If the queen believed she could get rid of Warwick easily, she was to be disappointed. Warwick responded to her summons by arriving in London in July 1458 at the head of six hundred armed men. When the queen tried to press charges, Warwick protested he was being treated unfairly. His protests encouraged his supporters, of which there were many, to run riot in London.
In the melee, the Attorney General was murdered.
Over the next several months, various scuffles broke out between Warwick’s supporters and those of the Court Party. When the queen persuaded the council to draw up a warrant for his arrest and committal to the Tower, he realized it was no longer safe to remain in England. Warwick—whose motto was Seulement En, or ‘One Against Many’—returned to Calais, remaining a continuous thorn in the queen’s side. Marguerite was now determined to take decisive action, and in the latter months of 1458, she left London to raise an army.
Richard responded to the deteriorating situation by deciding that Fotheringhay Castle was no longer safe. As soon as the winter frosts melted away, heralding in the spring of 1459, Cecylee packed up the household and they left for Ludlow, which had stronger fortifications. With them went the younger remaining children: Margaret, thirteen; George, nine; and Richard, six.
Cecylee had seen scarcely anything of Edward during his childhood and young manhood, for Richard had packed him off to Ludlow at the age of four to provide company for his three-year-old half-brother Rutland, groomed to be the Yorkist heir. With the storms of Richard’s political life and thirteen pregnancies, Cecylee could make only rare visits to Ludlow, for Fotheringhay Castle was a distance of one hundred and twenty-five miles away.
So when she entered the great hall at Ludlow Castle and a young man came towards her, Cecylee’s heart stilled. He wore a tight tunic of dark blue velvet trimmed with gold thread. His long legs were encased in stockings that were half blue, half gold, with the seam up the middle of each leg. He was tall. His hair was golden, and his dark blue eyes were sharp with intelligence. His tunic ended at the hip, showing off legs that were long and very shapely.
He knelt down and kissed her hand. She froze.
“Madam. Mother. You look unwell. May I get something for you?”
He signaled for a servant to bring a chair. As he poured a cup of wine, he peered at her anxiously.
“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” continued the young man.
“I have,” she murmured, slowly sipping the wine he’d given her. For there, standing before her, was the veritable image of Blaybourne.
Cecylee glanced at Richard, who quickly understood. His expression hardened.
Ignoring Edward, he turned to the young man standing quietly by. It was then that Cecylee noticed her other son, Edmund, Earl of Rutland, aged sixteen years. Though he was tall like Edward, he greatly resembled Richard.
“Well met, my son,” said Richard a little too loudly as he put his hand on Rutland’s shoulder.
Rutland’s pale face lit up into a smile.
“Let’s go to the stables to pick out a fine stallion for you, my son,” said Richard, with just the slightest emphasis on the repetition. He steered Rutland away from Edward. They disappeared outside and did not return for the rest of the day.
Richard spent much time with Rutland as they settled in, personally supervising his training in the art of warfare, while Cecylee was thrown into the company of her eldest son. She hadn’t realized how much she longed for Blaybourne until then. Edward was very much like his father, not only in looks but also in wit. Although it was hard—even for his mother—not to notice he already boasted a notorious reputation for womanizing, Cecylee stopped her ears.
Edward was beguiling. He was charming. He made her feel that she was at the center of his life.
This gave her a confidence about him she should not have had.
One incident struck a discordant note. As she was eating a light supper with the younger children, Richard came in hot and flushed. He made a gesture with his thumb and forefinger to let her know that he wished to speak with her privately.
She nodded to Jenet and left.
When she entered Richard’s private dressing room, Edward was there.
“Where is he?” Richard asked angrily.
“My lord, I am truly sorry. I cannot remember—”
“You cannot remember?” thundered Richard.
Cecylee put a hand on Richard’s sleeve. “Edward. What has happened?”
He went down on one knee. “My lady mother, I crave your pardon, and that of my lord father.”
Richard bristled but said nothing.
“Rutland and I were out riding when my horse went lame. He agreed to let me ride his horse. I am not sure where I left him.”
“Edward,” exclaimed Cecylee, “how can this be? Gentlemen are trained to know always where they are. How can you successfully win battles otherwise?”
He hung his head.
Cecylee looked at Richard, staring at her with a grim countenance.
“He does not know because he was drunk at the time, is that not so, you oaf?”
He poked Edward with the toe of his boot.
Edward stared at the floor.
“He promised to ride straight back to me,” said Richard. “And then to bring Rutland a new horse. Instead he delayed, chasing wenches, is that not so?”
Cecylee’s cheeks grew warm.
“I found him,” continued Richard, “in a local stew, sodden with drink. When, finally, I roused him, he could not remember where he’d left Rutland.”
There was silence for a moment. Then Richard prodded Edward again with the toe of his shoe.
“You, sir,” he shouted, “will mount up with me and a party of men-at-arms and set out to find Rutland. We’ll search until we find him. If I find he’s been taken hostage by the other side, you’ll pay dearly for this, do you understand?”
Edward went white.
“Good God, man,” thundered Richard, “there’s a war on. Or were you so sunk in debauchery you forgot that too?”
