1 - THWARTED QUEEN

by Cynthia Sally Haggard

  “What would you have me do?” said George, his lower lip jutting out sulkily.

  “The only way to deal with her is to be polite and ignore everything she says. She will attempt to bait you, to goad you into saying things you should not say. Remember it gives her the greatest pleasure to upset us. You must, however, remain silent or turn the conversation. Try not to listen to her, and whatever you do, you must not rise to her bait. She is adept at spotting her opponent’s weaknesses.”

  George nodded and I took his arm again. I resolved to stay as close to him as I could without being too obvious about it.

  The Serpent was ensconced by the fire, clad in a magnificent dress of silver and blood-red brocade. In four and a half years of marriage, she’d given Edward two children, both daughters, and now she was heavily pregnant with their third child. Edward sat next to her, and of course her numerous Woodville relatives surrounded them: her father and mother, her six brothers, and her nine sisters with their stolen husbands.

  I was forced to sit by the windows, facing them, with Warwick and his family on one side, and George on the other. Icy fingers of air made their way through the casements, chilling my fingers. I placed them in the folds of my new velvet gown.

  A flurry of movement caught my eye. One of the Serpent’s sisters, Jacqueline, had wandered over a few feet away and started nibbling at some nuts. She looked like a rabbit with her fine, strong teeth, and as she talked, she continued to nibble.

  “How fare you, sweet Johnny?” she said to her brother. Sir John Woodville was a well-made young man of three-and-twenty years.

  “I fare well,” he replied evenly.

  “How does marriage suit you?” Nibble, nibble.

  “She is very kind.”

  “She does not excite your passion then?” Nibble, nibble.

  John sighed but made no reply.

  “Is she not too old for you?” Nibble.

  John occupied himself in taking his new kid gloves off. They were dyed black to match his hose and fit perfectly to his shapely hands.

  “How have you the patience to bear it? Why, she has no teeth, her breath is foul, and she—”

  John shushed his sister with a wave of his hand.

  I turned. Cath stood in the doorway. Her eyes moved slowly around the room, and as they lighted on her husband John, she smiled. She went over to kiss him full on the lips.

  “I found the tincture I told you about, the one for sore throats and colds. Come with me, my darling.”

  During this speech, John made various gestures, intended to slow the volume and rapidity of Cath’s speech. At seventy-one, she was deaf and difficult to understand, having lost most of her teeth. She stood there, looking at her husband lovingly, drooling; when suddenly noticing this, she fumbled for a kerchief, flushed, and excused herself.

  Poor Cath; my heart ached. I glanced at my son Edward. He was talking to my Richard, clapping him on the back and laughing merrily. And Richard’s face showed an unusual amount of animation.

  I made myself sit ramrod straight in my seat, gritting my teeth to forestall the impending headache always produced by the Serpent’s presence. But

  Jacqueline had not the good manners to hide the look of disgust on her face. “Couldn’t you get this marriage annulled?”

  Her bell-like voice rang out as silence suddenly filled the room. My gorge rose. I stood.

  “Don’t you think you should keep your wicked thoughts to yourself?” I snapped. The nibbling stopped.

  The Serpent, her face impassive, rose and faced me. Casually stifling a yawn, she lumbered slowly towards George and held out her hand. “Come, brother. Come, keep me company. You know how to play piquet, no?”

  George flushed as he rose and bowed to her. They went to sit near the fireplace with her family.

  I went slowly back towards my place near the window, taking care to take a seat that was in earshot of the proceedings.

  “You’re a good-looking boy, you should be married,” the Serpent said.

  Nineteen-year-old George smiled but refrained from saying anything.

  The Serpent deftly cut the cards and shuffled. “I have a little sister.”

  “Another sister?” blurted out George. “I thought your sisters to be all married.”

  “All except for one. My sister Agnes would do very well for you.”

  I should have been prepared for this, but I was not. Was there no end to the Serpent’s coils? I drew my handkerchief from my sleeve, and dried my moist palms.

