by Amy Licence
The Question of Edward
1442–1445
‘The rumours about his fathering reached England. Indeed, I was among the few who swore that a great lady of your house would never stoop so low. But I heard, we all heard, gossip of an archer named – what was it?’ She pretends to forget and taps her forehead.
‘Blaybourne. An archer named Blaybourne who was supposed to be in your armour. But I said, and even Queen Margaret d’Anjou said, that a great lady like you would not so demean herself as to lie with a common archer and let his bastard slip into a nobleman’s cradle.’1
The rumours of an archer named Blaybourne will not go away. The above lines, spoken by the fictional version of Jacquetta, Duchess of Bedford, to the equally fictional presentation of Cecily Neville, appear in Philippa Gregory’s novel The White Queen. When it was adapted by the BBC and STARZ for a miniseries in the summer of 2013, the rumours of Cecily’s supposed infidelity reached an audience of over 10 million people in the UK and USA combined. What started as a political slur against the duchess in the fifteenth century was suddenly being debated worldwide, a scope far beyond the dreams of her detractors. The story makes a good fictional device. However, there are several factors that make it unlikely at the least.
Cecily fell pregnant soon after her arrival in Rouen. The exact timing of the conception has been the subject of much debate among historians and would later prove a significant bone of political contention. Her next child, Edward, would arrive on 28 April 1442. This would place his conception sometime at the end of July 1441 or in the early days of August, assuming that it was a nine-month pregnancy. Records discovered in Rouen recently detail that Richard, Duke of York, was absent from Rouen on campaign at Pontoise for several weeks, returning to the city on 20 August. From this detail, several historians have inferred that Edward was not Richard’s son. They believe this proves that Cecily must have had an adulterous liaison during his absence, which would render Edward illegitimate.
There are a number of problems with using this timing as evidence. If Cecily conceived on the night of Richard’s return to Rouen, 20 August, this still allows for a pregnancy of thirty-six weeks. Today, nine months equates to roughly forty weeks but any delivery from thirty-seven weeks onwards is considered to be full term and falls within the bracket of a normal birth. In 2013, researchers at the National Institutes of Health in the USA were surprised to discover that the length of pregnancies can vary naturally by as much as five weeks, or thirty-seven days.2 They also found that women tended to be consistent in their gestation, but no reliable evidence survives regarding Cecily’s other pregnancies beyond the cartoon-esque descriptions of the birth of Richard III from the reign of the Tudors.
To be premature, a baby must be born before thirty-seven weeks and there is a fair chance that Edward might have arrived early. The nature of his christening is also cited as evidence that he was illegitimate, but again, there may be sound reasons for this. He was baptised in Rouen Castle, as opposed to the large ceremony his younger brother Edmund would receive in Rouen Cathedral. Yet, if Edward was slightly early, at thirty-six or even thirty-five weeks; if the labour was difficult, or he was small or gave any appearance of being sickly, he would have been baptised as soon as possible. It was common practice in such scenarios for baptism to take place in the bedchamber itself. In Rouen Castle, later maps show that as well as two larger chapels, the living quarters the Yorks occupied also contained a small chapel. Given that Cecily had recently lost a son soon after birth, it seems reasonable that she would wish to be cautious when it came to Edward’s salvation. Every pregnancy can be different, even for those mothers who, as historian Michael Jones cites, experienced repeated pregnancies and therefore should have gained ‘experience of the body and its sensations at these times’.3 Yet all kinds of infections and complications could impact upon a fifteenth-century pregnancy and delivery. Nor does this bear any relation to the tall, healthy adult that Edward became.
Jones also states that the details of the birth of such an important heir would have been recorded if he was weak and sickly. Yet no details were recorded of the births of Cecily’s other children; accounts of Richard III’s birth a decade later would be made retrospectively, after his death. If Edward’s life was briefly feared for, this concern may have lasted a few hours or a few days; this may not have been recorded, or it may have been recorded and not survived. It is also interesting that, in modern medicine, foetal lungs are considered to have finished developing at thirty-seven weeks. Accounts of Edward’s premature death describe him lying on his left side, from which historians have inferred that he may have been suffering from pneumonia. If Edward was premature, and his lungs were not fully developed, they may have been particularly susceptible to inflammation. Thus, the date of his birth, his christening and premature death might be linked through this one simple explanation.
