.
“I will continue to hold your wardship, but I think you should reside with your brother-in-law.”
“I will go to Sir Thomas Grey directly,” says Richard. “But in the matter of my wardship, I beg you not to break my betrothal to Cecylee. I consider the promise I made that day a sacred vow.”
“You are not married to Cecylee. I made sure of that.”
“I would like to see Lady Cecylee, to bid her farewell.”
My heart drops into my stomach. I’m so ill, I’ll humiliate myself in front of him.
“You are not yet worthy.” Mama’s voice shines into the darkened room: “No.”
Chapter 5
Bisham Manor, Berkshire
April to May 1437
On the death of my lord father, the marriage negotiations fell into the hands of Salisbury. Fortunately for me, brother Salisbury is more at home commanding his soldiers than persuading Mama to discuss my marriage, so he doesn’t try too hard to press Richard’s case. Enjoying a girlhood my sisters never had, every May for the next eleven years I set off with Mama and Salisbury into the north of the country to manage our vast estates in Yorkshire and Westmorland. We go with a heavily armed escort, for the new Earl of Westmorland continues to feud over the Middleham estates and the Percies make occasional raids. Every October, we return south to Bisham Manor to spend Christmas with Salisbury’s wife, Alice, and their growing family.
Alice and other ladies of my age and status grow old and ill as they birth one child after another. Still I have no husband. Yet while this makes me sigh with relief, thanks to father, I’m styled Duchess of York and am always announced as such. I haven’t seen Richard in eleven years, and with leisure, I ponder: What should I do with my life?
The answer comes from an unexpected quarter. Now that Mama spends half of the year at Bisham Manor in the south of England, the abbess of Barking Abbey makes it her business to call frequently upon her half-sister. Abbess Margaret de Swynford travels with several nuns in her train and is kind enough to bring her cousin Elizabeth Chaucer and her half-niece Lady Jehane de Neville with her. And so Mama is able to see a niece, as well as a daughter she believed to be lost.
Lady Jehane, my long-lost sister, has cultivated an air of quietude that draws others to her. She listens attentively as I tell her about my dilemma.
“Richard is not a bad person,” I say. “I think he’s fond of me, or was. But I don’t love him, and I don’t think he could make me happy. Indeed, my whole being revolts at the idea of being tied down in marriage.”
“There’s no reason why you couldn’t take the veil.”
“But I couldn’t leave Mama.”
“Of course not. She has set much store by you, her youngest daughter.” Lady Jehane gives me a smile, untinged with bitterness. “But one day, Our Blessed Lady will gather our lady mother into her arms. If you’re not married by then, you could take the veil. I would help you.”
My soul soars. I would be spared the rigors of childbearing. I would have opportunities few other women dream of. I could cultivate my mind and improve my handwriting and my grasp of languages. I could learn to make medicines. I could lead a life of quiet contemplation.
I would have a measure of freedom.
But Richard achieved his majority in 1432, obtaining his vast estates back from the Crown. He became the wealthiest peer in the land. Then, in 1436, the king’s council decided that Richard of York should replace the king’s uncle as governor of Normandy and regent of France, the Duke of Bedford dying unexpectedly at the age of forty-six.
Becoming governor of Normandy was quite a coup for a young man of twenty-four, but it was not a coup for me as Richard now pressed his suit with more vigor and persistence. In April 1437, he even returned to England from Normandy.
Now, he demands to see me.
I recoil.
I remember well how my lord father gave me a beating after I’d dared to question his right to lock me up. I have the scars to prove it. The last time any man touched me was when Sir Ralph Neville lifted my skirts in the stables at Castle Raby. Even now, that humiliation makes me shudder.
The world of men is filled with violence, and I want none of it.
I am seated on a low stool, singing softly, surrounded by brother Salisbury’s children, when the crunch of gravel reaches my ears. Looking up, I find a young man.
He is well dressed in rich hues of velvet, as befits a noble. He fingers his heavy gold collar, decorated with white roses done in enamel. From this showy bijou drops a huge spear-pointed diamond.
A prickle wends it way up my spine. There is a silence as he stares at me.
“Need you something, my lord?” I enquire.
Absently fingering the diamond, the young man stutters out a reply. “My lady Cecylee—forgive this intrusion—I see you know not who I am.” He takes a deep breath. “Remember you a boy named Richard?”