A day later they returned with Rutland and the lame horse. Edward was given a sound beating by the sergeant-at-arms to curb his tendency to be irresponsible. My lord believed the beating would teach him that lesson.
Chapter 38
Spring to Fall 1459
As the shadows grew shorter and the sun rose higher in the sky during the spring of 1459, York at Ludlow and Salisbury at Middleham, summoned their vast following of tenants and retainers to counter the activities of the queen and her conscripted army. Late in June, the king held a great council at Coventry, attended by the Queen and five-year-old Prince Édouard. All lords were summoned to attend, including York and Salisbury. Instead they sent an urgent message to Warwick at Calais, begging him to come to their aid.
Warwick raised two hundred men-at-arms and four hundred archers, all of whom wore red jackets sporting his badge of the bear and the ragged staff. Leaving Cecylee’s brother and his uncle William Neville, Lord Fauconberg, in charge of the Calais garrison, Warwick crossed to England and landed at Sandwich in Kent. Not pausing to draw breath, he pressed onto London.
On September 22, 1459, Warwick entered London unopposed. He left the next day at the head of a well-armed force, making for Warwick Castle where the Yorkist lords had planned to meet. However, the queen’s army got to Warwick Castle before Warwick did, and since Warwick did not have enough men to risk a confrontation, he turned his army toward Ludlow where York and his army waited.
Meanwhile, Salisbury left Middleham for Ludlow with his army. On September 23, Salisbury was approaching Market Drayton when his scouts warned him the route was blocked by part of the queen’s army. He drew up his forces in battle order on nearby Blore Heath and waited.
By dark, the Yorkists were victorious, and Salisbury anxiously pressed on to the safety of Ludlow. Unfortunately, the queen was waiting with the rest of her army at Eccleshall Castle, not ten miles away. His solution was subterfuge: Salisbury gave
his cannon to an Augustinian friar with instructions to fire it off intermittently during the night.
When my lady queen arrived the next morning, she found a frightened friar, a deserted campsite, and a field strewn with corpses. Salisbury was nowhere to be seen for he had already arrived at Ludlow.
Chapter 39
October 1459
Queen Marguerite wasted no time. She mustered an army of thirty thousand and marched towards Ludlow. Richard responded by leading an army of twenty-five thousand out of Ludlow toward Worcester with the aim of getting to London. The queen’s army blocked him, however, so he returned to Ludlow, encamping south of town at Ludford Bridge.
On the evening of the tenth day of October, the queen arrived in Ludlow and pitched tents.
A murmuring of male voices came from the direction of the great hall. It was late, pitch black and cold. Cecylee lit a lantern, slipped out of bed, put on a fur-lined robe and slippers, and went to investigate.
“Aren’t you going to fight a battle?” she said as she entered.
Richard came and took her hands.
“Our men are deserting. They are going over to the other side as we speak.”
She shivered. “What will you do?”
“We are going abroad, for we must escape capture,” said Salisbury.
“My lord father and I are going to Calais to bide our time,” said Warwick. “We will return to fight when the time is ripe.”
“We’ll go to Ireland,” said Richard, putting a hand on Rutland’s shoulder.
“I shall stay,” said Edward, “and take my lady mother, my brothers, and my sister Margaret to the abbey at Wigmore.”
“No,” said Cecylee.
“Cis! It’s for your own good!” exclaimed Richard.
“There is no time to get us to safety,” she replied. “Besides, the country is crawling with Lancastrian spies.”
“Mother,” protested Edward. “You are not safe here.”
“I shall stay and intercede for the people of Ludlow,” she remarked, lifting her chin.
Five pairs of male eyes stared at her, widening in disbelief.
Richard interposed. “I’ll not allow it,” he said, his mouth tightening into a grim line.
“They’ll not harm a woman with three children. We shall dress in our finest clothes and array ourselves in front of the market cross in Ludlow. We’ll be on public view. They’ll not dare to mistreat us.”
The silence was broken by Salisbury’s sudden bark of laughter. “How like Mama you look. Do you remember the night when she expected a Percy raid and had you spirited off to the South of England under armed escort?”
Cecylee smiled at the memory. Mama had acted like a tigress to save her.
“What of Margaret?” asked Rutland quietly.
As usual, he’d found the weak point in the plan. Cecylee was not happy at the thought of her beautiful thirteen-year-old daughter being surrounded by rude soldiers.
“I’ll not allow it,” repeated Richard.
“We have no choice,” she replied. “It is imperative that you all leave, and leave now. There is not a moment to lose.”
The silence held, and then York nodded somberly.
Salisbury, Edward, and Warwick said their farewells quickly and left. Richard wrapped his arms around her and gave her a peck on the cheek.
“I leave Ludlow in your care.”
He signaled to Rutland, who knelt at Cecylee’s feet for her blessing.
Then, they were gone.
BOOK IV: TWO MURDERS REAPED
To all sicke men is given a lybertye to have all such thinges as may be to their ease...
If any man fall impotente,
he hath styll the same wages that he had when he might doe his best service,
during my ladyes lyfe.