There is also the chance, though, that Cecily and York met away from the city of Rouen, while he was on campaign. Given that mothers can experience pregnancies that last as long as forty-two weeks, this allows for an additional six weeks of possible conception. Pontoise is a little over 50 miles from the city. It might have been a march of several days but, given that top racehorses can run at speeds of 30–40 miles an hour, it represents at most an afternoon’s ride. There is every chance that the pair met at some midpoint, such as Gisors, with its motte-and-bailey castle, which was at that point in the hands of the English, with a garrison of ninety men stationed there in 1438 and forty-three in 1448. This suggests that it was a relatively quiet location, suitable for a romantic tryst. By each riding a little over 20 miles, the pair may have met at this location, or the equally accessible English-held Vernon or beautiful castle of La Roche-Guyon. Edward may have been conceived in one of these locations, or in one of the splendid travelling tents set up in the forest of the Val d’Oise. On at least one later occasion, Richard was keen to summon his wife to his side. On returning from Ireland in 1460, he was at Chester on 8 September and called for Cecily to ride and meet him as soon as possible. She left her children in London and went to join him: it is not impossible that a similar scenario occurred in Rouen in August 1441, meaning that she was already pregnant by the time she reached the city.
The suggestion that Cecily had an affair in Rouen also goes against what can be inferred about her character and marriage. As a proud aristocrat, conscious of her status as a descendant of Edward III and the position of Richard in the line of succession, Cecily understood there was a fair chance her eldest son would become heir to the throne. With York only hours away, it seems unlikely that she would have taken such a foolish risk regarding the paternity of this child in what appears to have been an otherwise companionable and fruitful match. She had been raised with a sense of her duty and, given the context of York’s lineage, would have been very conscious that her children’s pedigrees must be unimpeachable. Those who cite Edward’s height and colouring as evidence of difference from his short, dark-haired father overlook the fact that Cecily bore other tall children and that she and York were both descended from Edward III, who was 6 feet tall and reputedly fair-haired. Perhaps it is most telling of all that York himself never questioned Edward’s identity, accepting him fully as his son.
Poet John Audelay, who died in 1426, sums up much of the contemporary feeling about the problems inherent in aristocratic succession if wives were unfaithful. In his poem, ‘The Chastity of Wives’ (Carol 22), he expresses disgust for women who are promiscuous for the sake of lust, who ‘disparage’ the blood line of their lord with unlawful heirs:
Bot now a lady wil take a page
Fore no love bot fleschelé lust,
And so here blod is disparage
Thus lordus and lordchip al day ben lost.
Audelay expresses the view that a woman in Cecily’s position would have held – that such behaviour brings the nobility and, by extension, England into disrepute and decline:
Lordis and lorchip thus w
astyn away
In Englond in moné a place
(That makis false ayrs — hit is no nay!)
And lese worchip, honowre, and grace
Undeniably, there were cases of adultery and immorality during Cecily’s lifetime. Men and women did ignore the teachings offered by the Church and break their marital vows, even those who were considered pious. Cecily’s own son Edward would later prove to be a prime example of this. The Calendar of Letter Books for the City of London lists many cases of those who were convicted of immorality between 1400 and 1440: one was sentenced to stand in the pillories for three hours while others were fined and their sins proclaimed in public. However, women’s behaviour tended to be censured more harshly, particularly those who were married and held positions of high status. Based on Cecily’s position and what is known about her character, it is time for the rumours about her fidelity to be recognised as no more than political propaganda.