God have mercy upon my soul. I look down at my lap. I had better get this over with, and quickly. I look up, and lock eyes.
He reads my face hungrily, as if concerned about my feelings. Then he smiles. His smile transforms his face, lighting up his blue-grey eyes and imbuing his expression with warmth and delight.
I cannot help it, I smile back. “Richard, it is you!” I exclaim. “Only you look different. I had not expected to see you look like—”
“Like what, sweetheart? You mean old and ugly?”
I tilt my head as I take him in. “There is a different feel about you.” I frown, trying to reconcile the serious, rather pompous boy I’d known with this attractive young man who kneels before me. Then I blush. What am I thinking? I do not wish to marry.
“I see my intrusion has discomforted you, my sweeting, for the which I am sorry. I should not have come upon you this way.”
I graze him with a glance. Is he making fun of me?
“We promised once to marry, my lady, but I’d not force you to it against your will.”
Now I stare.
He leans forward. “Is it still your wish to be my wife?”
I thin my lips and veil my eyes with my lashes. So this is why brother Salisbury has been closeted inside all morning. They must have been signing the marriage papers. Naturally, no one bothered to inform me.
I rise. “You know me not, my lord,” I say. Then I sweep out of the garden.
I go to Mama. I do not have to say anything, for she takes one look at my face and nods.
I am gone within the hour.
A message reaches me at vespers the next day: my lord of York arrived to pay a visit but was turned away. He will return in a week.
I smile and toss the note into the flames.
A week later, at the appointed time, Richard, Duke of York, claims admittance to Barking Abbey, where I enjoy the hospitality of Abbess Margaret de Swynford. Lady Jehane has kept me company during this time, and I have attended every Holy Office. I find the quiet darkness of the church where the nuns murmur their prayers soothing to my spirits.
I will tell Richard no, then stay here and take the veil.
I sit in my chamber when he appears. The windows face out onto Abbess Margaret’s herb garden. The scent of rosemary and sage fill the room. Audrey and Jenet sit in a corner, engaged in sewing. I read a book in Latin, making notes about it in French.
Richard stares at this scene while I turn to my book.
“How did you learn Latin?” he asks, sitting down beside me without invitation.
“While I waited for you to return, I decided to educate myself,” I reply. “My brother Edward was learning Latin, so I begged my lady mother to let me sit in on his classes. Eventually, his tutor Doctor Eusebius agreed to take me on as his pupil.”
“I see,” says Richard. His eyes strain to look at the title of the book on th
e table. I give it to him to examine. It is Boethius’s Consolation of Philosophy. He stares at me. “Do you like philosophy?”
“It makes you think hard about things,” I say. “It is very consoling in times of crisis.”
I put that book down and open another. Again, Richard cranes his neck. I hold it up for him to see. The City of Ladies by Christine de Pizan.
Richard’s eyebrows lift as if he’s never allowed that a woman could write a book.
“Christine de Pizan was a learned lady, highly regarded by the Queen of France,” I say. “This book is a retelling of history from a woman’s point of view.” I pause and turn to be sure I have his attention. “Have you noticed that history is always told from a man’s point of view?” I smile. There.
He stares back but does not recoil. “Cecylee, you are full of surprises,” he finally says. “I never would have guessed that the pert, contrary young lady I used to know has turned into a scholar and an ascetic.”
I lower my eyes. “You don’t have to marry me if you think it unseemly to have such a well-educated wife—”
I stop, because Richard is kissing me. On the lips. I shudder. No one has ever done this before. I close my eyes; I’m grasped firmly, yet gently; the warmth of his body penetrates my fine woolen gown. At the softness of his lips, I feel myself begin to swoon. “Cis. Don’t tease. You know more than anything I want to marry you. But you treat me so badly.”
“Don’t,” I say. “Don’t—”
But he kisses me again. I can’t help it. His kisses are gentle and respectful, and he holds me softly in his arms. To my surprise, I find myself melting into him.
“You see me for a few hours, then you take fright and rush off in that reckless way you have, forcing me to cool my heels for a week while I’m panting with impatience to see you—”
He sounds like a lover. Does he love me? Is there anything for me in this marriage, apart form an exchange of money and land? “Am I really so difficult?”
“Difficult. You’ve never been easy. If I weren’t madly in love, I’d be tempted to give you a good shaking.”
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