  “How old is the lady?”

  “She turned twelve last month. She’s a sweet child, and well suited to you.” The Serpent stared at George, as she dealt the cards. “She pouts, and sulks, and is easily led.” She paused, and smiled. “She would be the perfect playmate for your little games.”

  George sat stone still, a flush spreading slowly up his neck, staring at the card-strewn table before him. Suddenly, he leapt up, knocking over his chair. “How dare you insult me like this!” George jutted out his lower lip, making him look exactly like a sulky child.

  The Serpent smiled sweetly.

  I put my finger to my lips, but George ignored me.

  “I already have a bride,” he said.

  The Serpent’s cat’s eyes went wide.

  “Sweeting!” she called across the room to Edward. “Were you aware that your dear brother planned to marry?”

  Edward rose, his blue eyes blazing. “Who is she?”

  George faced him, scowling. “You don’t have any right—”

  “Who is she?”

  George flicked a look over at me.

  I nodded.

  “Cousin Bella.”

  “What?” roared Edward.

  “Why not?”

  Edward shushed him with a wave of his hand. “I expressly forbid you,” he said loudly into the dead silence that followed, “to marry your cousin Bella.”

  “It’s not right!” exclaimed George. “You block me at every turn. You prevented my marriage to Mary of Burgundy. Now you won’t let me marry Bella. Just because you’ve married a whore yourself doesn’t mean you can prevent me from making a good match.”

  Edward went white. “You will apologize,” he said in a voice that cut like a knife.

  George glared at him as Warwick went to stand by his side.

  Edward put his hand on the Serpent’s shoulder. “You are talking of my wife, your liege lady, and my Queen.”

  The Serpent covered his hand with her own and turned to smile up at him. They were a fortress together against the rest of the world. How had I failed in my attempts to pry Edward away from the Serpent?

  My belly filling with ice, slowly, I stood.

  Gradually, everyone in the room turned to stare at me.

  “I am displeased with you, my son,” I said. My voice rang like a bell in the thick silence. “You have grievously offended your family, your cousin Warwick, your brothers George and Richard, and your mother. I am deeply hurt by what you have done. All my life, I have supported and cherished you, yet how do you repay me?” I paused and jabbed my finger at the Serpent: “By marrying someone who is not worthy.”

  Edward flushed and took a step towards me. He said loudly, “She is worthy, Mother.”

  I lifted my chin and stared him down. “She is a canker in the House of York. She is destroying it even as we speak.”

  Edward narrowed his eyes and went pale. The silence was deafening.

  “I am disappointed. I thought you once worthy to be my lord husband’s heir. Instead, I see you betray your father’s low origins.”

  There was a swelling murmur as folk turned to each other and whispered.

  “My father was the Duke of York.”

  “Your father,” said I, my voice tinkling like ice, “was an archer on the Rouen garrison. His name was Blaybourne. His father, your grandsire, was not even a knight, but a humble blacksmith—”

  “You lie!” roared Edward, coming towards me.

  “I do
not,” I replied. I turned to face everyone in the room. “I am willing to go before a public enquiry to answer any questions, even to swear an oath on Holy Writ or saint’s bones or a vial of the most precious blood of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, that what I say is most true. This man,” I indicated Edward, “Is a bastard. He is a fraud and an impostor, and I have made him so, for I loved and dedicated my life to him.”

  My voice broke. How I had loved Blaybourne. How I had allowed Edward’s likeness to my lover to blind me to his faults.

  “I see now how wrong I was. For you cannot make a noble out of dross. He is my child, yes, but no blood relation to the Duke of York, my late husband.”

  My voice rose at the end of this speech. I felt someone beside me. It was Richard.

  “Mother!” he exclaimed, his blue-grey eyes cloudy with distress.

  Was he worried about his own paternity? I would set the record straight.

  “The true heir to the throne of England is my son George, followed in succession by his younger brother Richard. They are my lord husband’s legitimate heirs.”