There was never any question about Edward’s legitimacy until the late 1460s. Then, the Blaybourne rumour surfaced as a political slur against Edward’s unpopular marriage, and later it was used to discredit his children. The idea did not derive from suspicions regarding the timing of York’s presence in Rouen, as medieval medical texts show us that anything between seven and ten months was considered to be a normal pregnancy. If Cecily’s contemporaries believed the rumours, it would have been dependent upon an affair in York’s absence rather than the fact of his absence itself. The rumours were politically motivated and were never pressed to advantage, because they could not be proved. Cecily herself protested most loudly to the council about the slur on her reputation.
On 28 April 1442, Cecily gave birth to Edward at Rouen Castle. He was baptised in the one of the three chapels within the walls soon afterwards; besides the chapel in their apartments, there was a royal chapel and a free-standing one dedicated to St Giles inside the keep. Perhaps mindful of the fate of Henry, who had been born and died on the same day, his parents did not wish to take any chances with Edward’s immortal soul. The larger christening that his brother Edmund would receive in 1443 may also have reflected York’s intentions for his sons – Edward was to inherit York’s titles and claim to the English throne, while Edmund was to become a landowner in the north of France. His nurse was a Norman woman, Anne of Caux, who would prove such a success with the family that she would return to England with them and preside over the nursery at Fotheringhay.4 Cecily would have played a significant role in Anne’s appointment, assessing her character based on her common fame, or reputation, her appearance and manner. Only healthy-looking women of sober habits were chosen to nurse the offspring of the aristocracy. In 1474, Edward would reward his nurse with a pension of £20 a year.5
Cecily’s companion Elizabeth, Countess of Oxford, had also conceived that year, in December 1441, months after her own husband returned from assisting Richard at Pontoise, and gave birth to a son named John that following September. By the time he arrived, Cecily had conceived again. The following May she bore another son, named Edmund, who was christened in Rouen Cathedral. Barely two months passed before, in July 1443, Cecily fell pregnant for a fifth time. Just weeks before Edmund’s first birthday, on 22 April 1444, she delivered another girl, whom she named Elizabeth. The baby was christened in Rouen Cathedral and one of her godparents was Jacquetta, Duchess of Bedford. There is also a chance that Jacquetta bore a child in Rouen too. The arrivals of her children are unclear but a 1465 reference to her son John being aged twenty years old may suggest that she was also pregnant and delivered at least one baby at this time, John, and perhaps also the daughter she named after herself. By 1446, the duchess was back at her family home of Grafton, where she delivered her son Lionel.
Already, Cecily’s young son Edward was a valuable marital prospect. At the suggestion of the Duke of Suffolk, the possibility was discussed of a marriage between the baby boy and a daughter of the French king. These negotiations lasted for around two years and may have underpinned the Yorks’ choice to give their second son, Edmund, a grander christening in Rouen Cathedral. It may well have appeared to them that their futures lay in France. Had there been any suspicion about his paternity, this would not have been the case. York was pleased by the idea and wrote to Charles VII of France, who by this time had a newborn daughter, Madeleine, who had arrived at Tours on 1 December 1443. On 18 April 1445, he addressed the king ‘touching the matter of the marriage of one of my three honoured ladies, your daughters, and of Edouart of York, my eldest son’, which made him ‘comforted and joyful’ because of his ‘true desire’ for friendship. He proposed to send his ambassadors to Charles ‘in order to treat, discuss and conclude the business of the said marriage’. In June, he wrote back to Charles that he considered Madeleine to be of a ‘very tender age’ and proposed her sister Joan instead.6 It is not difficult to imagine Cecily encouraging him to keep writing, to keep pushing for the lucrative match.