FROM ORDERS AND RULES OF THE PRINCESS CECILL
QUOTED BY JOHN WOLSTENHOLME COBB (1883)
HISTORY & ANTIQUITIES OF BERKHAMSTED
Chapter 40
Ludlow, Welsh Marches
October 13, 1459
A low, rumbling sound could be heard faintly in the distance. It grew louder. It shimmered with the addition of the high jingling sounds of harness and bridle. A trumpet sounded a blast, and the folk of Ludlow came to their doors, braced for the worst. A chill wind lifted my veil, fluttering from the point of my tall henin. To greet the queen, I arrayed myself in a dress of pale green damask woven with gold thread, worn over a violet chemise. I had not thought to put on my mantle, believing we would be back in the castle soon. But the neckline of my gown was edged in miniver, and that helped to ward off the cold.
My three children stood with me; Margaret, running a rosary through her fingers as she recited the prayers I’d taught her; George, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other as he fingered the exquisitely bejeweled dagger his father had given him; and Richard, who had turned seven only ten days before. Richard was dressed in his favorite shade of grey, which set off his grey-blue eyes. In contrast to his brother, he was quiet; far too quiet. The only emotion he showed was when he clutched at my hand when, with a roar, the queen’s army flooded into the marketplace of Ludlow. The sound was deafening, as the children and I were suddenly surrounded by the grinning, leering faces of unwashed, unshaven men, brandishing weapons.
“Well, well, and what have we here?” said one of these churls, sidling up to Margaret, eyeing her in a thoroughly disgusting fashion.
Margaret had dressed in her best sky-blue damask, setting off her creamy skin and rich dark-brown hair. She edged closer to me, shivering. How I wished that I’d made her put on her thick fur mantle, for she needed it now, more for protection from leering eyes than for warmth.
I stepped forward. “I am Cecylee, Duchess of York. I wish to speak to the Duke of Somerset.” Henry Beaufort, now Duke of Somerset, had been given command of the Lancastrian army at the age of three-and-twenty years. I knew little of this young man, but surely he could not be as bad as his father, who’d been one of Richard’s greatest enemies.
“You do, do you?” answered the fellow. “I’m sure he’d like to speak to you too.” This remark was followed by loud guffaws from the other men.
A film of sweat blossomed on my forehead, dampening my wimple. I flushed and clasped my hands together to still their shaking. I hadn’t thought that the men might refuse my request.
But a stir started quickly, and the Duke of Somerset rode into view, followed by Humphrey Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, and Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, the commanders of the queen’s army. With one motion of Somerset’s hand, the churls fell back. He dismounted.
“Duchess,” he called as I curtseyed low. “Where is your lord? Your brother? Your older sons?”
“They are not here,” I replied.
I put my hands on my boys’ shoulders to remind them of their manners. They bowed under the gentle pressure of my fingers.
“I am here as you see, with my younger children. I beg you to be merciful.”
“Beg?” His eyebrows shot up. He put his hand to his chin, considering. “I don’t think I have ever seen you beg, Duchess Cecylee.”
My cheeks warmed. I had not expected to be forced to answer the accusation of Proud Cis now. I looked at the ground. It was filthy. If I knelt down, I would ruin the gown Jenet had finished only the other day.
I bit my lip, shot Somerset a look. He stood there, hand to chin, one eyebrow raised, regarding me with ill-concealed amusement. In the distance, the folk of Ludlow edged away from their doorways, forming a large silent crowd. They craned their necks, and I recognized the pleasant young woman I employed to clean my chamber. What about those poor people? One ruined dress was nothing. They were my people, I was their liege lady. It was my duty to protect them.
Without a second thought, I knelt in the filth. It squelched noisily as I lowered myself to my knees, and an unpleasant smell assailed my nostrils. I looked up and raised both hands in supplication.
“My lord
of Somerset, I beg you. Be merciful to the good folk of Ludlow. They have done nothing wrong.”
“Where is York?” snapped Northumberland, coming up by Somerset’s side.
Somerset regarded Northumberland, then turned back to me. “We are prepared to be merciful to you and yours,” he said, “if you tell us the whereabouts of York, March, Rutland, Salisbury, and Warwick.”
I froze.
“You’re upsetting Mama,” put in George, suddenly. He stepped forward, his hand on his dagger.
George had turned ten yesterday, and it had taken hours to get him ready, for he was fond of clothes. He had already discarded twelve suits before settling on a bright green tunic decorated with gold thread.
“It matches your gown, Mama,” he said, smiling his charming smile, so that I wouldn’t be angry with him for being made to wait.
Before I could prevent him, George continued, “You shouldn’t make Mama kneel in this filth. She has ruined her best gown.”
My sides ached as I held in my breath. The last thing I wanted was for my boy to speak out.
Fortunately, Somerset laughed. “And who are you, my little lordling?”
I put my hand on George’s arm and gently withdrew his hand from his dagger. “This is my son George.”
Somerset pointedly turned his back on the boy and leaned in closer. “Out with it, my lady. I think you know where the Yorkist lords are.”
I lowered my lashes and stared at the ground. What could I say? I knew that once these Lancastrian lords got their hands on them, they’d never come back alive.
“Torch their houses!” someone bellowed.
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