  My voice rang eerily through that packed chamber. I paused for a moment, then allowed Richard to lead me to my rooms.

  The last thing I remember just before the door shut was a tableau of Edward, white and shaking on one side of the room, and George, standing proud and tall on the other side of the room, his blue-green eyes blazing with excitement.

  Chapter 57

  December 1468 to March 1469

  Within the hour, I left for Fotheringhay. It was time for me to retire and lead a life of quiet contemplation.

  They came for me in March.

  I was standing in the collegiate church of Fotheringhay, talking to the glazier who had just finished beautifying the windows at my direction.

  “We come from the king!” someone shouted.

  I ignored this individual, for I was not accustomed to being greeted in such a rough manner.

  My steward appeared, breathless from running. “They say they are from the king, madam.” He bowed.

  I turned and fixed the churls with an icy stare. There were ten of them, dressed simply, in leather jerkins and nondescript woolen clothing. They carried quarter-staves and sported daggers in their belts. They looked like the sort of rude men-of-arms one would use to garrison a castle, not deal with a great lady. The person with the loud voice took a scroll out of his leather bag, unrolled it, and declaimed as follows:

  From Edward, King of England, to Cecylee, Duchess of York, Greetings.

  I, Edward, King of England, do arrest you, Cecylee Duchess of York, on the charge of treason for bruiting abroad scurrilous rumors about my person. I command you, therefore, to follow these men to Berkhamsted, where I shall confine you under armed guard for the rest of your life.

  I frowned. Before I could make sense of this, one of the churls grabbed my arm. “It is time to go, my fine lady.”

  I shook him off.

  “We have orders to escort you to Berkhamsted.”

  “Impossible. I cannot go now. And be so good as to take your filthy paw off my arm.”

  The men guffawed. “I see you are not called Proud Cis for nothing,” one of them remarked.

  “Proud Cis! Proud Cis! Proud Cis!” chanted the others.

  A cold wind blew, and my flesh hardened into ice. If these men truly were from Edward, it meant there was nothing he might not do to insult and humiliate me.

  “I demand to see the warrant,” I said, my voice high.

  The men laughed again. “Quite a mouse we have here,” remarked one wit.

  My steward stood in front of them. “You are insulting the king’s mother.”

  The loud-mouthed man curled his lip. “If she tears it up and burns it, let her know that I have other copies, signed and sealed by the king’s hand.”

  I took the warrant from my steward and scanned it. It was signed by Edward, I recognized his writing and his seal.

  I crumpled onto a stone seat. “What about my household?”

  “The king, your son, declares that you will do without a household. You are to leave forthwith. He will brook no delay.”

  I left Fotheringhay, the home that Richard and I had made together for over twenty years, to the sounds of my household weeping. They did at least allow me to ride my best palfrey and to wrap myself up in furs to keep out the cold. But the weather was bitter with icy winds by day and frosts by night. As I rode the eighty miles to Berkhamsted in Hertfordshire, I wondered if I would die from cold, damp, sorrow, and humiliation. Bitterly did I regret my words. Far from abandoning Edward, the Serpent had drawn even closer and connived to send me to Berkhamsted in disgrace.

  At length, we arrived. My head reverberated with the sound of the Serpent’s brittle laughter as I looked around. The towers leaned and the roof over the great hall had fallen in. My rough escorts left me in the muddy courtyard, sitting bedraggled on my coffer. It was sleeting hard. They took my horse away and drew straws to determine who would guard me while the others foraged.

  The dull afternoon was darkening slowly when, through lines of sleet, a black shape came into view. I stiffened. Was this figure Death? Had my lord Richard come for me? Or was it one of the men, determined to humiliate me further?

  “My lady,” said the figure in a high voice, “my name is Ghislaine.” She curtseyed low, muddying her skirts as she did so.

  I beckoned and the figure let down her hood. She was a finely made girl of around twelve or so with delicate pale features and grey eyes.

  “Child, what are you doing here?”