Of course, hindsight tells us there would be no such marriage. The course of English history would have run quite differently had this proposed union come about. The death of the dauphin’s wife, Margaret of Scotland, that August, diverted Charles’s attention to finding a new wife for his son and, as York wrote to Charles on 21 September, he had been summoned back to England by Henry VI. However, he still held firm to their intention and hoped that Charles would ‘continue and hold to the intention declared’, and would not be ‘displeased’7 by the delay, which sounds very much as if Richard and Cecily were anticipating returning to France. By that point, the Yorks were already at the Channel port of Honfleur. Back in London that winter, York was still pursuing the match. On 21 December, he wrote again, apologising for not having ‘sent to you as speedily as I thought to have done; for my Lord the King … has sent for me to come to him at all diligence, in order to assist at his parliament, in this city of London, where I have recently arrived’. Joan had been put aside again, in favour of Princess Madeleine, and York again proposed sending ambassadors to conclude the match. For Cecily, it must have represented a significant achievement, a real goal to strive hard for, representing her family’s true status and importance. After this, though, the match was quietly dropped. This must have been a great disappointment.
By 1445, Cecily was the mother of four small children when a very important visitor passed through Rouen. A marriage had been negotiated for Henry VI, then aged twenty-three, with the fifteen-year-old niece of Charles VII of France. The match had been arranged according to the Treaty of Tours but was less advantageous for England, as the bride came without a dowry and was only related to the royal family by marriage. Margaret of Anjou was officially married to Henry in his absence, with the Duke of Suffolk standing in as his proxy, in the French city of Nancy in February 1445. Soon afterwards she set out for Paris, where she fell ill, but pushed on to arrive at Pontoise on 18 March. Here her French attendants handed her over to the English party, headed by the Duke of York. From there, they took barges along the Seine, arriving four days later. In Rouen, she was too unwell to take her place in the grand ceremonial entry that had been planned, so the Countess of Shrewsbury took her place instead.8 The reception prepared for her entry into London, with its elaborate symbolism, gives an idea of what the citizens of Rouen would have witnessed, with pageantry of Peace and Plenty, Noah’s Ark and ‘old histories’ accompanied by songs and poems. Margaret would have been conveyed to her lodgings, probably the royal suite inside Rouen Castle, where she was attended by Cecily herself.
The future English queen stayed in Rouen for two weeks over Easter. Here, a friendship may have been forged between the older woman and the girl, a connection which would remain like a thread between them through the difficult coming years, enabling them to still meet and share their experiences as women and mothers, in spite of the warfare between their men. York then accompanied her entourage to Honfleur, where she arrived on 9 April. Sending the young queen on her way, Cecily could not have predicted just how closely and fatally th
eir futures would become entwined. Lydgate’s verses in celebration of the match hoped that the marriage would bring peace to the two countries:
Twixt the Reawmes two Englande and frraunce
Pees shal approache, rest and unite
Mars sette aside with alle hys cruelty
Which to longe hath troubled the Reawmes tweyne.9
In 1445, York’s tenure as Lieutenant of Normandy came to an end. He had been rewarded earlier in the year with the lordship of Mortimer, at Crickhowell, Powys, in appreciation of his service but his £83 annual pension had not been paid regularly and he was owed over £38,000 by the Crown.10 Sir John Talbot was appointed in his place, which proved to be a lucky escape for Richard when Rouen fell four years later and Talbot was captured. After fulfilling his duties towards the new Queen of England, York and Cecily prepared for their departure that October. They fully expected to be returning soon, hoping that Henry would appoint York for a further term in Normandy but, as it happened, the pair would never set foot on French soil again.
7
Loss of Focus
1446–1452
The Falcon fleeth and hath no rest
Till he wit where to bigg his nest.1
Over the next ten years, Cecily’s life was primarily a domestic one, as she delivered seven more children. However, it also had an undeniable political dimension, as her husband was drawn increasingly into national conflict that would turn her world upside down. With her sense of dynasty, Cecily must have taken a keen interest in her husband’s advancement; as a close couple, there is every possibility that they discussed his advancement and shared a sense of disappointment that the promising start he had made in France seemed to dwindle in the new political climate. It was part of Cecily’s role as a wife to support and advance her husband where possible by acting as a hostess, negotiator and administrator and by taking ceremonial roles. However, over the coming decade, the Yorks would see their aspirations stymied by the increasing opposition of key figures at court, who resented or feared the implications of Richard’s claim to the throne.