Thwarted Queen (31 page)

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.

I scrambled to my feet and tugged at Somerset’s sleeve. “My lord, I beg you. Be merciful. What have these people done?”

He disengaged my arm roughly, and spat out a response. “You can stop all this, my fine lady.” He eyed my spattered skirts. “Just tell us where they are.”

“Never!” I cried.

A high neighing made me turn. Marguerite d’Anjou, Queen of England, dressed in cloth of gold, sat on a black horse. As the queen eyed me grimly, I journeyed back in time to when I’d last seen her and asked for a pension of one thousand marks in return for Richard’s loyalty. My cheeks warmed, ice crawled up my spine. What was I doing here with three children? I shouldn’t be putting their lives in danger. I should have gone to the priory at Wigmore as Edward had suggested. After all, the queen could kidnap the boys. Why wouldn’t she? She had already taken two of Salisbury’s sons.

The queen’s hard voice cut through my wandering thoughts. “My lady York, well met. I see you have mislaid your husband.”

George opened his mouth, and I put a hand on his shoulder to forestall him. Perhaps I could persuade her to be reasonable, one woman to another. Wrinkling my nose, I again lowered myself to my knees as the men guffawed, making cracks about the state of my garments.

“Madam,” I said, “I beg you for the love of Christ, be merciful to the folk of Ludlow. Prevent your soldiers from torching their homes, from looting, from rampaging.”

I paused, and bit my lip.

“You lied!” exclaimed the Queen, pointing her whip at me. “You came to me all those years ago, begging me not to notice your lord’s treachery. Why should I listen to anything you say now? You are two-faced madame. You are duplicitous.”

I trembled as I bowed my head. I learned then that Marguerite never forgot the wrongs done to her.

“So you imagine we are animals,” continued Marguerite. She raised her hand. “Let us show my lady York.”

She let her hand fall, and the Lancastrian beasts set to work. By the time they’d finished, Ludlow was nothing more than an ash-heap. When they’d finished with the town, they went into the castle, and all of our costly furnishings, clothing, and books were thrown about, looted, and burned.

I was forced to watch with my three children. The worst part of this harrowing and humiliating experience was the sound. The sound of horses panicking, people screaming, fire roaring, people begging for their lives, women pleading to be spared from rape.

By the time they’d finished, dusk was falling. It was the worst day of my life. Most of all, my children had to go through it. Margaret wept silently, her face smudged from the smoke blackening everything. George clutched his dagger so hard it made his fingers bleed. But the worst was the effect it had on seven-year-old Richard. He disappeared. I could not rouse him. He just stared at me. Silent.

At length, they arrested and escorted us to Stafford Castle, the residence of the Duke of Buckingham and my sister Anne. I hadn’t seen much of Anne since we were children, and I wondered how she would be now. After all, her husband and mine were mortal enemies.

“Cecylee.”

I turned, and there she was. My sister, only looking older.

She came forward, lines of concern etched on her face, and kissed me on the cheek.

I don’t know why it was, perhaps because she suddenly reminded me of Mama. But suddenly, I broke down.

Anne took in the sight of my three children, filthy and exhausted, and immediately ordered hot baths and refreshments. She took me by the hand and led me into her chamber, where I was given a much-needed bath and some fresh garments. Anne’s servants arrived, bearing hot possets, and we sent the children to bed.

“Where is your husband?” she whispered as we sat by the fire.

“You know I cannot tell you that.”

She sighed. “Wherever he may be, he has left you to bear all this by yourself. Why, leaving a lady and three children to face down a whole army—”

“That was my idea,” I interrupted, my cheeks burning. “My lord was against it, but he had no choice.”

“You mean he was not able to anticipate the situation?”

“No,” I replied, looking away. “Things moved so fast.”

“I worry greatly for your safety, Cecylee,” said Anne, leaning forward and patting my hand. “If a lord cannot protect his wife and children, who will?”

I hung my head as I knotted my fingers together. My feelings simmered just out of reach.

Chapter 41

Stafford Castle, Staffordshire

Autumn 1459 to Summer 1460

Richard and his allies determined to launch one final, decisive attack against the Court Party, and this naturally meant invading England from Ireland and Calais.

I knew little of these matters, for I was under house arrest and scarcely any news got through. Anne was kind, but loyal to her husband, the Duke of Buckingham, and she never discussed matters of political import. For the first time since that fateful summer when I’d met Blaybourne, I was separated from Richard. I couldn’t even send or receive letters.

As the months passed with no word, my feelings gradually unraveled. I was furious with him for blundering yet again, leaving the children and me in such a perilous situation. I’d never seen an army before and had no idea the situation could be so dire. I imagined that I would kneel before the Lancastrian commanders and they would honor my requests. They would lead me back to Ludlow Castle and then march on somewhere else. It never occurred to me that they might sack and burn the village of Ludlow, loot and destroy my possessions, and force me to watch the horror of it all with three children. Of course, Richard must have known how bad things could’ve been. But he’d fled anyway.

As I saw the damage that had been done to the children, I grew angrier and angrier. Margaret seemed unable to stop weeping. George talked about killing people with a disquieting light in his eyes. But Richard was the child who worried me the most, for he did not seem like a normal seven-year-old. During the day, he was silent. At night, he couldn’t sleep from the nightmares that haunted him.

I tried to make life as normal as I could for the children. I had Richard sleep with me at night, while George and Margaret slept together. But what was I to do about Margaret’s constant weeping? It grated on everyone’s nerves. One day, we sat with the ladies of Anne’s household, embroidering, when I noticed how accomplished Margaret had become.

“My sweet,” I said, as an idea struck me. “How would you like to embroider some shirts for your father?”

“Father?” whispered Margaret, after looking around to be sure no one was listening.

I smiled sadly. Margaret was already acting far older than her thirteen years.

“It would mean a great deal to him.”

Margaret smiled for the first time in many weeks.

I kissed her, then my thoughts turned to the other Richard, my youngest son.

“It worries me that Richard is so silent,” I murmured as Margaret dried her tears, opened her needlework box, and started hunting for skeins of silk. “Does he talk at all when I’m not around?”

“Not really,” replied Margaret, threading her needle. “He seems to enjoy reading books.”

Wasn’t that an unusual occupation for a seven-year-old? “I would like you to spend more time with him. He needs to be with people.”

“I could ask him to walk with me when I go outside with the others.” Anne had four daughters living at home who were around the same age as my children.

“A good thought, my love,” I said rising, and smiling at her. “And now, I must see to George.”

With his father gone, George saw himself as the head of the family and strutted about self-importantly, earning him laughs and sneers from those of Buckingham’s affinity. I sighed as I made my way to his chamber. The boy was charming and intelligent, but—

“My lady,” called Jenet softly. She came forward, and put her mouth close to my ear. “The London merchants have given my lord of Warwick eighteen thousand pounds.”