  “My parents are gone, so I must find my own keep,” she replied. “The sisters at the convent of Ashridge took me on as a maid. They asked me to walk over here, to see if you needed anything.”

  I took breath. Ghislaine’s pale face surrounded by wisps of hair beaded with moisture, and her patched clothes stirred a memory. Hadn’t Blaybourne said that he was turned out of his home at the age of seven, no one willing to look after him?

  I sat upright on my seat and patted the girl’s head. “We must get out of this sleet, child, or we shall both catch our death.” I looked over at the guard who had been left to watch me: “You, sir. What is your name?”

  To my astonishment, he bowed. “Gerard, my lady, at your service.” After the rough treatment this past week, I had not thought anyone would be polite to me again. Gerard was a short, compact gentleman, of around five and twenty, with a spade-shaped beard and square hands.

  “Master Gerard,” said I, rising. “If you would be so good as to follow me with the cart, I will show you where to put everything.” I turned to Ghislaine. “Do you know how to make a fire?”

  “Yes, my lady,” she replied curtseying again. “And I can cook and sew.”

  “That is well enough for now, child. Let us get out of this evil weather.”

  There was but one room fit for habitation, and that was the solar. It was a large room, big enough for my furniture. But to get to it one was obliged to walk up a rickety staircase open to the elements, then heave open a door that was hanging off its hinges. Somehow, Master Gerard hoisted all of my possessions up those stairs without dropping anything and arranged the furniture at my direction.

  I had my bed put against the inner wall and the carved chairs set on each side of the fireplace. I directed Gerard to put the hangings up to ward off the damp chill that pervaded the place.

  Clearly, the Serpent hoped I would make a quick end of it here.

  I resolved to disappoint her.

  I told Ghislaine to make the fire, put the water on to boil, and arrange my down bedspreads, cushions, pillows, and gleaming gold cups while I unpacked my dresses from the coffer.

  The door banged to and fro on its weakened hinge, letting in flurries of snow, as well as drafts of cold air.

  “Good day to you, madam,” said a voice.

  I turned. A young woman in a Benedictine habit was curtseying.

  “Though it be so dark, you
can scarce tell it be day,” she remarked. “I am Sister Avisa, of the Benedictine Order of Nuns at the convent of Ashridge, beyond the hamlet of Friesden, not four miles hence. We have come to make you welcome.”

  She waved in a young man, who bore the royal arms of the leopards of Anjou and the lilies of France.

  He knelt and handed up a letter from Edward, which announced the birth of his third daughter. The child was to be named Cecily in my honor.

  I looked up to scrutinize the countenance of the messenger before me. But his expression revealed nothing.

  I walked to the window to collect my thoughts. It was sleeting hard again, and everything dissolved into grey shadows as afternoon waned into evening. What was the meaning of this? The last time I’d seen Edward was just after I told everyone he was illegitimate. He’d been furious, and when he was furious, he could be terrifying. Since that day, he’d sent no message to me. The only communication had been that arrest warrant.

  I read the letter again slowly. In Edward’s fine Italic hand, it told me I would be allowed to return to court, provided I made a public apology to the King and the Serpent and retracted my words.

  Tears filled my eyes. I brushed them away and turned to Sister Avisa.

  “I am greatly fatigued,” I told her. “Would you see to it that a suitable gift is sent for the child, and please tell my son I am retiring from the world?”

  “Do you wish me to add anything else?”

  “Tell him that I am retiring to my new home in the country that he was gracious enough to give me.”

  Sister Avisa curtseyed silently and left.

  I sank into my chair and covered my face with my hands.

  I would not know Edward’s children well. I saw the two so-called Little Princes in the Tower—Edward of Westminster and his brother, Richard of Shrewsbury, the Duke of York—fewer times than I could count with the fingers of one hand.

  A week later, my steward from Fotheringhay, my maid Jenet, and others of my household arrived with more of my things.

  “But what will the King say?” I asked, as my people from Fotheringhay bowed and curtseyed before me. “He’ll not allow you to stay.”