Thwarted Queen (32 page)

I stared at her. That was an enormous sum of money. It could only mean that the merchants were full weary of the bad government of the king and had actually paid Warwick to invade England. I opened my mouth when Jenet indicated with her eyes that someone was watching.

I turned slowly around. It was Anne.

“Cecylee!” she exclaimed, kissing my cheek. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for George,” I replied. “I am worried about him. He has so much energy and not enough to do.”

“That’s very true,” said Anne, laughing, taking my arm.

Had she noticed Jenet? I guided Anne downstairs in the opposite direction. “George isn’t a scholar,” I continued. “He needs something to channel his considerable energies.”
And dull those bloodthirsty thoughts
.

“ ‘Tis time he became a page,” remarked Anne. “Perhaps he could serve his uncle Buckingham.”

I thanked her as I smiled my misgivings away. I hoped George would behave himself, not speak out of turn, nor divulge matters best to be silent about. Most of all I hoped that George’s position in Buckingham’s household did not mean that he was being held hostage against the good behavior of his lord father.

In June of 1460, my nephew Warwick arrived in Kent. My lady queen was unable to prevent this from happening—or prevent the arrival of my brother Salisbury, or that of my son Edward, Earl of March. Her sailors mutinied, and thus the Yorkist ships passed them by, unmolested.

I bit my nails to the quick on hearing this news, whispered to me by Jenet. Warwick was taking a great risk by occupying a town in Kent, for his lands and sphere of influence lay in the distant north and west. This meant that he had to take London before he could reach his lands.

He was held in such esteem and affection by the people of Kent and the Londoners, however, I need not have worried. When he sent messages asking for support, the mayors of the little Kentish towns readily complied. Soon, men flocked to Warwick’s standard in large numbers. Then, though my lady queen tried to prevent the Yorkist lords from entering the city of Canterbury, their sympathizers gave them the keys. The gates were flung open and the people gave Warwick, Salisbury, and March a warm welcome. During their short stay, Warwick secured the good offices of the papal legate, which had the effect of encouraging the bishops to join the Yorkist cause.

News of the invasion had by now reached London. The mayor of that city, anxious that he not been seen as treasonous sent a cautiously worded message to Warwick, advising him that he would not be permitted to enter.

It did not matter.

Warwick had so many friends among the merchants and the people that the mayor was persuaded to reconsider. On the second day of July, the gates of London were thrown open, and the Yorkists lords entered the city followed by around forty thousand armed men.

“Their plan now must be to gain control over the king,” I murmured to Jenet as we sat outside with our sewing. Stafford Castle was quiet, all the menfolk gone to the queen’s army, commanded by Buckingham.

“Your son Edward and my lord of Warwick are to leave London for Coventry where the king resides,” she whispered.

However, the king left Coventry and marched to Northampton to take refuge in the almost impenetrable Fen country surrounding the Isle of Ely. The queen’s army arrived in Northampton to protect the king, drawing itself up in battle order.

On the tenth of July, Warwick’s army arrived. He tried to avoid battle by sending the papal legate and other bishops to the king to beg an airing of the grievances of the Yorkist lords. My lord of Buckingham accused the bishops of hypocrisy and advised the king to pay them no heed.

At two o’clock in the afternoon, with the rain teeming down, watched by the papal legate and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Warwick ordered his trumpeters to sound the call to battle. Edward commanded the vanguard. His advance across the Nene marshes was met with a deadly series of volleys from the Lancastrian archers.

Chapter 42

Stafford Castle, Staffordshire

July 1460

As I stepped onto the castle battlements, a cooling breeze lifted my veil. I looked for George but he was nowhere to be seen. Thank goodness that George had been considered too young to fight; for Buckingham would certainly have taken him when he left the castle a fortnight ago. I could only marvel at my good fortune. Buckingham had been courteous, and more importantly, had refrained from making hostages out of my two boys. I thanked God every day for their safe deliverance while I awaited tidings of the latest conflict.

Though it was hot, the commander of the garrison at Stafford Castle did not allow his men to relax. All were stationed at their posts and had to remain there, while Anne directed her servants to pour watered-down ale. Leaving Anne behind me, I wandered along the parapet encircling the castle wall. I came upon George engaged in assisting a squire with the commander’s heavy armor. While the two boys tightened buckles and tied laces, the commander scanned the horizon.

I watched for a moment. This son reminded me most forcibly of my father. Like him, George was an amusing and lively companion. Even his gestures were similar as he told jokes. His bright eyes took everything in, and I sighed once more with sorrow as I thought of the horrors he’d seen that day at Ludlow. At that moment, he glanced up.

“Mama!” he called, looking like the young lad he was.

I smiled into his blue-green eyes. “Well met, my son.”

“And how does my nephew?” remarked Anne, coming up silently behind me.

“Well, madam,” responded George gravely. “I’ve been learning all about how to clean armor, and which order the pieces go on.”

“Lord George has a quick wit,” remarked the commander, bowing. “He’ll make a fine squire some day.”

There was an awkward pause. How I wished this war would end. I turned to look at the horizon, which shimmered in the heat.

“Someone’s coming,” remarked George in a whisper.

I shot my son a look, then scanned the horizon again.

“To your posts!” roared the commander. “Ladies, I must ask you to wait below.”

“George!” I exclaimed as fear gripped me.

“Mama!” he exclaimed, mimicking my tone.

I watched helpless as George scampered away.

“Leave him be,” said Anne quietly. “He’ll only fret if he’s mewed up with us.”

I sighed as I follow Anne downstairs. I went to my bedchamber to see Richard, who was feeling poorly. I wondered if he would survive this latest bout of illness. I’d lost so many children, two daughters and four sons who’d never grown up, locked in my memory as the small children they’d been when taken up to heaven. I recited the litany now as I looked down at Richard’s wan face:
Joan, Henry, William, John, Thomas, Ursula
.

Sitting down, I took Richard’s small hand in mine. What kind of man would he be? He was tenacious. He’d shown that by the way he clung on through the worst of his illnesses. He was already showing the promise of a fine mind, preferring to play chess and read books. And he was preternaturally serious, just like his father.

I smiled, thinking of Richard. We’d met in December 1423 at Castle Raby. I’d been a lively eight-year-old sent out one bright December day to tend to my roses when I saw a strange boy watching me.

When asked who he was, he drew himself up stiffly. “Richard, Duke of York.”

I tossed him some pert reply and turned my back on him while humming a favorite air. When I turned around, he was still there. “You’re so serious!” I exclaimed. “Don’t you ever smile?”

At that, he had smiled. Tentatively.

And now, I hadn’t seen him in nine months. I’d grown accustomed to life without Richard, and found that it suited me. Most of all, I reveled in the freedom of making my own decisions without the need to consult him. I felt a twinge of guilt. How was he faring in Ireland? I’d heard nothing—

A door banged, and then there was the sound of heavy feet. I bent over my son to hide my fear. The child was stirring.

“Mama?” he said sleepily. Then suddenly his pale face lit with a smile.

I swung around.

“Edward!” I exclaimed.

Any misgivings I had about Edward vanished as I took him in, standing in front of me, tall and gleaming in his suit of armor. I thought he’d never looked so handsome, and my heart caught in my throat.

“Mother,” he said, bowing. Then he kissed me on the cheek before turning to the bed. “And how goes brother Richard?”

To my amazement, Richard pushed himself up in bed and leaned forward eagerly. Under his older brother’s smile, Richard shed years, looking like a little boy rather than an old man.

“I bought you a gift,” remarked Edward.

How had Edward found the time to get his little brother a gift?

Edward reached into the folds of his tunic and drew out a horseshoe. “ ‘Tis from White York, my stallion that helped me win the battle.”

“Battle? What battle?” I asked.

“All in good time, Mother,” replied Edward. He turned to Richard. “Tuck it under your pillow for good luck.”

“I wish I could fight like you,” remarked Richard, gazing at Edward with shining eyes.

“You do fight,” said Edward, patting his shoulder. At that moment, the door blew open, and George entered, followed by Margaret. “Tell us the news!”

Edward gave an account of the Battle of Northampton, and I could hardly believe he was alive. “You were under fire from the Lancastrian archers, and the weather was atrocious?”

“Aye,” agreed Edward. “The mud was thick and viscous. That’s how White York lost his shoe. But the Lancastrians could not fire their cannon because the rain was teeming down. When we reached their defenses, Lord Grey de Ruthun gave the signal, and his men helped us over the barricades.”

I clasped a hand over my mouth. Edmund Grey, a faithful supporter of the Lancastrian cause, threw his allegiance in with the House of York? “He should be rewarded,” I breathed, drying my hands on my handkerchief. “I’m most grateful that Lady Fortune was with you that day.”

Suddenly, my mind jolted awake. What was Edward doing at Stafford Castle?

I turned to him. “Buckingham?”

Edward looked grim. “I bear bad tidings. He’s dead.”

Chapter 43

July to October 1460

The Battle of Northampton lasted the space of one half of an hour, and at the end of it, Warwick, March, and Salisbury took possession of the king and conducted him to Delapré Abbey. My lady queen fled with her son to Scotland.

Though I was free from house arrest, my heart bled as I said my farewells to my sister Anne. But she seemed to take the news of Buckingham’s passing with a kind of stoic resignation. Her family flocked to her side. Their silences and stares convinced me to be quick in my leave.

Now I was free. As free as a lark to soar up into the air and sing merrily. I traveled to Baynard’s Castle, my London residence, taking the children with me.

On the eight day of September, Richard, together with Edmund, returned from Ireland. He sent a message asking me to meet with him in Hereford. I sighed, for it was not going to be easy to be Richard’s wife again after the freedom of the past few months.

Leaving the children behind in London, I took a horse litter, choosing this somewhat queenly mode of transportation because I did not feel like riding the hundred or so miles. Taking a litter hung with blue velvet curtains and drawn between two pairs of fine horses was not only a stylish way of greeting my long-absent husband. It also had the effect of prolonging my journey.

While I journeyed, I had the leisure to ponder. How unfortunate that Richard was not a person to whom folk warmed easily, for he had many good qualities. He cared deeply about the people and had been loyal to King Henry until the King’s misrule had driven him to take up arms. But Richard also had his flaws. He was arrogant, he was proud, and as always, he was too serious for his own good. While I journeyed to Hereford, I wondered how he would be now.

When finally I saw him, it was as if a stranger were standing there. Richard had grown stout during his sojourn in Ireland. His hair and beard had gone grey, and there were harsh lines around his mouth. But when he caught sight of me, his smile made him look like the young man who’d courted me.

He eagerly helped me down from the litter, so caught up in greeting me that he didn’t notice the expensive mode of transportation. “Cis! You look as fair as ever. Christ! How I’ve missed you.”

I smiled as I submitted to his embraces. Then I looked around. “Why are your men in such livery? They are bearing the Royal Arms.” I turned to stare at him. “That’s treasonous, Richard.”

Richard’s mouth set in a grim line, following the creases of the new lines around his mouth. “I wish to make my pretensions to the throne clear. I will not be gainsaid by anyone, not even you, Cis.”

And with that, he strode off.